Mountain Man

by Sherilee Gray

  “It was nothing,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

  “It wasn’t nothing. God, how far did you have to carry me?”

  He shrugged his big shoulders. “Four, maybe five miles.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Five miles?”

  He shrugged again.

  “How did you…I mean, I’m no lightweight…how did you carry me that far?”

  He frowned, an expression that said he thought what I was saying made no sense. “I’ve carried deer more than twice the size of you.” Then he turned away again—like what he said was a full explanation, and his feat of immense strength was nothing—and stirred his stew. Which was starting to smell amazing, its rich aroma filling the small cabin.

  “What kind of name is Birdie?” he asked suddenly, back still to me, his deep voice making my lower belly quiver.

  “Well, it’s a family name. My grandmother was named Birdie.”

  He grunted again.

  I opened my mouth to say something and my stomach growled. Loudly.

  His head swiveled on his thick neck, eyes coming back to me, and I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw his lips twitch behind that thick beard. No, I was sure of it, because his eyes lit up as well.

  And the effect was breathtaking.

  2

  Hank

  I was trying to ignore her, but it wasn’t working.

  Throughout my life, I’d turned ignoring people into a fine art. Now no one bothered me, accept for my twin brother, Beau.

  But the woman behind me…

  Images of her near-naked body fired through my mind. I felt my face heat again and willed my body to calm the hell down. What kind of sick asshole got hard over an unconscious woman? A woman who would probably be dead if I’d found her even fifteen minutes later.

  I had.

  I’d tried not to look as I’d stripped her bare, as I’d pulled off her wet clothes as quickly as I could, and put her in my bed. I’d done the only thing I knew to warm her up. I used my body. But as soon as her soft, full curves had pressed against mine, the fucker between my legs had swelled and stiffened until I was in pain.

  Guilt had socked me in the gut. Disgusted with myself over my reaction to a defenseless woman.

  Thank the Lord she hadn’t woken up when I was in that state. She was scared enough of me as it was. Most women were. Not that I’d encountered many. My face heated again when I thought about the one time I had. The fumbling overeager rutting that was over too fast with the only woman I’d touched intimately. Fifteen minutes of humiliation, arranged by my grandfather on my nineteenth birthday.

  I shoved that thought away, grabbed a bowl, and ladled in some stew. I might suck at conversation—hell, at everything when I wasn’t solo—but I could at least feed her and keep her warm. I had plenty of meat and vegetables, flour, eggs. Enough supplies to last a few weeks if we were snowed in that long.

  The thought had me fumbling with the spoon I’d just picked up.

  Another gut punch, only this time it wasn’t guilt that caused it, it was something else, something I had no right even thinking about, but when I turned to her, dressed in my shirt, sitting in my bed, it was all I could think about.

  Birdie was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

  I dumped the spoon in the bowl, strode over, and handed it to her.

  She smiled up at me. “Thank you, this looks and…” She breathed in deep. “Smells amazing.”

  Her fingers brushed mine as she took it, and just like when I put my grandpa’s ointment on her leg, zaps of pleasure shot up my arm. I jerked my hand back, retreating a step. “It’s just stew.”

  She was blinking up at me like a baby owl. All innocent and soft, and in that moment, I hated how difficult this was for me. Beau would already have had Birdie charmed. Women flocked to him. I just had to look at Birdie and I frightened her.

  And since we were identical twins, I knew it wasn’t my looks that freaked her out, it was just…me. Though, I guess, I was bigger than my brother. My size did sometimes disconcert people.

  “My grandpa used to say God used extra fertilizer when he made me,” I said, attempting to put her at ease. Maybe make her smile?

  Instead, her mouth opened and closed, and opened again. “Ah…he did?”

  Christ, what the hell was I doing? She had to think I was crazy. I shoved a hand through my hair. Why the hell was I even trying? I’d been in the company of a beautiful woman for only a few hours—and most of that time she’d been unconscious—and I was already acting like a fool. “Let me know if you want more.” I motioned to her bowl. “There’s plenty.”

