Page 15 of The Mountain Man's Mail Order Temptation
“At first.”
I blink. What does that mean? “And after?”
He shoots me another look, this one tinged with sadness. “I learned to live in the shadows.”
I think back to the high security at his cabin and all the weapons. Whatever happened after changed him.
“Do you regret it?” The question slips out unbidden.
His head shake is almost imperceptible. “Only when I look at you,” he murmurs.
My breath catches. I have a hundred questions now, but he’s closed off again, and I know they won’t be answered.
We pass a small motel on the edge of town with a handful of cars. It’s a mix of older vehicles and expensive models like a shiny black SUV and a fancy European car. The kind Grant might drive. He can’t be here already, can he? It hasn’t been twenty-four hours since I left Denver.
Anson narrows his eyes at the vehicles and speeds up. “The grocery store is just ahead.”
We pass the cutest movie theater with an old billboard and a few small shops. The Gravy Lane Diner looks good. I’m about to suggest we stop there for lunch when I see the florist. The glass windows are painted with flowers and bright blooms are on display outside. I feel a pang in my chest. Maybe my dreams of owning a floral shop aren’t dead yet. There’s always hope, right?
“You like flowers,” Anson says.
“I do. Arranging them, selling them, seeing people light up when they receive them? It’s the best.”
“Heard the owner might retire next year. Maybe—” Anson swallows, keeping his eyes on the traffic.
My heart turns over, filling me with warmth. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He glances at me and offers the smallest smile.
It’severything.
We park in the grocery lot, and he scans the area. “Stay close.”
He trails me through the grocery store like an armed guard in black flannel. Instead of feeling suffocated by it, his protectiveness is making me hot.His hand guiding me away from passing carts, the heat of his body behind mine, the brush of fingers on my lower back. Every touch is casual. Every one makes me burn.I want his hands on me like they were when I woke this morning. Skin to skin. And with every heated glance, I’m starting to see him open up. Maybe I was wrong yesterday.
Maybe he wants me too.
That fleeting half grin flickers over his face once more when he tells me to get whatever I want.I load up the basket, saving the baking aisle for last.
When we reach it, I’m practically skipping down the row. My shoulders relax just looking at this sugary wonderland. I stack the cart withflour, sugar, sprinkles, sparkly paper baking cups, and every other bit of comfort I can find. I even toss in real kitchen equipment.Stirring the batter with his off-limits Ka-Bar is not the way to this man’s heart.
By the time we go to the checkout counter, people are gawking. Either at our cart or Anson. From the whispers I hear, huge mountain men aren’t that uncommon, but an Anson sighting is rare. Unicorn rare. They’re also nervous around him.
He pays the extravagant grocery bill without complaint and pushes the overloaded cart outside like it weighs nothing.
“Why are they acting like they’re scared of you?” I ask once we’re outside.
He stops on the sidewalk. Surprise flits across his face. He looks me over, a somewhat baffled expression in his eyes. As if I’m a mystery he hasn’t solved. “You don’t see me like they do.”
Right then, tires screech. I turn to see a black SUV leaving the parking lot in a hurry.
“Don’t move,” he growls, then he sprints after the vehicle, phone already in hand.
I watch him go. I shouldn’t stare, but the man runs like a panther.
“Hey, you new in town?” someone asks beside me.
I freeze, afraid it’s one of Grant’s men, until I turn to see a tall cowboy with his hat pulled low to shade his eyes. He’s leaning against a railing, one booted foot crossed over the other. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before. Let me help with your cart.”
