Page 23 of Marked by the Mountain Man

“Surgeries,” he corrects. “They helped a lot, honestly. I’m pretty fucking good now. Though a bit less flexible in my lowerback. But before the surgeries, I could’ve never handled all that fucking forest parcours you and I did together today.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” I giggle, unable to wrap my mind around the past seven hours.

He rests his hand on my hip, stroking my flesh with his thumb, and setting my body on fire all over again. The chemistry between us feels like spontaneous combustion. I expect our flesh to start smoking.

He adds, “After the surgeries, I got addicted to pain meds and sleeping pills. I was a serious mess there for a while. If it weren’t for buddies like Roscoe Vaughn, who believed in me even when there was nothing to believe in, who knows what would’ve happened to me. He’s an Army Ranger who created a community for veterans and wounded warriors. We each receive fifty acres and assistance from the community, building a cabin and supporting one another, with our buy-in. So, that’s why I’ve given your brother more chances than he deserves. Because I’m well aware that without faith from others, I wouldn’t be here.”

I eye him gravely, leaning forward to kiss him. In a trembling voice, I say, “Thank God, you’re here, Hudson. Not only did you save my life, but I can’t imagine living without you, though everything’s happening so fast I can’t make sense of it all.”

“I’ve quit trying, Hot Stuff,” he replies with a lopsided grin. “Instead, I’m enjoying this magical ride and whatever else the Universe wants to bless us with. Let’s hope we’re done with the fucking rollercoaster and adrenaline rushes, though.”

We lie tangled in front of the fire, enjoying the feel of each other and the crackle of the logs. Suddenly, Hudson stirs, and I frown, not ready to move yet.

“We have to clean you up, so you don’t get a bladder infection. You’d kick my ass for that. I may still have a lot to learn about you, but I know you’re a firecracker. Stay here. I’ll be back.”

He returns with a warm washcloth, gently washing me, though I protest at first, not wanting to gross him out if there’s blood.

“Nothing about you could gross me out, Hadleigh. Besides, I’m the one who wrecked your pussy.”

“In a very good way,” I add, opening my arms and welcoming him back into them after he throws the washcloth in the washing machine along with our wet garments.

“We’re going to need clothes at some point,” he says, running his pointer finger along my jawline and snuggling into me. “Now, I want to know everything about you, Hadleigh,” he says, wrapping his big, muscular body around me and nuzzling my neck, his hot breath slowing as he relaxes into me.

My head spins. Where to start? “Well, you know I’m a SoCal longboarder …”

“How good a longboarder?”

“Decent. I can paddle out and catch waves with the best of them, though I prefer surfing Florida’s Emerald Coast or the Atlantic. As you know, the Pacific’s cold and tough with Great white sharks.”

“Bull sharks off Florida, and Great whites, too. Though the water’s the right temperature,” he grumbles.

“And how good a surfer are you?”

“I could give you a run for your money, I’d like to think. Though we won’t know for sure until we go out together. I’ve surfed longboards, too. But they’re not my fave.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if I would’ve stuck with longboards. Obviously, Dad surfed shortboards at Mavericks. But in San Diego, we used the longboards, and I still own the last one my dad bought me.” My voice catches, and Hudson pulls me closer, pressing his lips reassuringly to the nape of my neck. “With everything that happened, I refuse to use anything else.”

“I get it,” he says, nodding. “Though for me, it was my uncle that I was close to, growing up. My mom was too busy slumming around with a new guy every week, it seemed. I got fed up, early, dealing with all the douchebags trying to be my ready-made stepdad. So, Rick offered to take me in, and Mom was only too willing to let me go. She didn’t want all the responsibility of a kid anyway.”

“And is your Uncle Rick still alive?” I ask, tracing my fingertips up and down the swirling lines of the tattoos on his angular, hard shoulder.

“Yep, still tattooing in Kansas. I don’t know what it is about that place that holds him. He’s an old Harley guy, a member of his local VFA that moonlights as an old man’s motorcycle club. You know the type, I’m sure, from living in South Dakota.”

“It’s all about Sturgis,” I chuckle. “So, are you a big motorcycle guy?”

Hudson shrugs. “My Harley’s fun and all, but I like my Chevy dually just as much. I’m not in an MC or anything because I can’t stand the drama. But I do like taking long drives and seeing the country from the back of a bike.”

“It sounds fun,” I say, stretching and cuddling into him some more. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue? And yours?”

“Green. Like your eyes.”

“Talk about cheesy pickup lines,” he mutters, kissing my cheek and jawline, his hands roving over me and sending little sizzles along my naked flesh.

“It’s true,” I counter. “And honestly, I’m a little upset brown isn’t your favorite color like my eyes.”

“Well, it is my favorite eye color,” he replies with a lopsided grin.

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