Page 8 of Wild River

“I’ll take you to my cabin,” he says, still unbuttoning. “We’ll find you some clothes and other supplies, we’ll check over your injuries, and then you can do whatever you want fromthere.” Shrugging off the shirt, the man holds it out to me, his expression pained. “Please put this on. You’re… it’s very distracting.”

Lips pressed together against a laugh, I take the shirt and pull it on. The fabric is damp and musty with river-smell, but it swamps my body and covers everything up. It blocks the cool mountain breeze too, and I immediately feel warmer. Steadier. Safe.

My pulse calms.

“The name’s Becca,” I say, working on the buttons and giving him a teasing smile. My stomach flutters again when his mouth twitches in response. Hedoeslike me. Or he tolerates me, anyways, even though I’ve clearly thrown off his whole day. “Since you didn’t ask.”

“Jake,” he says, with a gruff nod. “Since you didn’t ask either.”

I beam at him, and he huffs a reluctant laugh. His boots scrape as he turns away, squinting at a path into the trees.

His arms are bare now, with goosebumps rising on his bare skin and his soaked clothes clinging to his body. He looks so sturdy—like he completely belongs in this wild landscape of rocks and mountains and trees.

“I won’t take you against your will, obviously.” He addresses the forest as I roll his massive sleeves up my forearms. “But I’d really like to take you to my cabin and help you out, Becca. It’s gonna mess with me otherwise. I’ll worry.”

Warmth spreads through my chest like liquid gold. Has anyone ever worried about me before? About me as a person, not just as a source of potential embarrassment to the family? I don’t think so.

“Okay, Jake.” It’s a nice name; simple and solid. It suits him. “That works for me. Steal me away to your lair.”

He snorts and starts to turn away, ready to lead me there, then glances back at my bare feet.

“Shit.” His chest rises and falls, like he’s sucking in a deep breath. “I’d better carry you after all. There are snakes around here. You shouldn’t go stomping through the woods barefoot.”

I’m already bouncing on my toes, grinning, ready to fling myself into the stern mountain man’s arms. And maybe thisisall a dream, or a hallucination from whacking my head on a river rock. Surely it’s too good to be true otherwise.

“Incoming!” I leap at his chest, all my bumps and bruises long forgotten. Honestly, I haven’t felt so alive, sogood,in years. I’m giddy with it.

Jake yelps, scrambling to catch me, then hitches me up bridal-style. He’s breathing hard, giving that exasperated frown again, but it melts away when I boop him on the nose. He stares at me from mere inches away, completely baffled.

“Whoareyou?” he asks, almost to himself.

I shrug cheerfully. It’s a new day, the first one of the rest of my life. “I haven’t decided that yet.”

“Maybe I’m dreaming,” he mutters. “I fell asleep fishing and now I’m dreaming.”

My arms loop around his neck. “But it’s a good dream, right? A fun one, at least.”

Jake ponders that, turning for the trees. “Yeah,” he says at last, striding toward the path that plunges into the forest. “It’s a good one.”

Hopefully he still thinks that when he realizes I’m as real as it gets, baby. A flesh-and-blood woman who needs his help, with tons of baggage and nothing to offer in return except a smile and heartfelt thanks. People love that, right?

“I’m gonna make this up to you,” I say, adjusting his cap where it’s slipped forward. Touching him just feels so natural, soright. “I promise. I’ll pay you back for rescuing me somehow. I will.”

Jake sighs and hitches me higher against his chest. “I work for Mountain Rescue. Just doing my job.”

Well, whatever. It still means the world to me.

Four

Jake

The only folks beside myself who have ever seen inside my cabin are my sister Brooke, her husband Hunter, and my niece Ellie. No other soul has stepped foot past the doorway. There aren’t even previous owners who can lay claim to that knowledge of my cabin, because I built it myself a few years back, board by board, nail by nail. It’s not perfect, but I constructed this whole place from scratch.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t invited anyone else from the town to drop by. I’m over-protective of my home, too paranoid that someone will point out a wonky fixture or scuffed up floorboard and I’ll feel it like an ice pick in my chest.

Or maybe I’m just a grumpy, reclusive bastard. That’s what Brooke and Hunter always say, teasing me for hiding myself away in the mountains when I used to be such a social kid in high school.

What can I say? The older I get, the more I’m sure that the trees are better company than people anyways.

---