Page 7 of Her Mountain Man Veteran

“Of course.”

I make my way over, eagerly eyeing the titles. There’s a solid mix—classics, thrillers, a few adventure stories, and I hear Dane get up from the table and join me. I can see him watching me in my peripheral vision, the weight of his gaze making my pulse jump.

“What kind of books do you like?” he asks.

“All of them. I’ll read just about anything. Romance, sci-fi, mystery, non-fiction…” My eyes land onThe Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and I smile, pointing at it. “I always meant to read that book. I never got around to it when I was a kid.”

“Want to borrow it?” Dane asks, pulling it free from the shelf and holding it out to me. “It was my favorite book growing up. Lost count of how many times I read it.”

It looks just like a book should—well-thumbed, dog-eared, and cracked down the spine.

“Thank you.” I smile up at him warmly. “I can’t wait to read it.”

Once I’ve finished perusing Dane’s books, we sit back at the table and tuck into our cherry pie. It’s deliciously sweet and buttery, the tang of cherries bursting on my tongue, and I hum with appreciation.

“Good, right?” Dane says. “Cherry Hollow is kind of famous for its pies.”

“I can see why. This is amazing.”

I take another bite, almost choking when Dane’s long leg accidentally brushes mine beneath the table. The contact makes me shiver, and I keep my eyes down on my plate, hoping he can’t see the effect he’s having on me.

“So, what do you do back in Denver?” he asks, his deep voice rumbling through me. “Still in college?”

I shake my head. “I graduated a couple of years ago with an English degree. Now I work downtown for a paper supply company. Kind of like The Office, but without the laughs.”

I’m half joking, but Dane frowns. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s okay.” I shrug. “Pretty boring, but it pays the bills. What about you?”

“I have a few rental cabins out here. Sell firewood, too. And my woodwork, sometimes.”

I lean toward him, intrigued. “Woodwork?”

“Yeah. It’s more of a hobby than anything. I whittle small things, little figurines, stuff like that. Doesn’t earn much, but I like it.”

I nod, hanging onto every word he says. Dane fascinates me. His life is so different from mine, slow and solitary compared to the chaos of the city. It reminds me of my childhood—the good parts—when it was just me and Brody roaming the woods, escaping the world.

“Can I ask you something?” I say tentatively.

“Sure.”

I run the words over in my mind before I ask, “Does it ever get lonely? You know, living out here by yourself in such an isolated place?”

Dane is quiet for a moment, like he’s thinking it over. “Not really. I prefer to avoid people…with some exceptions.” He looks at me and clears his throat before continuing, “But most of the time, I keep to myself. All people see is…” He gestures to his scars with a shrug. “You get sick of being looked at after a while.”

He sounds resigned, and my heart squeezes. Something tells me Dane isn’t the kind of man who wants pity, but I can’t help sympathizing with the crap he must have to endure because of his appearance. It was obviously a terrible injury if he ended up with such prominent scars, and I can’t help the burning curiosity I feel as I look at his ruggedly handsome face.

What happened to him?

I don’t dare to ask, but he seems to read my mind.

“It’s alright,” he says. “You’re allowed to ask.” He leans back in his chair, running a hand instinctively over his scarred cheek. “It happened in Afghanistan, back when I was in the Army. I got caught up in an explosion and the shrapnel shredded my cheek. These scars were actually the best-case scenario.”

I suck in a breath. I was expecting him to say it was from a car wreck, or maybe a wood-chopping accident. But knowing he was in the Army fills me with even more respect for him, and I flinch when I think about how painful his injuries must have been.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, instinctively reaching across the table to grab his hand. “Does it…does it still hurt?”

“It aches in cold weather. But most of the time, it’s just numb. Nerve damage. Kind of fucked up my smile, too. Luckily, I’ve never been the smiliest of guys.”

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