Page 4 of The Mountain Man's Prize

"Thank you," I say, because what else can you say to the stranger who saved your life and undressed you while you were unconscious? "I'm Lila, by the way."

"Beau." He doesn't offer a last name, and something tells me not to ask. "You must be hungry."

As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly enough for both of us to hear. Heat floods my face again, but Beau's mouth quirks up at one corner—not quite a smile, but close.

"I'll get you something."

He rises to his full height, and I'm struck again by his sheer size. He must be well over six feet, with the build of a man who works with his body, not behind a desk. He moves to a small kitchen area set against the far wall—just a woodstove, a sink with a pump handle, and a few cabinets. The entire cabin is one large room with a partially closed-off area I assume is a bathroom. It's primitive but well-built and meticulously clean.

"How long was I out?" I ask, testing my voice. It comes out stronger this time.

"About eighteen hours." Beau stirs something in a pot on the stove. "Storm's still going, but not as bad as yesterday."

Eighteen hours. I've been unconscious for eighteen hours in a stranger's cabin. That should terrify me. Instead, I feel a strange, disorienting calm.

"Where exactly am I? I was hiking the north trail at Riverside Park when the storm hit. I must have gotten turned around..."

"You're about fifteen miles from the nearest marked trail. These mountains aren't part of any park." He ladles whatever he's cooking into a bowl. "Not many people come out here. That's why I'm here."

The statement hangs in the air, heavy with implication. He's here because he doesn't want to be found. And I stumbled right into his sanctuary.

"I'm sorry," I say. "For intruding."

Beau turns, bowl in hand, and his gaze pins me to the bed. "Don't be."

He returns to the chair beside me, sitting down with the bowl. Steam rises from what looks like a thick stew, the aroma making my mouth water. I try to take it from him, but he shakes his head.

"Let me," he says. "You're still weak."

Before I can protest, he dips a spoon into the stew and brings it to my lips. The gesture is so intimate, so unexpected, that I freeze. His eyes hold mine, unwavering and unreadable.

"Open," he murmurs, and my lips part on command.

The stew is rich—venison, I think, with wild mushrooms and root vegetables. It's the most delicious thing I've ever tasted, or maybe that's just the hunger talking. Either way, I can't contain the small sound of pleasure that escapes me.

Something flares in Beau's eyes. His hand remains steady, but his knuckles whiten around the spoon. He dips it back into the bowl and brings it to my mouth again, watching intently as my lips close around it.

"Good?" he asks, voice low and rough.

I nod, unable to look away from his face. There's a scar bisecting his left eyebrow, another at the corner of his mouth. His dark hair is too long, curling at the nape of his neck and falling across his forehead when he leans forward. He hasn't shaved in days, maybe weeks, the stubble along his jaw nearly a beard. He looks untamed. Dangerous.

And yet, his hands are gentle as he feeds me, careful not to spill a drop.

"Why were you out in the storm?" he asks between spoonfuls. "Riverside Park is a day hike. You weren't equipped for overnight."

I swallow, heat creeping up my neck at how foolish I must seem to him. "I wasn't planning on staying out. I just wanted some air, some space to think. When the storm started, I thought I could make it back to the trailhead, but..." I trail off, embarrassed. "I made a stupid mistake."

Beau's expression softens fractionally. "Everyone makes mistakes. Not everyone survives them."

His bluntness is oddly comforting. No platitudes, no reassurances that it wasn't that bad. Just acknowledgment of the truth—I nearly died out there.

"What about you?" I ask, as he offers another spoonful. "Do you live here year-round? All alone?"

Something shutters in his face, but he answers. "Five years now. And yes, alone."

"Why?"

The question slips out before I can stop it. Too personal, too direct. But instead of shutting down completely, Beau's mouth quirks again in that almost-smile.

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