Page 8 of Spooking the Mountain Man
Callum:How's town?
I stare at the message for a moment, surprised. Callum doesn't seem like the texting type.
Me:Good. Found a book about a grumpy mountain man. Very realistic.
Callum:Smart mouth.
Me:Is that your professional opinion?
Callum:Among other things.
The response makes me blush for reasons I can't entirely explain. There's something flirtatious about it, something that makes me wonder what those "other things" might be.
Me:When will you be done with work?
Callum:Few more hours. Stay where there are people.
Me:Bossy.
Callum:You have no idea.
Oh my.
I stare at the message until my cheeks are burning, then quickly shove my phone back in my pocket. Mrs. Peters gives me a knowing look from behind the counter, like she can tell exactly what kind of thoughts I'm having.
I buy the mountain man book along with two others, then head to Pinewood Cafe for lunch. The afternoon passes pleasantly enough. I eat a turkey panini, read a few chapters of my new book, and watch the people of Darkmore go about their daily business. It's peaceful, normal, and exactly what I need after months of walking on eggshells around Derek's moods.
By the time I walk home, the sun is starting to set, painting the mountains in shades of gold and orange. The house feels different when I unlock the front door – not empty, exactly, but expectant. Like it's waiting for Callum to come home too.
I'm making myself a cup of tea when I hear the rumble of Callum's truck in the driveway. A few minutes later, he comes through the back door, bringing the scent of pine and sawdust with him.
"How was your day?" I ask, like we're married or something. The thought makes my cheeks warm.
"Good. Productive." Callum's eyes do that quick sweep of my body again, like he's checking to make sure I'm in one piece. "No problems in town?"
"Unless you count Mrs. Peters trying to set me up with her nephew, no."
A weird jealous look flickers through Callum's expression. "Her nephew's an idiot."
"You know him?"
"Unfortunately." Callum moves to the sink to wash his hands, and I try not to stare at the way his shirt pulls tight across his back. "He's been arrested twice for public intoxication and once for trying to steal a stop sign."
"Ah. Well, I'll be sure to let Mrs. Peters know he's not my type."
"What is your type?" The question comes out casual, but there's an edge to Callum's voice that makes me look at him more carefully.
What is my type? Six months ago, I would have said Derek – charming, well-educated, ambitious. But Derek turned out to be controlling and manipulative, more interested in molding me into his ideal woman than loving me as I am.
Now, standing in this kitchen with Callum MacReady, I'm starting to think my type might be something entirely different.
"I don't know," I say honestly. "I thought I did, but I was wrong."
Callum turns to face me, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. "What did you think you wanted?"
"Someone successful. Sophisticated. Someone who would take care of me but also challenge me to be better." I laugh, but it doesn't sound particularly amused. "Turns out there's a fine line between challenging someone and tearing them down."
"He was a jerk," Callum says flatly.
