Page 6 of Fearless Mountain Man

No, she was opening up to me for one of two reasons. It was part of her shtick—be honest, spill everything, show vulnerability, and make the sale. Or she was being honest because she felt comfortable around me. She felt this—whatever it was—zinging back and forth between us.

It was something I couldn’t define, but it was the very reason I kept staring at her. It was also why I hadn’t been able to kick her off my property earlier. Why I’d invited her to dinner rather than trying to figure out a way to get her out of my life as quickly as possible.

Yes, I was drawn to her. I wanted to crawl across this kayak and kiss her. I wanted to do a whole lot more than that, but it wasn’t really feasible in this particular watercraft.

But yeah, that was not what she was here for. I might not be able to stop thinking about getting her naked, but she was in town to broker a deal, and coming on to her might send her out of my life for good.

I was shocked to find I’d rather have her here platonically than make a move and risk losing her forever. What the heck was happening to me? When did I become such a wuss over a woman?

Since meeting Ana, that was when. And I was pretty sure it was too late to turn back.

When she waltzed out of town tomorrow—or the next day, or the next—I’d be sunk. I’d be left wondering how to have this feeling with anyone ever again. And if I couldn’t, was I destined to spend the rest of my life alone, wondering how I’d managed to fuck things up?

“Keep going,” she said. “I want to see how far this pond goes.”

I stared at her, trying to match what I’d been thinking with what she’d just said. She didn’t want to turn around and go back to my cabin. That was a good thing. The longer I could keep her on this water, the better. In fact, I was second-guessing selling my property—and considering selling definitely wasn’t like me.

But if it would somehow give me an excuse to keep communicating with her, it just might be worth it.

5

ANA

“Could this thing run out of gas?” I asked.

I was having visions of the two of us getting stuck out here. We were heading toward a chunk of land. The other coast—the one with the trees. As the pond narrowed, I assumed we’d go all the way until we reached the end of this waterway. Carter had shifted away from the houses, probably to avoid making noise.

“I have an oar right down here,” he said, pointing to the bottom of the boat. “A soldier is always prepared.”

“I thought that was a Boy Scout.”

“I was never one of those, but yeah.”

He cut the motor as we reached land. I wondered if he was going to try to turn this thing around so we could head back to his cabin with me facing forward. That wasn’t necessary—but it was a sweet move. Instead, he grabbed the oar and paddled us until we reached the bank.

“I thought we might take a brief break,” he said. “Unless you’re in a hurry to get back to your room.”

I shook my head, then realized he might think I was saying no to the idea of taking a break. “No hurry. I could use the break.”

I didn’t even know what that meant. Taking a break from sitting while he motored me around the water? All I knew was he was getting out, and wherever he went, I’d follow. For tonight, anyway.

Once he was out, he came around and held out his hand. I slid mine inside it, and he pulled me to my feet—just like before when he’d helped me into the boat. Having his hand around mine sent sparks flying through my body. I even shivered a little.

But if Carter noticed, he didn’t show it. He just released my hand and turned, walking farther onto the plot of land. It was grass for several feet, then the trees started, so unless he wanted to walk through the forest, there wasn’t much to navigate.

Sure enough, he walked all the way to where the trees began and plopped down in front of one, leaning against the trunk. I followed him, but I didn’t sit against the tree. Instead, I sat cross-legged next to him and stared out at the water.

“You come here often?” I asked.

It seemed like a good idea. If I had a way to get over here, and I could be guaranteed some peace, I’d probably bring my e-reader and my tumbler full of wine, which I’d left in the boat, and hang out here myself.

“Never have before,” he said. “I mean, obviously I’ve ridden past it on the water numerous times. I’ve just never gotten out of the boat.”

Yet he’d chosen to do that tonight. It was almost like he was trying to draw out his time with me.

“I had a thought a few minutes ago,” I said. “What if the boat ran out of gas and we ended up stuck here on this piece of land, stranded for days?”

Of course, we both had our cell phones, but I realized when I looked over at him that my blabberings actually had substance. He was listening—and taking what I said a certain way. Did he think I was hitting on him?

---