Page 2 of Keep Me, Knox
"They look healthy," I say softly. "Movement's good. Activity's normal. She must feel safe here."
He grunts, arms crossed. "She’s been squatting on my property for a few days. Thinks it’s a damn bear hotel.”
"Sorry. We don't offer eviction services."
This time, I catch the corner of his mouth twitch—barely—but it's there.
I don't know if it's the absurdity of the situation or the way his deep voice wraps around my nerves like warm flannel, but suddenly I'm very aware of the fact that I'm standing next to a half-naked stranger in the woods... and I don't want to leave just yet.
Chapter 2
Knox
I'vehadalotof creatures wander through my property over the years.
Bears. Elk. A wild turkey that somehow got drunk off fermenting crabapples and fell asleep in my wheelbarrow.
But none of them knocked on my front door.
And none of them looked like her.
She's standing beside me now, nose buried in some handheld tracking gizmo, notebook tucked under one arm, curls pulled into a messy ponytail like she didn't bother with mirrors this morning. Her boots are caked in mud. Her flannel's tied at the waist, sleeves rolled up, exposing strong forearms. And her jeans…damn, that ass is juicy.
She's got curves for days.
But she’s also strong and athletic. She’s clearly no stranger to hauling gear through the woods.Soft in all the right places, though…
I need to stop staring before she catches me drooling.
She glances up from the tracker and smiles a little, eyes still focused on the cub trying to eat a clump of moss like it's cotton candy. "They look good. Active, alert. I was worried the collar data was off, but it's spot on."
Her voice is low and warm. No fake cheer, no breathy performance like city women tend to slip into when they think a man like me might be useful for opening jars or moving furniture.
She doesn't need anything from me. She's just doing her job. And for some reason, that makes it worse.
I fold my arms across my chest, trying not to make it obvious I'm cataloging everything about her. Freckles across her nose, little smudge of dirt on her cheekbone, the way her chest rises and falls as she breathes deep, steadying herself in front of something wild.
She fits here. Like she belongs.
I push the thought out of my mind. Women like her don’t stay with men like me. I learned that lesson the hard way once before.
"Is she the only one you've got collared?" I ask, nodding toward the bear in my hammock, who's now trying to scratch her back on the fabric without spilling out of it.
"One of seven in this region," Sage says, eyes tracking the cubs as they clamber up the tree again. "But she's the only one with new cubs this year. We've been watching her den site since winter."
"You got a name for her?"
"178-A."
I grunt. "Figures. Boring government label."
She glances at me, amused. "You call her something else?"
I shrug. "Rosie."
Her brows lift. "Rosie?"
"She's been showing up here for two years now. First time was a late spring snowstorm. She curled up under the porch. Didn't even care that I was working in the forge. Just huffed and fell asleep like she owned the place."
