Page 1 of Huckleberry Hill
Chapter One
The Ranch
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“Oh, shit!”
I fumbled with my keys as the grizzly bear ambled from the tree line twenty yards from the cabin’s porch.
The waxing moon bathed the four-hundred-pound predator in a bright glow, yet there wasn’t enough light to help me get the key into the lock.
“Come on,” I muttered when the key refused to go in.
The grizzly stood on its hind legs for a moment and sniffed the air, and then charged.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
Just as the key slid into the lock, lights flicked on inside the cabin. The door opened, and before I could react, someone grabbed me by the shirt collar and yanked me inside. The door slammed behind me but the force of being pulled inside propelled me into a warm, bare chest, and we both tumbled to the ground in a blaze of tangled limbs and curses.
A grunt of pain, followed by a breath of air in my face told me I’d knocked the wind from his lungs as I lay atop him.
The scrape of claws on the wooden porch made terror churn in my stomach. There was a huff and a loud sniff.
I looked over my shoulder to make sure the door was really closed.
Bear paws thudded across the porch steps and all sound disappeared. No doubt the grizzly went back to the woods, in search of an easier midnight snack.
“I usually buy a woman a drink before winding up in this position,” wheezed the man.
“Sorry,” I cried, scrambling to get off him. But in my haste, I accidentally kneed him in the ribs. At least it wasn’t his?—
He grunted again.
“Woman, are you trying to kill me?” he rasped.
I leaned my back against the door and raised my knees to my chest.
“No,” I replied. “Wait, is that a rhetorical question?”
He arched a dark brow at me.
Awareness flooded my stomach when I finally realized the man I’d fallen on wasn’t wearing a shirt. And his gray sweatpants were riding ridiculously low. Low enough that I could see the V of his stomach . . . and the smattering of dark hair the same color that was on his head trailing down even farther out of sight.
He sat up and ran a hand across scruff covering his angular jaw.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “And what are you doing in my family’s guest cabin?”
“Your family?” He cocked his head to the side and peered at me with blue eyes the color of a North Idaho sky before a storm. “Ah, you must be one of Connor’s daughters.”
“Hadley Powell,” I confirmed. “And you are?”
“Declan Brewer.” He flashed a pleasant grin. “The new wrangler.”
“New? How new?”
I had talked to my father and grandmother recently. They hadn’t mentioned a new wrangler.
“Got to Elk Ridge about a month ago.” He bent his legs and stood. Declan held out a hand to me.
