Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 39414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
She hesitates on the threshold. Not because she’s shy. Because she’s smart. Because she knows what this looks like—walking into a mountain cabin alone with a man who posted a bride ad.
Her chin lifts a fraction. “You’re not going to murder me, right?”
I look her over slowly, deliberately. The backpack. The tight grip on the strap. The way she’s bracing like she expects the ground to shift under her.
Then I meet her eyes. “Not unless you give me a reason.”
She lets out a breath that could be a laugh if it wasn’t edged with nerves. “Comforting.”
“I’m not here to comfort you,” I say, and my voice comes out lower than I mean it to. “I’m here to keep you safe.”
Her throat works as she swallows.
“Okay,” she says, like it costs her something. “Okay. Fine.”
She steps inside.
The door shuts behind her with a soft click that sounds too final. Her eyes sweep the cabin fast, taking inventory—kitchen, couch, hallway, the stacked firewood by the stove. It’s what people do when they’re looking for exits and weapons and threats.
Ellie’s always been good at reading a room. She’s better now.
Her gaze lands on me again, and the air shifts. Something invisible pulses between us, tight and hot, like a wire drawn too taut. She feels it too. I see it in the way her shoulders stiffen, like she wants to step back but refuses to.
“Jesus,” she mutters, then clamps her mouth shut.
“What?” I ask, though I already know.
She waves a hand between us like she’s swatting smoke. “Nothing. It’s just… you.”
I arch a brow.
She huffs. “You’re… Wyatt. You’re Wade’s—”
“Best friend,” I finish, because she can’t seem to get the words out without choking on them. “Yeah.”
Her cheeks flush, and I don’t miss the way her eyes flick to my mouth like she’s thinking something she doesn’t want to admit.
That’s fine. I can think enough for both of us.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she says, voice tight.
“Yet here you are.”
“I didn’t know it was you,” she snaps, and that’s the panic talking now, turning into anger because it’s easier to hold. “Your stupid ad didn’t say ‘Wyatt Cooper, local firefighter, the one man in town I absolutely should not—’”
“Should not what?” I cut in, calm.
Her lips part. Her eyes flare.
Then she shuts her mouth like she’s bitten her tongue.
Good girl.
She glares at me for even thinking that thought.
I fold my arms, letting the silence stretch. Letting her squirm. Ellie’s strong, but she hates not being in control, and right now she walked into my cabin off a listing she shouldn’t have answered.
She’s not in control.
She clears her throat. “Why did you post it?”
I shrug like it’s nothing, like this wasn’t a choice I made with my teeth clenched and my instincts screaming. “Because I needed to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you get for now.”
Her eyes narrow. “Wow. So secretive. Very normal. Definitely not serial-killer vibes.”
I step closer, just enough to make her tip her head back a fraction. I keep my hands to myself. For now.
“You’re in my cabin,” I say. “On my land. You want normal, you can go back down the mountain.”
Her jaw tightens. “I can’t.”
The words slip out before she can stop them.
“You can’t,” I repeat, soft.
She looks away, blinking fast.
“That’s what I thought,” I murmur.
Her gaze snaps back, sharp. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That… quiet voice thing.” She gestures at my face, irritated, flustered. “Like you’re reading me.”
“I am reading you.”
Her breath catches. She tries to cover it with attitude. “Well, stop.”
I smile without showing teeth. “No.”
She stares at me like she can’t decide if she wants to slap me or kiss me. The answer is neither, and both. It’s written all over her.
I nod toward the backpack. “That all you brought?”
Her lips press together. “Apparently.”
I don’t ask why. Not yet. Ellie’s pride is a live wire; if I yank on it too hard she’ll bolt. I want her here. I want her safe. I want her under my roof where I can keep my eyes on her.
I gesture toward the small hallway. “Bedroom’s down there. Bathroom’s first door on the left.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Bedroom?”
“You sleeping in the bed,” I say, like it’s not up for debate.
“And you?”
“Couch.”
A beat.
She snorts. “Sure you are.”
I lean closer, letting my voice drop. “You think you’re going to share a bed with me, sweetheart?”
Her entire body stills on that word.
Sweetheart.
It’s not a pet name I use. It’s a warning wrapped in velvet. I watch it hit her like a spark—something in her belly, something behind her eyes.
She swallows hard. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why?”
“Because…” She fumbles, angry at herself for fumbling. “Because you don’t get to.”
I tilt my head. “I don’t?”
“No.” She plants her feet like she’s about to draw a line on my cabin floor. “This is already insane. I’m not adding… whatever this is.”