Page 10 of The Mountain Man's Second Chance Bride
About you, I want to say. About your hands on my body. About what it would feel like to be yours completely.
"Home," I say instead. "Manitoba, I mean. Tying up loose ends."
He nods slowly, studying me with an intensity that makes me wonder if he can somehow see right through me, through my flimsy excuse to the truth beneath.
"Still planning to stay, then?" There's something in his voice I can't quite read.
Now I look up, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Yes. If you'll let me."
Something shifts in his expression—not quite softening, but a subtle change nonetheless. "Got plenty of work to do around here. Could use the help."
It's not a declaration of love, not even close. But it's permission to stay, at least for now. And after last night's heated imaginings, it's enough to send my heartbeat racing.
"I'm stronger than I look," I say, finding my footing again. "And I'm a quick learner."
"I've noticed."
Does he know? Could he have heard me last night? The thought should mortify me, but instead, a strange sort of power unfurls in my chest. If he heard and he's still asking me to stay...
"What needs doing today?" I ask, forcing my voice to sound normal despite the riot of butterflies in my stomach.
"Roof on the greenhouse needs patching before the next rain," he says, all business now. "Can show you how, if you're interested."
"I'd like that."
As we finish breakfast and clear the dishes, a new understanding seems to hover between us. Nothing spoken, nothing acknowledged, but present nonetheless. Like we've moved past one barrier only to find another, more intimate one waiting.
One step at a time. He's given me permission to stay, to help. To prove myself.
The rest will come. I'm certain of it now.
I just have to be patient a little longer.
six
Josiah
Thelastnaildriveshome with a satisfying thunk, securing the final patch on the greenhouse roof. I sit back on my heels, surveying our day's work as the setting sun paints the mountains gold and purple. Beside me, Wynonna wipes sweat from her brow, her small hands surprisingly capable with a hammer. She's been working alongside me since dawn, patching the roof, hauling lumber, weeding the far garden beds, without a single complaint.
Homesteading is tough work and she seems up to the task. Not what I expected from a woman who's spent the last decade in the city.
"We did good," she says, satisfaction clear in her voice as she surveys the newly repaired roof.
"You did good," I correct, surprising myself with the admission. "Most city folks would've given up hours ago."
She grins, that bright smile that transforms her whole face. "Told you I'm stronger than I look."
I nod, allowing a half-smile in return. The easy companionship we've fallen into over the day feels dangerously comfortable. Like something I could get used to.
"Let's head back," I say, gathering the tools. "It's getting dark soon."
As we climb down the ladder, I find my eyes drawn to the graceful sway of her hips, the curve of her ass in those worn jeans as she steps from rung to rung. My cock stirs immediately, hardening against my will. Last night's memories flood back—the sounds that came through the thin cabin walls as she touched herself. Soft gasps, the rustle of sheets, that barely-muffled whimper as she climaxed that made me instantly rock hard.
I knew exactly what she was doing in that spare room. Knew and lay awake half the night afterward, my cock throbbing painfully as I wrestled with guilt and desire in equal measure.
She has no idea I heard her. Or at least, I don't think she does. She couldn't meet my eyes at breakfast, her cheeks flushed with what I now recognize as the lingering evidence of pleasure. The thought sends fresh blood surging to my groin, and I force my attention back to securing the tools in my belt, grateful for the concealing bulk of my work clothes.
We walk side by side toward the cabin, the day's physical labor having worn away some of the awkwardness from this morning. As we approach the porch, Wynonna stumbles slightly on a protruding root, and I instinctively reach out to steady her. My hand catches her elbow, and the simple contact sends that now-familiar electric current between us.
