Page 9 of Branded Mountain Man
"Because I care about you." The words slipped out before she could stop them, raw and honest and completely unprofessional.
Colt stared at her for a moment, something shifting in his expression. Then his face hardened again. "No, you don't. You care about doing your job. About being the therapist who cracked the tough case."
"That's not true."
"Prove it."
"How?"
"Stop analyzing me. Stop trying to get me to open up. Stop pretending this is anything other than what it is—you doing your job."
Sloan felt something crack inside her chest. "And what if I can't? What if this stopped being just a job somewhere between you making me coffee and showing me how you rebuilt those stairs?"
The honesty in her voice seemed to catch Colt off guard. His anger faltered, replaced by something that looked almost like vulnerability.
"Then you're making a mistake," he said quietly.
"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make."
They stared at each other across the small space, the air thick with tension and unspoken truths. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Sloan glanced up at the sky. Another storm was building—the third in as many days.
"We should head back," Colt said, but he didn't move.
"Colt—"
"Don't." He held up a hand, stepping away from her. "Whatever you're about to say, don't. Because if you're right, if this isn't just therapy for you, then we have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"The kind where people get hurt."
Before Sloan could respond, the first fat raindrops began to fall. Within minutes, it was coming down hard enough to make the trail treacherous.
They made it back to the tower just as the storm hit in earnest, both of them soaked and breathing hard from the climb. But the physical distance between them felt like nothing compared to the emotional chasm that had opened up.
"I need to change," Sloan said, grabbing dry clothes from her pack.
"Yeah." Colt moved to the window, presenting his back to her. "Me too."
As Sloan peeled off her wet shirt, she caught sight of Colt's reflection in the glass. He was watching her, his expression unguarded for just a moment, and the raw want in his eyes made her breath catch.
Then he noticed her looking and turned away abruptly.
"This isn't working," he said, his voice rough.
"What isn't working?"
"This. Us. Whatever this is." He pulled off his own wet shirt, and Sloan saw the scar tissue covering his left side. But this time, instead of looking away, she studied it openly.
"Someone branded you," she said quietly.
Colt went very still. "It's not what you think."
"Then tell me what it is."
"It's mine to carry."
"I know. But you don't have to carry it alone."
