Page 5 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

I shake that though loose. God knows I don’t need the complication of lusting after a woman who clearly thinks I mean her harm.

God knows I have enough to do without rescuing someone who doesn’t want to play the part of damsel in distress.

But leaving her and the cat out here alone isn’t an option.

So there’s only one thing left to do. Play nice.

“I’m Gage, by the way,” I call over my shoulder.

“What’s your middle and last name?”

I frown. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m just curious what your Wikipedia page will be titled someday.”

I shake my head. “And your name is?”

She hesitates a moment. “I’m Tessa. And this is Whiskey.”

“A pleasure to meet you both.”

Neither of us says anything more.

We crest the hill and the cabin comes into view—small but solid, wood siding stained dark from the rain. The side barn is half-covered with tarps where I’ve started repairs. A pair of cedar planks lean against the porch, half-nailed.

Whiskey lets out another yowl as I open the gate.

“Don’t take it personally,” she says. “He’s got opinions about everything.”

“Sounds like a typical cat.”

“He’s protective.”

I lift an eyebrow, but she doesn’t elaborate.

“Here,” I say, pushing the door open and stepping aside.

She hesitates before crossing the threshold, like she expects to find bone furniture inside. Instead, she blinks at the wood-paneled walls, the stone hearth, the smell of coffee and cedar.

“Oh,” she murmurs. “It’s… nice.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know… Photos and newspaper clippings plastered on the walls. A collection of drivers licenses from missing persons piled up on your table.”

I role my eyes. “I told you, I’m not a serial killer.”

She clucks her tongue. “That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”

Whiskey wiggles out of his makeshift rain jacket. I reach out, instinctively helping him out of the plastic.

The cat blinks at me. Then, without hesitation, leaps from the bag and sniffs my fingers. After a moment, he rubs his face against my fingers.

“Traitor,” she mutters.

He flicks his tail and jumps down to explore more of the room, making himself comfortable.

I turn to hang my jacket on the hook, hiding the way my mouth twitches. Again.

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