Page 8 of Beast of Misty Mountain

I turn and see Milo following me. His face is calm, but his jaw is tight. His arms hang loose, and he reaches up to massage his right arm, which is covered in tattoos. But even so, I can see his muscles flexing, like he’s itching for a fight. His chest rises and falls slow and steady, and his sharp blue eyes hold mine like he’s waiting for me to thank him.

“I had it handled,” I say, my voice shaking in anger. He probably thinks I was scared.

“Didn’t look that way.”

“I don’t need backup.”

“You shouldn’thaveto need it.”

He says it like it’s obvious, whichobviously. But this is real life, not a fairy tale. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what I was signing up for when I applied for the job.

I can still feel the heat of his presence in every nerve ending. My body hasn’t caught up with my brain yet. Too much is going on in my chest—rage and relief and something stupid and warm that makes me want to punch a wall.

He stepped in without asking.

I hadn’t even realized he was in the bar.

I hate myself for liking that he stood up for me. Not that I would tell him that. It’s been a long time since I felt like I was worth standing up for. Mark certainly didn’t make me feel worth it.

Still, I’m scared that if I ask for help or accept help I didn’t ask for, I’ll fall into the same trap with men.

Milo stares at me, exasperated, and I sigh.What is it with this man?

When I get back to the bar, Hank has a large travel mug of coffee waiting for me. He doesn’t ask questions and slides it my way.

“Thanks,” I mutter, and I take it with both hands, needing the burn of it to focus.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. It was just another handsy ass…jerk. Same shit, different day.”

Behind me, I can see Milo’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He stares at me with an intensity that would make me uncomfortable at any other time, but I’m tired. I don’t have the time or energy for whatever he thinks he’s doing.

I fake-smile my way through the rest of my shift and refuse to look in Milo’s direction. He said he was there to talk to Hank, and that’s not any of my business, though it doesn’t take a genius to know what’s on his mind. By the time I’m almost done, I realize Milo isn’t here anymore.Thank heavens for small mercies.

Eventually, the rush fades and I finish wiping down the back bar after the bar empties. Hank gives me the nod to go.

I toss my apron into the bin and push through the front door into the cool night.

The stars are out. The parking lot smells like old gravel and pine. I breathe in deep, finally alone.

Despite being exhausted to the bone, part of me doesn’t want to go back to the cabin. If Milo is awake and wants to hash out tonight, I literally don’t have the energy. Even thinking about that conversation is stressful.

I need to make it through the next few weeks, and then we never have to see each other again.

CHAPTER 4

MILO

You’re not working today?”

She looks up from the book she’s reading—something with a cover that looks like candy—one leg tucked under her in the kitchen chair, the other bare and swinging lightly under the table. She’s in a tank top and little shorts, her hair pulled into a loose knot that looks like it’s surviving out of sheer determination.

“Nope,” she says, grinning. “Swapped shifts with Murphy so I could have two nights off. I’m working Sunday instead.”

I hover in the doorway longer than necessary, arms crossed. I nod slowly. “Didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Well,” she says, giving me a mock-serious look over her mug, “I live here. For now.”

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