Page 15 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
He freezes, sighs, and obeys, then sets it gently on the blanket between us.
Silence.
Ruby snatches it up, face redder than the fire. “That isnota chew toy,” she mumbles, stuffing it behind her back.
I keep my voice steady. “Looked durable.”
Her glare could melt ice. “Don’t.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Yousowould.”
“Probably.”
Ranger yawns, satisfied his midnight enrichment activity was a success. Ruby’s shoulders start shaking, and suddenly she’s laughing. I can’t hold mine back either.
When she finally collapses onto the couch, still giggling, I bank the fire and sit beside Ranger. The candle’s burned down pretty far. The room smells like spice and sin and laughter.
“Next time,” I tell the dog, “steal something less educational.”
He thumps his tail once in agreement.
Ruby wipes her eyes. “If my customers could see me now,” she says, voice still wobbly with laughter. “First I crash the van, then I chase a dog waving a…” She gestures vaguely. “… deluxe holiday edition.”
“Some people pay extra for that,” I say.
She gives me a look. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“Just a guess. I’m not up on the latest market research.”
She holds the package up to eye level, then tucks it behind her back again. “For what it’s worth, the craftsmanship is excellent. Would make a great stocking stuffer. For certain recipients.”
“Noted.”
She wraps her arms tighter, still holding her prize. A long moment passes. Ranger settles between us, chin on his paws, eyes darting from her to me like he expects the next round.
Ruby tucks her legs beneath her, glancing at me through a fan of hair. “You know, I always assumed if I got snowed in with a stranger, the worst thing that could happen would be … murder. Not humiliation by a dog and a vibrating ornament.”
I nod, solemn. “Most of my guests leave disappointed by the accommodations.” My mouth quirks. “Glad to exceed expectations.”
She lifts the candle stub, sniffs it, and says, “Sin-namon Nights: now with thirty percent more trauma.”
I want to say something reassuring, something that would smooth the awkwardness, but she’s already burrowing deeper in the couch, eyes bright above her knees.
“Hey, if it’s any consolation, Ranger’s done worse.”
She drops her head sideways, considering. “Worse than brandishing an adult toy at three in the morning?”
I glance at Ranger, who is now chewing the edge of a box and looking smug as only a dog can. “Last year he ate a pack of firestarter sticks and spent Christmas shitting neon blue.”
This delights her, which is a relief. We sit there, letting the laughter echo out. I watch the way she twirls the edge of her hair, how she keeps sneaking glances at me, as if she’s still weighing whether or not I’m about to bust a joke about her shop. I realize something. I do like the sound of her here.
She leans forward suddenly, like she’s about to tell a secret. The look she gives me is so direct it punches a hole right through the bullshit of the hour.
“Beckett? Are you scared of me?” she asks.
I freeze for a second. “No.” But the word lands blunt, truer than she’ll ever know.
