Page 11 of Harvested By The Mountain Man
He laughs, and the sound is a deep rumble … like a happy earthquake.
I could leave it there. I could keep this surface-level, safe. Instead, a small part of me leans in and says, “Her dad … he left a while ago. We’re fine. We’re better than fine.” I let out a breath. “Trust is complicated.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”
The swing slows. His shoulder is close enough that I can feel the warmth of him through the whisper of space between us. He smells like … something I can’t quite describe. Whatever it is, it’s delicious and very masculine.
“I don’t usually invite people to sit here,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even … I mean, it’s been a long time since I …” I trail off, embarrassed by my own clumsiness.
He doesn’t make me finish. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says. “Conversation included.”
“I know.” Finally, I meet his gaze and it’s almost painful, but I want to. He looks at my mouth for a fraction of a second before catching himself and lifting his eyes back to mine.
Somewhere down the street, another car passes and keeps going. He clears his throat gently. “I should go. It’s late. You’ve got school in the morning.” A small smile touches his mouth. “Well, Ivy does.”
“Yeah, Monday will be here soon.” My hands don’t seem to want to move even though my head nods. “Thank you for the … frontier medicine.”
He stands, and the swing tilts a little. I steady myself on the chain. He reaches out as if by reflex to catch the back of the swing. His hand just barely grazes my shoulder, and I shudder from the slight touch. He pulls back slowly, careful like a man defusing something fragile.
“I’m around the ranch most days,” he says, eyes on mine. “If you need anything … or if the champion pumpkin tries to roll away.”
I huff a laugh. “I’ll nail it to the porch.”
“Are you going to carve it?” he asks, looking it over once more. “I’d be happy to give you and Ivy a hand with it.”
“Let me ask her first,” I say, using Ivy as my excuse not to give a solid answer.
We hover in that awkward, sweet space where goodbye could become something else if a person wanted to make a mess of their life. I don’t. Not tonight.
“Good night, Hannah,” he says, my name doing a strange, traitorous thing to my knees.
“Good night, Levi.”
He steps down from the porch. He then turns back around and pulls out his wallet. He rummages for a second and hands me a card.
“Anything you need, here’s my number,” he says, smiling. His eyes twinkle as he looks at my reaction. “Anything, Hannah. Give me a call.”
“I will,” I say, and it’s the bravest thing I’ve said in a long time. Because as much as I’d love to just jump into his arms and hug him right now, I’m a coward. He seems too interested. Too good to be true.
He heads down the walk. At the sidewalk, he turns and lifts a hand. I lift mine back. Then he’s a dark shape moving toward the truck, a door closing, an engine turning over.
I sit on the swing until he’s driven away, my thumb moving back and forth over the card he just gave me. My guard is still there, but it doesn’t feel like a wall tonight. More like a gate I’ve set my hand on, undecided whether to push it open.
Chapter 10
Levi
The truck cab is quiet. I don’t want the distraction of music … or anything. I simply want to memorize everything that just happened with Hannah on her porch. Because there’s no denying it now … I want her. Not in the casual, easy way a man notices a pretty woman. This is heavier. Physical. Real.
The shape of her sitting beside me on that swing is burned into my mind, down to the way her shoulder brushed close enough that my whole body tightened. I’ve hauled lumber, driven fence posts, lifted heavy objects – but none of it hit me like that one quiet moment did.
I’m glad I went. Hell, if I’d sat in the truck any longer debating with myself, I’d have lost my mind. Seeing her there under that porch light, accepting what I brought, letting me sit a while – it felt right.
Still, I can’t shake off a sense of worry. I gave her my number and invited her to call if she needed anything. She said she would. But will she really? Or will that card end up shoved in a drawer, safe but forgotten? She’s cautious. I heard it in every pause, saw it in the way she glanced toward the door like she was guarding more than a sleeping child. I can’t fault her for it, but I also can’t help hoping she’ll take the chance.
What happened to her? A woman doesn’t build walls that high unless something made her. The way she said trust is complicated. Those weren’t just words. They came from somewhere, from someone who let her down hard. I don’t know the story yet, but I want to. More than that, I want her to see that I’m not going anywhere.
I lean back and let myself replay it all. Yeah, I’m hooked. No sense pretending otherwise. The road narrows as it climbs the ridge. Trees crowd close on either side, and the air takes on that sharper edge I only ever find up here. Twenty minutes later, my cabin comes into view, half hidden in the pines. Dusk to dawn porch light waiting.
