Page 46 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
Oh.
“Your shoulders will be sore tomorrow as it is.”
The walk back to the cabin is quiet, our footsteps muffled by the carpet of pine needles. The first stars appear in the darkening sky. I rub my shoulder where the rifle stock had pressed; the movement’s making me wince slightly.
“Ice will help,” he says once we’re inside, already reaching for the freezer. The cabin’s warmth is welcome after the cool mountain air.
“Thank you. That was good.” I can’t stop the pride from creeping into my voice as I press the bag of frozen peas he hands me to my shoulder.
“You’re a natural.”
The compliment warms me more than it should.
We fall into our tentative evening routine of Ben starting dinner while I settle on the couch with my book. But everything feels different now, normal, like we aren’t two strangers sharing a space under duress, but something else. Something… more.
Like how a couple would behave, having a quiet, cosy night by the fire.
I sigh, watching Ben work in the kitchen, imagining how nice it would be to come home to someone like him every day.
I catch him watching me too, several times, with something unreadable in his serious expression.
The air is charged with unspoken tension, or maybe, that’s just my imagination, as the memories of last night creep back in without the distraction of shooting practice.
After we clean up, him washing and me drying, moving around each other in the small kitchen with practiced ease, we settle by the fire. He’s in his usual chair with a beer, and I’m curled in the corner of the couch with a cold bottle dangling from my fingertips.
The fire crackles and pops, sending sparks up the chimney. Being so relaxed, combined with the slight buzz from the alcohol, makes me bold.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, breaking the comfortable silence.
He looks up from the flames. “Depends on the question.”
“Why are you really still single?” I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them. “And don’t give me the Lennox name excuse. There has to be more to it than that.”
He takes a long pull from his beer, considering my question. The firelight dances across his features, creating shifting shadows. “Most people want things I can’t give them. Dinners out. Movies. A social life.” He shrugs. “I tried dating when I wasyounger. Whenever I brought up the idea of building a cabin in the mountains… It was always a dealbreaker. I never met anyone who liked the idea… so I just kind of gave up.”
Burning jealousy sears through me at the idea of Ben with other women. That grizzly roaming outside isn’t the only creature feeling territorial on this mountain.
Unreasonable as it is, I’m feeling possessive of Ben. Like he’s mine. Like I’ve got some kind of claim on him.
“Because of the isolation?”
“Because of me. Turns out, I’m not great boyfriend material. Too quiet. Grumpy, even. I know that’s hard to believe.” He gives me a self-deprecating smile, ticking each perceived negative off on his fingers as he continues on. “Rude. Set in my ways...”
It irks me to hear him listing the ways people have told him he’s not good enough.
“Protective? Caring?” I supply. “A good listener?”
Handsome. Clever… The list is endless.
He snorts. “I was going to say antisocial.”
“There's nothing wrong with that, as long as you’re happy.”
He tilts his head and looks at me like it’s the first time someone’s ever told him he’s allowed to just be himself.
“What about you?” He turns the question around. “Beau said no boyfriend, but what about before this?”
Heat floods my face. “Oh, my dating history is a disaster. I always pick the wrong guys. Ones that want to get close to Amber, or who are supportive at first, until they realise how much travel is involved with my job. Or should I say, myoldjob.” I stare into my drink. “I haven’t had a relationship longer than six months since college, and no dates in about a year.”
