Page 5 of Falling for the Mountain Man
This is going to be another few days of suffering from my end.
Nodding my head, I push my door open before he can say anything else that’ll risk causing my heart to give out.
The moment I step outside, the cold air sinks its teeth into me. I suppress a shiver as I circle the truck, hyperaware of the fact that, for the first time, it’s just the two of us.
Ryder moves to open the tailgate, his back turned, giving me a stolen moment to look my fill. My gaze traces the line of his shoulders, the way his jacket stretches just slightly when hereaches for the handle of the tailgate. Just a few seconds—that’s all I allow myself. A few seconds to feed this quiet, hungry thing inside me that aches to be closer.
I missed him. I’m not like Kallie—I can’t just fling myself into his arms and laugh off the way my pulse races at his nearness.
I’m still warm from our hug. Still replaying the way his arm felt around me, brief as it was.
The tailgate clicks open, and I snap out of it, reaching for my bag—but Ryder’s faster. His fingers wrap around the handle before I can even blink.
“I can get that—” The words tumble out too quickly, and my cheeks burn as he dismisses me with an easy shrug.
He doesn’t let go. His grip stays firm, and for a reckless second, I consider prying his fingers loose—just to feel the brush of his skin against mine.
He grabs Kallie’s, too, with ease. “You both pack light. Don’t worry about it.”
Final. Unbothered. Unlike me, who is always a freaking melty mess whenever he’s involved.
He lets me close the tailgate, then falls into step beside me, his pace unhurried. Mine matches—because if I slow down, maybe this won’t have to end so soon.
We reach the front door, and I hesitate, my voice softer than I mean it to be. “Um, thanks again for this. For letting me stay and all that.”
The words taste fragile on my tongue. Because no matter how warm they’ve made me feel, this isn’t mine to keep. They could take it back anytime—will take it back, eventually. The thought lodges in my chest like a splinter.
Then Ryder smiles. That same smile—the one that unravels me stitch by stitch, sending a swarm of butterflies loose in my ribs.
“You don’t have to keep thanking me.” His voice is easy, effortless, like he doesn’t realize he’s rewriting my heartbeat with every word. “It’s always good having you here. Wouldn’t feel normal not having you around.”
He might as well have set me on fire.
Before I can choke out a reply, he jerks his chin toward the cabin, already moving. “Now, let’s get inside before we freeze to death.”
Just like that, he’s acting like he didn’t just hand me a confession I’ll replay in the dark later, twisting each syllable until they sound like something more.
That’s the problem with Ryder.
He says things like that—simple, offhand truths that sink under my skin and stay there. He looks at me like I belong, and I’m left scrambling to patch up the cracks in my resolve.
How am I supposed to pretend I don’t love him when he keeps giving me reasons to?
3
Ryder
The first day was easy. Both women were exhausted from their travels, so they did nothing but hog up the space in the living room. Today, they’ve got more energy, happy to help me in the kitchen as we throw together an attempt at a feast for Thanksgiving.
I might not have a full-on turkey, but neither of them complains about the sliced deli I have with their names all over it.
They’re used to my ways. Typically, unless they’re here, I spend most of my time at the fire station. Not like I want to spend my time up here alone if I can avoid it. The quiet gets too heavy, the walls too close. This cabin was built for more than just one.
My eyes drag to Zaria without meaning to, a habit I’ve never been able to break. I watch her pull out a box of instant mashed potatoes, and I stifle a chuckle when she sniffs it to make sureit’s edible. I’m not that bad. But I like watching her figure my life out, piece by piece.
“You’ll probably find a packet of gravy in there, too, somewhere. Can’t guarantee it’ll be the best kind, but it’ll work out.” Approaching her, I reach up, easily grabbing the packets I know she’d have to stretch to reach. My shoulder brushes the shelf, and I catch the faint scent of her—pumpkin pie, thanks to whatever holiday-themed lotion Kallie insisted on bringing with her. “How about you pick?”
As she sets down the box in her hands, her fingers brush mine as she looks through the selection. The touch is a tiny spark, a jolt of static that travels straight up my arm and settles somewhere deep in my chest. Her nose instantly scrunches, and I have to look away before I do something stupid, like tuck the stray strand of hair behind her ear.
