Page 4 of Mountain Man's Redemption

I look up to see the clerk watching me expectantly, and before I can stop myself, I ask, “The woman who was in here just now—the young woman you served before Mrs. Danvers—do you know who she is?”

She looks thoughtful, then nods slowly. “Yeah. I don’t know her personally, but she’s renting the apartment above the pizzeria. My aunt’s her landlord…I think her name is Daisy or Dahlia or something like that.”

For the first time ever, I’m grateful that small towns know everyone’s damn business. I thank the clerk, and when she hands me the cherry pie, I stuff ten dollars into the tip jar. Then I hurry out of the bakery and head for the pizzeria, clutching the glove tightly in my hand.

I’m just returning a stranger’s lost property.

Being a good neighbor, that’s all.

But I know I’m bullshitting myself. The glove is an excuse to get another glimpse of that beautiful woman, with her twinkling blue eyes and sweet face. Maybe I imagined the way she looked at me. Saw what I wanted to see. But I need to know for sure…and that means I need to see her again. Just once. Then I can let it go.

3

DAPHNE

When I get backto my apartment, I shrug off my coat and set it on top of my suitcase.

Coat hooks.

I’d better add that to the list of things I need.

My new home is tiny, a shoebox studio, but the rent is cheap and it always smells like pizza—double bonus. Aside from a cheap plastic table, a single chair, and a mattress in the corner, there’s nothing in here except my suitcase full of clothes and my art supplies. I seriously need to find a job. Then I can buy some furniture and try to make this place feel a little more like home.

I pull up a chair and sit at the table, unboxing the still-warm cherry pie and tasting a forkful.

Wow, now I get what all the fuss is about.

It’s flaky and deliciously sweet, and I devour the slice with a hum of appreciation. But as I eat, my mind drifts back to the man in the bakery.

Garrett.

I shouldn’t be thinking this much about a total stranger, but I can’t help it. I’ve never seen anyone like him before, and as I scoop up the crumbs of cherry pie, I can’t help remembering the way his muscles stretched out under his flannel shirt. A shiverruns through me, an unfamiliar warmth blooming between my thighs.

I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

In a town like Cherry Hollow, the chances are pretty high, and the thought makes my heart beat harder than it should. I’m a twenty-two-year-old woman, not a giddy schoolkid, but I still can’t help smiling to myself as I wash up my dirty plate, my mind full of those intense brown eyes, the slight quirk of his brow when he looked at me…

Knock knock.

The sound of the front door makes me jump, and I turn off the faucet with a frown.

Who the heck could that be?

I don’t know anyone in Cherry Hollow, and I haven’t ordered anything. Could it be the press? Would the local papers in Iowa really care enough about my parents’ scandal to follow me to Colorado?

Of course not. You’re being paranoid.

Still, unease settles over me as I reach the door and unlock it cautiously. I pull it open and suck in a breath, clinging to the frame for dear life.

It’s Garrett.

The gorgeous mountain man from the bakery is standing on my doorstep.

“Hey,” he says, eyes fixed on mine. “Sorry to bother you. Wanted to return this.”

His voice is so deep and gravelly that it sends a shiver up my spine, and it takes me a second to process that he’s holding something out for me in his giant hand. One of my gloves. Instinctively, I reach into my pocket where I thought I’d put it, but there’s only one in there.

I must have dropped it at the bakery.

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