Page 9 of Wild River

“This is us,” I announce, my tone more sure than I feel. Call me crazy, but a large part of mereallywants Becca to like this place.

And why wouldn’t she? My cabin sits in a secret grove in the forest, tucked in a gap between the trees. My truck is parked to one side, for when I need to get further afield than the few miles into town. At this time of year, wildflowers carpet the grassy clearing and birds flit past busily overhead, building nests. Their cries echo down from the canopy, and everything around us is green and vibrant and alive.

“Oh, wow.” Becca’s arms tighten fractionally around my neck, and she cranes to get a better view of the cabin as we approach. Her damp hair is snagged and tangled to shit in a crazy updo, with twigs and pine needles sticking out of it. What the hell was she doing before she fell in that river? “It’s like something out of a fairy tale. Or like one of those pictures you get on cozy jigsaw puzzles. Super cute.”

Relief coasts through me, and I breathe a little lighter as I stride across the clearing. Though I’ve been carrying Becca for half a mile, my arms aren’t too tired. Mostly, it feels really fucking good to hold her body so close to mine.

“I like those window boxes,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“Ooh, bird feeders too!”

“Yeah.”

Ellie likes spotting the birds as they flit down to the deck to feed. So do I. It’s restful. Which reminds me—

“Ah, shit. I left my fishing stuff back at the river.”

Becca bites her lip, her fingertips scritching through the hair on the back of my head. Makes me want to fucking purr. “I’m sorry. I’ll replace it, I swear.”

“No, no.” Should never have said anything, but I was just thinking out loud. Sure didn’t mean to make her feel bad. “Itdoesn’t matter. No one else goes to that spot, so I’ll pick it all up another day.”

The deck steps are sturdy beneath my boots, which are still squelching audibly from their dunking. When we reach the center of the deck, I pause, because there’s no real excuse to keep Becca in my arms from here. The decking and floorboards are all carefully sanded and treated, because Ellie runs around barefoot too sometimes and the last thing I want is to give a toddler splinters.

Still, it’s a real fight with myself to make my arms set Becca down. When her feet land on the deck and I have to straighten up without her, a miserable pang reverberates through my chest. Feels so wrong to have even a few inches between us.

Don’t be crazy, I tell myself, frowning as I stalk past to unlock the front door.Just ‘cause you fished her out of the river, that doesn’t mean you get any claim over her. She’s not a prize salmon.

“Brr,” Becca says, huddling close to my side as I work the key. “It’s cold out here when I’m not all bundled up against you.”

“It’s that mountain breeze. And you’re still damp.”

“Uh-huh.”

The lock clunks, and the door swings open.

“Better stay close then,” I hear myself say, even as we step inside out of the breeze. Becca hums and slips her hand into mine. My heart leaps.

Holy shit.

“This, uh…”

Come on, brain. Get back online. A beautiful woman is holding my hand, but that’s no call to lose the power of speech—even if my heart’s galloping faster than a stallion right now.

“This is my, uh. This is my cabin.”

No shit.

“It’s gorgeous,” Becca says, glancing around, her hand still clasped in mine. I look around too, trying to see the place with fresh eyes. Trying to see what she sees.

The furniture is basic but sturdy, each piece carved and built with love from local wood. Everything is lit by sunshine spilling through the windows. There’s a small kitchen with a breakfast bar; a sofa and coffee table; a rocking chair that Ellie loves to sit in. A bookcase; a log burner; woven rugs on the floor.

Two doors lead off the main space: one to the bathroom, one to the bedroom. Thank god that’s in a separate room, because if Becca cracked a joke about my bed, I might just burn to a crisp with arousal and embarrassment.

“Wow.” Becca squeezes my hand. “I can’t believe you get to live here. You’re so lucky.”

Heat spreads from the crown of my head all the way down to my waterlogged boots. Hearing her praise the home I built with my own hands… that’s one hell of a natural high.

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