CHAPTER 5
HARLAN
Fuck, she was stubborn. And clearly way out of her league and in over her head. But none of that stopped Jessa when she thought she had a chance to prove me wrong. I’d stood by while she googled lists of what to take on a camping trip. Hadn’t said a word when she packed the bed of her dad’s old truck with three times the crap she’d need for a two-night trip.
But as much as I was looking forward to seeing her slink back into town after not being able to set up the damn tent, I didn’t want her to get hurt. That was why I’d left Bubbles with Dane and begged Thatcher and Joely to cover the store for me this weekend. I’d made up an excuse about having to head to Bozeman to pick up some stuff for the damn adventure weekend so no one would think I was checking up on Jessa. If her brothers knew I was following her up the mountain to spy on her all weekend, they’d kill me.
I had to hand it to Jessa, though. For someone who hadn’t been back to Hard Timber in years and had zero experience on the rugged trails, she’d picked a hell of a place to camp. Bane’s Lookout had the best views of the mountains and the valley below but was the most remote. She’d had to park at the end of the road and hike at least three miles to her site. With no running water, no electrical hookups, and no modern facilities, she was all on her own.
The hiking was slow going since she hadn’t broken in her boots first and was trying to carry a pack that probably weighed almost as much as she did. I wasn’t worried that she’d catch me following her. I’d grown up hiking these trails and knew how to move through the woods without making a sound.
I kept waiting for her to give up and turn around, but she pressed on. By the time she got to her site, the sun hung low in the sky, and the stars had already started to appear.
A half circle of huge rocks provided the perfect coverage to keep an eye on her without being discovered. I waited impatiently while she read the directions on how to set up the tent. If she didn’t get moving, she wouldn’t have it done before dark. Camping around Hard Timber was relatively safe, but she needed to get a fire going to make sure she didn’t attract any unwelcome visitors like bears or wolves.
A half hour later, with the tent finally standing somewhat upright, she scouted the area for logs and kindling to start a fire. Anxiety swam through my belly. She should have had a fire going over an hour ago. But instead of interfering, I watched while she set the logs down and bent to grab the hatchet she’d brought. For one reckless second, I thought maybe she’d surprise me. That maybe she’d sink the edge into the log like she’d been born swinging an axe.
Instead, the thing bounced, clattering off the wood and smacking her shin. She let out a hiss, dropped the hatchet, and hopped around on one foot as she clutched her leg.
“Son of a?—”
That was it. I’d seen enough. I stepped out from behind the rocks. “You’re going to chop your damn leg off before you ever get a spark going.”
She froze, her eyes going wide before they narrowed into daggers aimed straight at me. “What the hell, Harlan? Were you following me?”
“Nope,” I said, crouching to pick up the hatchet. “I was keeping an eye on you in case you needed help.”
“I don’t need rescuing.” She snatched at the handle, but I didn’t let go.
“Really? You planning to bleed out on the mountain to prove a point?” My voice came out harsh, the sight of her rubbing her shin making my gut twist.
She yanked, finally wresting the hatchet free, but her hand shook. “You don’t get to swoop in here and act like I’m some kind of damsel. I can do this. I nicked my shin. It’s not like I cut off my leg.”
“Let me see.”
“I’m fine.”
“Jessa.” I dragged her name out, daring her to refuse me.
She huffed, but she rolled up her pant leg. The scrape had already beaded with bright blood, with a bruise blooming underneath. Nothing serious, but it stung to know she’d hurt herself while I stood by and didn’t do a damn thing. I fished a small first-aid kit from my pack, tore open a wipe, and cleaned the cut.
“Ouch, that stings.” She flinched, then glared at me like I’d caused the mountain to bite her. “Sadist.”
“Hold still.”
I wrapped a narrow bandage around her leg, my fingers brushing bare skin. Heat shot up my arm like I’d grabbed a live wire. She must have felt it too because her breathing changed to a slow inhale and an even slower exhale. When I glanced up, she was staring at my mouth.
Warning bells rang through my thick head. This was dangerous. All of it.
I should have walked away. Let her keep fighting the tent poles and kindling until she gave up and went home. But when the breeze lifted her hair and I caught the stubborn tilt of her chin, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
I pulled back, snapped the kit closed, and got to work like a man trying to outrun his own demons. I split the kindling the right way, set the logs in the fire pit, and hit the pile with a spark. When the fire caught, she threw me a look that said she’d like to argue with the flames about doing my bidding.
Ten minutes later, the fire had grown big enough to throw off a little warmth. Not that I needed it with her so damn close. She sat on a log next to me, her arms crossed, glaring into the flames like the hatchet had personally betrayed her.
“You done sulking, Firecracker?” I asked, leaning back on my palms.
“Don’t call me that.”
