Page 1 of Mountain Defender

CHAPTER 1

RORY

I keep waitingfor the week he stops coming.

It’s a terrible attitude to have; I know.

And there’s no real reason to think this way. Last Tuesday, at the end of Gage’s regular weekly visit, he left with the parting words, “I’ll come back with my tools next time. Take care of that sticky lock on the barn. If you find anything else that needs to be fixed, make a list and I’ll get to work on them.”

So I should feel confident about his return.

For nearly six months, he’s stopped by once a week to help with things on the property. Repairs I haven’t gotten around to. Taking the dogs out for walks. Cleaning out the kennels so I don’t have to do them all on my own.

In the beginning, I was hesitant. Talking to people as a part of my job was one thing—they were inevitably focused on the dog they planned to adopt, and my presence was a distant second. But to have someone here who actuallylookedat me, his gaze lingering on my face instead of awkwardly skittering away…

It was disconcerting. And it brought back all the insecurities I tried to shove down as I reminded myself over and over that appearances didn’t matter as much as the person within.

Who am I kidding? Of course it matters.

What’s that saying my fifth-grade teacher used to tell the class whenever someone would make fun of little Elliot, who had an unfortunate port wine stain on his face?You can’t tell a book by its cover. Once you open the book and start reading, a world of magic is revealed within.

It sounds lovely in theory. But whenyou’rethe unappealing cover, it’s harder to feel reassured by it.

Isolated on the outskirts of Bliss, a little town in northern Vermont, I’ve cultivated a life that doesn’t require a lot of in-person interaction. The occasional hopeful dog owner, here to look at the rescue dogs with me hovering helpfully in the background. The vet, Dr. Wilkinson, who’s so uber-focused on the dogs, I’m not sure if she could recognize me in a lineup. Alice, the lovely server at Breakfast Bliss, who always has my to-go orders ready and waiting at the door so I can rush inside to pick them up while my dogs wait in the car.

And then, Gage.

Achingly handsome with a jaw that could cut glass, thick chestnut hair that never looks combed, and amber eyes the color of molten honey. Tall, at least a foot more than me, his chest and arms thick with muscle that I know comes from all the training he does for his job with a local security company.

Aside from a small scar on his cheekbone, which makes him more attractive in my eyes, he’s practically perfect.

Which is why I would never, ever dream of anything happening between us.

It would be like a flipped version of Beauty and the Beast—Gage as the beauty and me? I’m the one who hides awayin a castle, surrounded by books and talking furniture and kitchenware.

Except in the story, Beauty’s love breaks the spell and Beast becomes handsome again.

In reality, that’s not going to happen.

So when Gage offered to come back to help that first time, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Did he feel sorry for me? Was it some sort of self-imposed penance and I was the punishment?

But after the second visit, I realized I enjoyed having him here. I liked having another person to talk to instead of chattering away at my dogs, which isn’t bad, but they can’t exactly respond. It was nice to bounce ideas off someone else, like when I wanted to upgrade the kennels, but couldn’t decide between the galvanized steel or mesh ones.

And I really like the time we spend together after the work is done. Once we finish up with the dogs, we’ll head into the house and chat over iced tea or coffee or whatever snacks I prepared in anticipation of him coming.

They’re not dates. Far from it.

I imagine Gage dating some beautiful woman in Bliss; maybe Alice with the gorgeous blonde hair or possibly Officer Nelson—Sage, she insisted when she stopped by to introduce herself—who is smart and confident and looks like she could star in a movie.

He hasn’t mentioned that he’s dating anyone, but it hasn’t come up, either. I wouldn’t ask—our talks are about the dogs, or the new expansion pack he got for his favorite video game, or how the hiking conditions are looking for the upcoming weekend.

All platonic things. And it’s better that way. Less chance of being disappointed if I never let myself consider the impossible.

Still. I like having him here.

And every Tuesday morning, I wake up with my stomach clenched in a knot, my body already anticipating rejection before my brain even thinks it. As it gets closer to noon, the time Gage usually arrives, my heart starts to beat faster. When I talk to the dogs, my voice pitches a little higher. And I can’t seem to stop my gaze from sliding over to the driveway, searching for his familiar green Jeep bumping across the packed gravel.

I keep wondering if this is the week he decides he’s done enough. Or his girlfriend—if he has one—gently tells him she’d rather he didn’t spend time with another woman.

---