  She nodded, finished chewing her mouthful, and asked, “Your grandpa? Are you close?”

  With her eyes on me like that, my pulse started to race a little faster. “He passed some years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  They weren’t just words. I could see she actually meant them. “Yeah, we were close. He brought me and my twin brother up.”

  Her gaze dropped lower, and I felt it like she’d run her hands down my chest. “There’s two of you?”

  That’s all it took, her eyes on me like that, and my cock started to swell. I didn’t have much cause to talk to women. I only saw people when I went into town every couple of months. And besides that one humiliating encounter, I made do with my fantasies and my fist.

  I’d never seen a woman like Birdie in the flesh, only in those fantasies. She was curvy, rounded hips, soft belly, smooth skin, and big soft—

  I quickly dragged a chair out at the table and sat my ass in it to hide what was going on in my pants. I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Same height, but he’s not quite as…large as me.”

  A small smile curled her lips and my racing pulse started to beat even faster.

  “Ah, so that’s why your grandpa said God used extra fertilizer?”

  My face felt hot again, and I was glad I had my beard to cover most of it. How many twenty-seven-year-old men blushed just because they were talking to a pretty woman? “Yeah.”

  She chewed and swallowed another mouthful. “Have you lived up here, on these mountains, all your life?”

  I shifted in my chair and nodded.

  Her head tilted to the side, exposing more of her delicate neck. “What about your brother?”

  I didn’t like answering a lot of questions, mainly because I didn’t like talking. Talking meant interacting with people. I couldn’t avoid Birdie—we were stuck together for the next week at least—so I guessed I could answer her questions if it made her feel more at ease, and I assumed by her smiles, it was.

  “He left for a while, missed it, now spends part of the year up here, part working on a ranch just out of town.”

  Her dark brown, wavy hair had slid to one side, and her big brown eyes were still on me, wide and so pretty I had trouble looking directly at them. “And you chose to stay behind?” she asked.

  I had to clear my throat again to speak. “Gramps needed someone to stay and help out.” I shrugged, not touching the part about how tough those years were, how much I’d missed my brother, and how helpless I’d felt when my grandfather got sick.

  Those big brown eyes turned sad. “You must have missed him.”

  I couldn’t answer. That look in her eyes made my gut tighten in a way I didn’t like. That was enough talking for now. I climbed to my feet and got busy dishing myself up some dinner. At least the topic of conversation had succeeded in taking away the heavy ache behind my zipper. I stayed standing, leaned over the short wooden bench I’d put in last summer, and shoveled my food down, trying not to look at her again. I heard movement, but didn’t look up.

  There was a crash, then she cried out.

  I spun around to find Birdie on the floor, her empty bowl and spoon on the ground beside her. I stared down at her in shock. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, not really, but I guess I put too much weight on my ankle,” she said with a wince.

  I strode over, try
ing not to look at her legs or the way my shirt had ridden higher, exposing her soft, pale thighs.

  Jesus Christ.

  I swallowed audibly.

  I could see the thin scrap of lemon yellow fabric that covered the soft heat between those lovely thighs. Beau used the term pussy to describe that part of a woman, and I suddenly understood why. I’d never wanted to stroke anything more in my life.

  I’d tried not to look at her panties when I’d undressed her, and failed. It was only for a second, and I felt terrible for doing it, but knowing what that innocent-looking article of clothing covered, it did things to me.

  I had the strong and sudden urge to drop to my belly, crawl closer, and bury my face against her. Smell her, taste her.

  My mouth watered.

  I shoved my arms under her knees and behind her back and lifted her into bed again. “Don’t move from this bed again without my help. Your ankle looks worse than it is, but it won’t get better if you pull shit like that again.”

