Page 2 of Wild for the Mountain Man
“I texted about an hour out. So before today, he didn’t know. Figured I’d surprise him.”
“He’ll like seeing you.”
I wonder if Wade likes seeing me.
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Tell you what, I’ll follow you up to your dad’s place and see you’re settled. Least I can do. I can limp this truck home fine.”
I flash a grin I hope hides how desperately I want another five minutes in his orbit. “Thanks, but if you change your mind, I’ll follow you to your cabin, just to make sure. Worst case, I get photos of a heroic roadside rescue.”
“Heroic, huh?” That half-smile again, closer to a real one. “Let’s not push it.”
Wade drops the hood with a careful thud, climbs in, and the truck coughs to life. I slide back behind my wheel. As we ease toward my dad’s place, I’m struck by how hard this man’s presence does something to me I can’t describe. Always has since I’ve been about sixteen. Wade is gorgeous but gruff. He’s haunted my daydreams and a few at night too.
We turn into my dad’s drive, and the porch door flies open.
“Pumpkin!” Dad barrels out, his arms wide. Wade kills the engine and steps back, giving us space. Dad crushes me to his flannel-clad chest.
“You made good time.” He releases me, eyes crinkling. “And you ran into trouble already?” He nods at Wade’s truck.
“Yeah. Found him on the side of the road, broke down.”
“Thermostat.” Wade’s voice is all ease now. “I’ll swap it out later. Figured I’d make sure Lilah got in all right.”
“Thanks, Wade,” Dad says fondly, clapping him on the shoulder. Then he looks between us, oblivious to the attraction I feel for Wade. “Come on, come on. Chili’s on the stove.”
I swallow. “I’ll just grab my bags.”
“I’ve got ’em,” Wade says, already reaching for my duffel like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And in his world, maybe it is.
I should tell him no. I should insist I can carry my own gear. Instead, I trail after him up the steps, noticing his strength and massive, muscular thighs in those jeans.
Inside, the house is warm and bright. I set my camera on the entry table and catch Wade’s profile as he passes down the hall. I’m here for a photography assignment, I remind myself.
But the moment I see him lift my suitcase again like it weighs nothing, my naughty little thoughts begin again. I have to get a grip before my thoughts start developing faster than the photos.
Chapter 2
Wade
Thermostat’s been sticky for a month and I’ve been too stubborn to fix it because I hate taking the old girl out of service when there’s work to do. But I didn’t expect a vehicle to squeal behind me like a spooked elk, either.
Lilah hops out, hair more blonde than I remember. Same eyes the same shade of her father’s. Same little chin on a face that’s almost angelic. She was an adorable child. Now she’s standing in the middle of the road — sunlight and trouble both aiming my way. She’s not little any more. She’s wrapped in womanly curves. Damn!
I’m friendly, welcoming, but a little gruff. It’s my normal mode — my go to when I don’t want people reading what I’m not saying.
Lilah seems confident, almost cocky. And bright enough to hurt a little if I look at her too long — just like the sun.
We talk about the truck which is safer ground. I keep my hands busy and my voice level and try not to notice the camera strap cutting across her sweater, the way she watches everything like the world is a secret it told only to her. She’s grown into herself … curves and all that beauty.
Dave’s going to be over the moon. He’ll feed Lilah and fuss over her. He’ll tell me she got his good side, which he doesn’t have but believes with religious conviction.
And me? I’ll be around. Because I always am. Because that’s my job in the life we built — Dave and me — back when our kids were sticky-fingered, loud, and everything was simpler. I fix what breaks. I scout the weather. I take people up the mountain and bring them back down in one piece.
When she offers to follow me to the house, I tell her no. It’s an unnecessary courtesy. But I make sure she gets to her dad’s just fine.
Dave’s waiting at the door like he heard us from a mile out. He wraps Lilah up in a big bear hug.
My boy, Caleb, is at a football practice, trying to pretend senior year doesn’t end in a door closing. I’ve been pretending not to notice, because noticing means feeling it. And I don’t want to think about how empty the cabin will be if I don’t have him around. I guess Dave’s already experienced that.
