Page 10 of Her Mountain Man Grump

Emma smiles at me sadly. “It’s not that simple.” Then she surprises me by taking my hand, her soft palm squeezing mine. “Let’s go finish the bedframe, okay? I’m sorry for acting so weird about the truck—really, it was nothing.”

I don’t argue. Instead, I let her lead me back into the bedroom, where the bedframe is waiting to be finished. Emma seems determined to make up for her lack of answers, because she works feverishly for the next few hours, refusing to take a break. Once the bedframe is done, we hoist the mattress on top and then head for the kitchen to start work on the cabinets. Emma is a quick learner. She seems to know instinctively what I need her to do, and by six o’clock, the first two cabinets are already built and mounted.

“What’s next?” Emma asks eagerly, sweat beading on her forehead.

“Dinner. You’ve done more than enough for one day.”

She grins at me, her face lighting up. “Dinner sounds good.”

It’s still light as we leave the outbuilding, the forest calm and still. We head toward my cabin, and I usher Emma inside, closing the door behind us. It’s the first time she’s been in here, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she takes it in.

“Wow,” she says softly. “This place is beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

My cabin isn’t huge, but it’s rustic and cozy, full of comfy furniture that my sister helped pick out. She has an eye for décor, and it’s thanks to her that this place looks like a home. As Emma looks around, I feel a twinge of guilt that she’s stuck in the much smaller, emptier outbuilding. I’d rather she stayed here with me, but I don’t want to freak her out by asking. I’m still half expecting her to run, even now. Hell, when I woke up this morning, the first thing I did was check whether her car was still there, parked out the back where I left it for her.

“Make yourself at home,” I say, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get started on dinner. Hope you like pizza.”

“I love it!” Emma’s eyes sparkle. “I haven’t had pizza in a long time.”

Once she’s settled on the couch, I bring her a glass of lemonade and pour myself a whiskey before heading for the kitchen. The pizzas don’t take long. I top them with plenty of mozzarella and pepperoni, and once the cheese is melted, I slice them up and bring them out to the table.

“This is amazing,” Emma says, biting into a slice with a hum of satisfaction. “Seriously, so good.”

“The secret ingredient is extra cheese.”

She chuckles, taking another bite. “Always a good idea.”

We eat in silence for a few moments. I see Emma eyeing the mantel behind me, squinting a little to make out the photographs.

“Is that your sister?” she asks, gesturing toward one of the photos.

“Yeah. Celeste.”

Emma smiles. “Please say thank you for the clothes when you see her next—she’s a lifesaver. It was so nice to get out of that muddy dress.”

I nod. “I’ll tell her.”

When I headed over to Celeste’s this morning and told her about Emma, she was immediately sympathetic. She wanted to come over and meet her, but I didn’t want to spook Emma by bringing over somebody she didn’t know. So instead, Celeste gave me a bunch of clothes, toiletries, and anything else she could think of to help.

“Did you both grow up around here?” Emma asks.

“No. We’re from Vermont originally. Moved to Denver for a while, shared an apartment. Then I moved out here a couple of months ago.”

“And she moved with you?”

“Not exactly.” I take a sip of my whiskey. “She came to visit me out here. Ended up meeting one of my neighbors, a guy called Dane. They fell hard. Now she lives with him in his cabin, about ten minutes away.”

“How romantic.” Emma smiles wistfully. “It’s great that she lives nearby. You two must be very close.”

“We are. I’m a lot older than her, so it feels more like I’m her dad sometimes.” My throat tightens, and I clear it roughly. “We had a kind of complicated home life, so I pretty much raised her myself.”

“Oh.” Emma’s face falls slightly. “That sounds tough.”

“It was. More for her than for me. Our parents treated her like shit.” I clench my fists, forcing myself to quench the familiar anger that rises up every time I think of them. “She’s okay now, though. Happy. That’s what matters.”

“She’s so lucky to have you,” Emma says, smiling at me with something like affection in her eyes.

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