  Her eyes dropped to her hands that were pulling the covers back over her, and I watched her throat work. “You’re right. That was, that was stupid of me.”

  I frowned. “Not stupid.” I shook my head. “Just…be careful.” I felt like shit for barking at her, but I didn’t know what to say, so I shoved my feet in my boots and pulled on my jacket. It was still snowing outside, and I needed to make sure we didn’t get completely buried. “I need to shovel some snow, get wood.”

  “Okay,” she said softly.

  I stood there for several seconds longer, not sure what to say. In the end all I managed was a grunt then I stomped to the door and headed outside.

  I stayed out there until my hands and feet were numb, and then came back in with a load of wood for the fire, enough to get us through the night.

  I shut the door behind me and pulled up short.

  Birdie was on her back, one hand up by her face, the other on her belly. Her hair was spread across my pillow and her cheeks were rosy from the fire. My gaze dropped to her lips. They were puffy, fuller, like she’d been biting them.

  I quickly looked away, walked to the fire, and dumped the wood as quietly as I could on the hearth. But when I straightened, I couldn’t stop myself from looking back.

  What would those lips taste like, feel like against mine?

  I slammed my eyes shut and looked away again.

  The sooner I could get her off my mountain, the better.

  Birdie

  I woke with a start and it took me a few seconds to work out where I was. Then it all came rushing back to me. The hike, getting lost…Hank.

  I sat up in bed quickly and looked around. I was alone. But I had no time to contemplate Hank’s whereabouts because I also needed to pee so bad I thought my bladder might actually explode. My gaze flew around the room, looking for another door, a bathroom. There was no other door. The room was made up of a small area that was used as living, bedroom, and kitchen. There was a rustic, scarred wooden table and three chairs, a double bed, and various shelves, racks, and cupboards.

  No bathroom.

  And if I didn’t relieve myself in the next few minutes, I was going to actually pee in Hank’s bed. I shoved the covers back, and remembering my ankle this time, did my best not to put any weight on it and half hopped, half stumbled across the cabin.

  Peeing out in the open, where there could be bears and mountain lions, in freezing conditions did not sound fun, but neither did humiliating myself. I grabbed a cable-knit sweater that was hanging over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and shoved it over my head. It dropped down below my knees, giving me decent coverage. Doing the same hop/stumble routine, I made it to the door and grabbed the handle—

  “Where’d you think you’re going?”

  I jumped at that impossibly deep voice and spun on my good leg toward the fire. Hank was lying on the fur rug in front of the fire, up on one elbow, watching me. The single woolen blanket covering him slipped, falling away to reveal his bare chest.

  I blinked, mesmerized by the sheer muscled expanse of it…of him. “I, ah…I need to use the bathroom.”

  Hank climbed to his feet instantly. “I’ll take you.”

  “No…I’m fine. Really, just point me in the right direction.”

  “It’s not safe and there’s no way you’ll get there on that ankle.”

  The idea of him coming with me to pee was humiliating. “Hank…”

  “Boots,” he rumbled.

  Crap. I looked down and saw my boots by the door. Right. Bare feet were probably not a great idea if I was hoping to avoid frostbite. I tried to slide my injured foot into one and winced when pain shot through my ankle. There was no way I was getting that on. Now what?

  Hank strode to the bed, jerked a drawer open in the dresser beside it, and pulled something out, then was moving toward me.

  He dropped to his knees, grabbed my injured leg in one hand, and I watched as he slid on a thick knitted sock.

  I blinked down at him. “I don’t think socks will help.”

  He ignored me and did the same with the other foot.

  I opened my mouth again to speak, but my words were swallowed by a gasp when he swung me up into his arms, shoved his feet in his own boots, opened the door, and walked out, shirtless, into the snow.

  He stomped through the fresh powder to a little shed that I discovered was an outhouse when he pushed open the door.

  He placed me back on my feet. “I’ll wait out here.”

