Page 12 of My Protective Mountain Man

She takes the mug, fingers brushing mine, and smiles. “You didn’t have to.”

I grin. “I want to.”

She takes a sip and hums quietly with pleasure. I swear it nearly undoes me.

I sit back on my heels and look at her, really look at her, and say, “I still can’t believe you just ended up here. Onmymountain. Onmyporch. Like the gods dropped you off as some kind of gift.”

She blushes, eyes lowering. “I wasn’t exactly in great shape when I got here.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “You were perfect the second I opened that door.”

She looks up at me then, and something passes between us—heavy, warm, real. And I know I may have been alone a long time. But I was never meant to stay that way.

Not now. Not with her here.

I stand slowly and ease down beside her again, my arm wrapping around her shoulders, the mug of coffee warming her hands between us. The silence is soft, not empty. I glance at her face, half-lit by the morning light, and realize I want to learn every part of her. Her favorite songs. The way she takes hereggs. What makes her cry. What makes her laugh until she can’t breathe.

“I’ve been alone out here for a long time,” I admit quietly.

“I figured,” she replies, eyes still on her coffee. “It’s peaceful. But lonely too.”

“Yeah.” I swallow, feeling something tighten in my throat. “But I think… maybe I was just waiting.”

She turns her head, meets my eyes. “For what?”

I reach out and gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “For you.”

“Sierra,” I say softly, trying not to startle her.

Her eyes flick to mine. A flash of something—uncertainty, maybe guilt? It vanishes before I can place it.

“Yeah?” she asks, voice light, too light.

“Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything about you. Do you work? What do you do?” But she looks down and I can sense there’s something… off. I tilt my head. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

I sit forward. “You’re not.”

She gives me a tired smile and looks away. “Really. It’s nothing.”

But I can’t let it go. I won’t.

I shift closer and gently cup her face in my hand. Her skin is warm against my palm, soft, but I can feel the faintest tremble.

“You can tell me anything,” I say, my voice low. “I don’t care what it’s about. Whatever it is—you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Her eyes glisten just slightly, and I see her throat work as she swallows hard. Her lips part, like she wants to speak but can’t find the words.

She closes her eyes, leans into my hand just the tiniest bit.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

Of what? I want to ask.

But I don’t rush her. I wait.

She pulls away from my hand, just slightly, and I feel it like a cold wind straight to my chest.

---