Page 5 of The Mountain Man's Prize

"Maybe for the same reason you wanted air and space to think." He sets the now-empty bowl aside. "Some people need more silence than others."

I nod, understanding too well the need to escape. Isn't that why I was in those woods to begin with? Running from a life that felt increasingly hollow?

"Thank you," I say again. "For saving me. For feeding me."

"Don't need thanks for doing what needed to be done." His gaze drops to my exposed shoulder where his shirt has slipped again, lingers there. My skin prickles with awareness.

He reaches out suddenly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The contact is brief, but it sends a jolt through me, like touching a live wire. His fingers are calloused but warm, steady but somehow hesitant, as if he's forgotten how to touch another person.

"You should rest more," he says, voice dropping to a near whisper. "Your body's been through hell."

I should feel nervous, being here alone with this large, intense stranger. I should be planning my exit strategy, figuring out how soon I can leave. Instead, I find myself searching his face, trying to understand the hunger I see there—hunger that doesn't seem entirely about desire, but something deeper. Something almost like recognition.

"Will you stay?" I ask, surprising myself. "I mean, nearby? While I sleep?"

Beau's eyes darken. "I'm not going anywhere, little dove."

The endearment catches me off guard. So does the possessive note in his voice, the way his hand curls around the edge of the bed, inches from my blanketed thigh.

As I slide back down under the quilt, his gaze never leaves my face. It's like being wrapped in something tangible, that look. Something that warms me from the inside out, different from the fire, different from the blankets.

I should be unnerved by his attention, his size, his isolation. I should be counting the hours until the storm breaks and I can return to civilization.

Instead, as sleep pulls me under again, a single thought drifts through my mind: Why does this feel like home?

And why, God help me, do I want it to be?

four

Beau

She's wearingmy shirt and nothing else. The knowledge burns in my gut like I've swallowed live coals. Three days she's been here, recovering her strength, and each hour is another turn of a screw in my chest. I've given her space—as much as possible in a one-room cabin. I've been careful. Respectful. But there's only so much a man can take, and watching her pad across the wooden floor, my flannel hanging to mid-thigh, those long legs bare and perfect in the firelight—Christ, I'm only human.

I grip the edge of the table, wood creaking under my fingers. She doesn't notice, busy examining the books on my shelf. Her hair has dried fully now, falling in soft waves past her shoulders. The firelight catches copper highlights I hadn't noticed before. Everything about her glows—her skin, her eyes, the curve of her calf as she rises on tiptoe to reach a higher shelf.

My throat tightens. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the howl of the wind outside. The storm hasn't let up, trapping us here together. A cruel joke or a gift, I can't decide which.

"You have so many books," she says, glancing over her shoulder at me. "I wouldn't have guessed."

Her voice is soft, with a slight rasp that makes my skin tighten. What wouldn't she have guessed? That a man who lives alone in the mountains would read? That someone who looks like me would have a library?

"Winters are long up here," I answer, voice rougher than I intend. "Books help pass the time."

She pulls one from the shelf—a collection of Frost's poetry I've read so many times the spine is cracked and pages dog-eared. Her fingers trace the cover with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.

"This one's well-loved," she says.

"It reminds me why I'm here."

She looks up, curious. "Which poem?"

"'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.'"

A smile touches her lips. "The one about promises to keep? Miles to go before you sleep?"

I nod, pleased she knows it. She opens the book, flipping through pages until she finds what she's looking for. Then she reads aloud, voice soft and melodic in the cabin's hushed atmosphere.

"'The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep...'" She pauses, looks up at me with those wide, clear eyes. "What promises are you keeping out here, Beau?"

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