Page 6 of Her Mountain Man Grump

“You go find the manager and I’ll grab some food for tonight,” I tell her. “Meet me back here when you’re done.”

She opens her mouth like she’s about to argue, but seems to think better of it when she sees the stubborn look I’m giving her.

“Okay.” Then she smiles at me. “Thank you, Brody.”

For a second, I think she’s about to hug me. Her curvy body leans toward me slightly, almost closing the gap between us, but then she sucks in a breath and walks past me instead. She doesn’t look back. My pulse thumps as I watch her go, hergorgeous red curls bobbing as she walks, her dress hugging her rounded ass.

Why does she have to be so goddamn perfect?

Trying to ignore the growing bulge in my jeans, I force myself to turn away, grabbing a shopping cart and pushing it through the aisles. I fill it with plenty of food for Emma and me, as well as some essentials for her cabin—soap, towels, cutlery—and the cart is nearly overflowing by the time I reach the checkout and pay for everything.

Emma is already waiting for me back at the entrance, and when I finally reach her, my heart sinks at the disappointment on her face.

“No luck?” I ask.

Emma shakes her head, wincing as a shopper passes too close to her.

“Let’s get out of here,” I tell her firmly. “Come on.”

With one hand on her arm and the other pushing the shopping cart, I steer Emma out of the store and back toward my truck. She seems to relax slightly now that we’re in the parking lot, but despair still weighs heavily on her face.

“I talked to the store manager,” she says softly, helping me unload bags into the truck. “She was nice, but she told me I need a Social Security number if I want to apply for a job.”

I pause, shopping bag in hand. “Is that a problem?”

“I don’t have one,” Emma says, her cheeks reddening.

“You can get a replacement?—”

“No, I mean I’ve never had one.”

I nod, comprehension dawning. “If you weren’t born in the US?—”

“I was born here.” She wrings her hands, looking at her feet. “But I don’t have any official papers.”

I frown. “You must have a driver’s license, though?”

Emma’s silence is an answer in itself, and my confusion deepens. This girl drove all the way from New Mexico without a license? She was born here but doesn’t have a Social Security number? A birth certificate? Not a single document that proves she exists?

“I don’t know what to do,” she says, more to herself than to me. She looks so lost, and something tugs at my chest. This girl is melting my damn heart. She’s so young, so vulnerable, and all I want to do is hold her—make everything okay. Hell, I’d be happy to take care of her for as long as she needs, but something tells me she wouldn’t accept that.

But maybe there’s another way…

“I’ll give you a job,” I say.

Emma blinks up at me, her eyes like molten chocolate. “What?”

“You can help me finish renovating the outbuilding. Can’t afford to pay you much, but I’ll feed you.”

It’s not a perfect solution; I don’t have enough money to give her a good wage. But at least it will give her some breathing room while she sorts out her papers.

“Really?” she asks. “You mean it?”

“Sure. You can help me build all the furniture for the kitchen and the living room. I could use another pair of hands.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

She’s looking at me like I’m some kind of hero, but my motives aren’t exactly unselfish. Giving Emma a job is the perfect excuse to spend more time with her and figure out what her story is. Hell, now I can stare at her curves all day…

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