  “Right, thanks.” I was still trying to get my heart rate back under control after being held in his arms, cradled against his massive bare chest, as the door shut.

  Thankfully, there was moonlight streaming through a cutout on the back wall. It was freezing, and the floor was covered in snow that had made it inside. It soaked through my socks. I quickly did my business and was shivering so hard my teeth were clattering together by the time I opened the door. Hank scooped me up again and stomped back toward the cabin. The wind whistled around us and the snow, which was still falling, stuck to our hair and Hank’s beard.

  Even after standing out in the elements shirtless, his skin felt warm and I couldn’t stop myself from burrowing closer, seeking out more. His hold tightened around me and then we were back at the cabin and he was opening the door, walking in, and closing out the cold.

  He didn’t put me down. Instead he walked to the fire, stopped in front of it, and dropped to his knees again. He didn’t speak, just held me in front of the dying embers with one arm while throwing another piece of wood on the fire.

  My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. “G-god, I c-can’t get w-warm,” I said.

  As soon as the words left my mouth, we were moving again. Hank carried me to the bed, sat me in the edge, pulled off the wet socks, tugged the sweater over my head, and grabbed the edge of the covers.

  “In, Birdie.”

  I scrambled in and he threw them back over me, then stood there watching me. “Better?”

  The cold felt like it had soaked right down to my marrow. Not as bad as when I’d gotten lost, but it wasn’t pleasant either. My teeth were still chattering. “H-how are you not cold? You’re n-not even wearing a s-shirt.”

  He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’m used to the cold. I—shit, I’m not used to—” He cursed. “I should have put more clothes on you before I took you out there.” He strode to the fire and threw more wood on then turned back to me, like that would make an instant difference.

  I wasn’t getting warmer. It was almost like I was making the bed colder, which I knew must be impossible, but that’s exactly how it felt. I looked over at him, remembering how warm he’d felt and how cozy I’d been when I woke beside him the day before. I was too cold to care if it was inappropriate; I just wanted to be warm, and Hank was the source of some serious heat.

  I shoved the covers back. “Get in…please.”

  His thick brows shot up. “You’ll warm up soon. The fire just needs to—”


  “P-please, Hank.”

  His huge body stilled, like a startled animal. Finally, after standing there, jaw working for what felt like forever, he moved to the bed. I watched as he undid his pants and shoved them down, so he was only wearing his boxers. My lower belly warmed instantly, and I swallowed hard.

  “Move over,” he said, a growl to his voice that lifted the hair on the back on my neck.

  I did as he asked, and the bed dipped as he climbed in beside me. I had no shame at this point and rolled into his warmth immediately. I didn’t know this man, we didn’t know much about each other except for the little he’d told me, but I did know I could trust him. My initial fear had vanished sometime between him making me cocoa and being carried out in the snow to the outhouse in his strong, capable arms.

  The big man holding himself unnaturally still beside me, arms crossed over his chest, clearly uncomfortable, was no threat to me. He was far from it. And I felt…safe.

  I’d been on my own for a long time. Even when my mom had been alive I’d spent most of my time alone while she worked. There had been many occasions in my life when I’d felt unsafe or scared.

  When was the last time someone held me? I couldn’t remember.

  I didn’t have many friends. Well, you couldn’t really call the people I spent time with friends so much as coworkers. I’d never had a best friend—we’d never stayed in one place long enough. We’d moved a lot when I was a kid, never put down roots.

  I’d lost my mom eighteen months ago, and it turned out I was as restless a soul as she’d been. I was still living that life, sticking to myself, never staying in one place too long, and as nice as hugs and friends were, that was how I liked it.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t want to feel close to someone, to feel a connection to another human being from time to time.

  It had definitely been a while between times, though.

  When I moved to Eaglewood six months ago, I’d busied myself with work, with the small garden at the house I rented, and my hobbies. I hadn’t tried to meet anyone. I was also used to taking care of myself.