Page 9 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men
“You didn’t have to,” she replied shortly. “It’s written all over your face.”
Just then an errant piece of snow found its way down my back, no doubt fallen from some overhead branch. As it melted uncomfortably against my skin, I fought back the urge to frown again.
“I don’t want to be here either,” she finished. “So if you’ll just take me home…”
“No one’s going anywhere,” I said, jerking my thumb backwards. “Not in that.”
“But—”
“Why didn’t you drop her off in town?” I demanded of the others. “She could’ve gotten a room, or—”
“Did you see her hand?” offered Oakley. “And her face?”
Forlornly, she held up a paw of white gauze. There was a laceration on her face too. Nothing too deep, but the line there was long, angry, and red. I felt a flash of rage at whoever had done it.
“What’s the big deal anyway?” prodded Ryder. “The storm was coming, and she was totally out of it. You should’ve seen her. Besides, it’s not like we don’t have the room.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t?” my friend scoffed. “And exactly why doesn’t—”
“Because when I pulled up, I saw more tracks.”
That silenced them. Their expressions grew abruptly serious as they looked at each other.
“I left early, because of the storm,” I continued on. “The shop was empty anyway. Soon as I pulled up, there they were.”
Oakley scratched at his chin. “Is that why you’re so covered in snow?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “I followed them into the woods. They went south this time, in an entirely different direction. I lost them when the snow piled up.”
“What kind of tracks?”
All three of us whirled on the lilting, feminine voice. It seemed way too soft and totally alien for the big cabin.
“What?”
“What kind of tracks were you following?” the blonde asked again. “Out in the storm?”
Was she challenging me? I wasn’t sure.
“Deer,” I lied.
“Oh. Are you hunters, or—”
“Look, I’m hungry. I’m tired. It’s going to snow all night, and we’ll need to get up early and shovel.”
I stomped past her, but not without running my eyes over her one last time. Shit, she was so tiny; barely even five-foot two. Soft skin kissed by the sun, and not this sun for sure. Wicked curves, though. Curves for days.
What the fuck are you doing?
The voice at the back of my mind was like a slap to the back of the head. It jarred me from my brief daydream, and brought me back to the moment.
“She can take the couch for tonight,” I declared, inhaling a hint of vanilla as I slipped past her.
“Bullshit,” Ryder fired back. “She can take Sarge’s room.”
“No.”
