We stopped for lunch by a small stream, the crystal-clear water bubbling over rocks dusted with snow. Beck produced sandwiches made with thick, fresh bread and stuffed with turkey, cheese, lettuce, and some kind of spicy mustard that made my eyes roll back in my head.
“You’re absolutely certain you’re not a professional chef?” I demanded.
He smiled as he unscrewed the cap on a thermos. “Just like to eat.” He poured water into the cap and handed it to me. “Plus, when you run a bed and breakfast, cooking is a big part of the job.”
“How long have you run it?”
“A little over a year.” He ate the last of his sandwich and dusted his hands. “Took it over from a friend.” He pulled out another thermos and poured water for himself. “What about you? How’d you end up at your college?” Silver eyes met mine. “Colorado State, right? It’s known for its wildlife program.”
Awareness settled over me. Most people didn’t know about CSU unless they were interested in conservation. Which, okay, maybe he was.
Or, maybe, he’d looked me up.
“My parents died when I was four,” I said. “My mom had cancer. My dad passed in a car accident about six months after she died.”
Beck paused with his water halfway to his mouth. He lowered it, his forehead furrowing. “Damn, Charlotte. I’m sorry.”
I lifted a shoulder, shrugging off sympathy I was accustomed to receiving but didn’t always feel like I deserved. My history was depressing, but other people had pasts that were just as difficult.
“I don’t remember much about them,” I said. “I’m an only child, and my parents were, too, so I didn’t have any family around to take me. I grew up in foster care. It was fine, but we didn’t have much money. There were three other kids in the house, and we all shared a room. School was my escape, and I was always good at it. I started skipping grades.”
Beck held his thermos cup on his knee, his long fingers wrapped around the metal. “You were gifted.”
“I tested out of high school at fourteen. Dr. Henry saw something in me at an academic conference. He took me under his wing. I got really lucky.”
Beck nodded slowly. “You should meet Skyler Laskin. She’s the wife of our town doctor, Everett. She grew up in foster care, too.”
“Really?”
His expression softened. “She came to Bear Cove last year. She and Everett have an eight-month-old son.”
“I’d love to meet her,” I said, anticipation building. Academic life didn’t leave many opportunities for socializing. And it couldn’t hurt to speak to other residents of Bear Cove.
Beck stood and began stuffing the wrappers from our lunch into the backpack.
“What about you?” I asked. “You must have family here.”
He knelt as he fastened the straps. “My parents passed years ago. I have brothers, though.”
“Brothers?”
He glanced at me, his expression shuttering. “Not biological. More like a…brotherhood.” He stood. “Extended family. We look out for each other.” He pointed toward a mountain peak. “If we leave now, we can make that summit before it gets dark.”
Topic closed.His tone and expression told me he wouldn’t answer any additional questions.
We continued climbing. I took samples and recorded data. Beck observed with what appeared to be genuine interest. He asked smart questions, and he absorbed my answers with a thoughtful expression.
And I cataloged every single one of them. As the day wore on, I couldn’t keep my gaze off his shoulders, his nape, the bunching of muscle in his ass as he strode ahead of me. His sweater hugged his biceps as he held branches out of the way. The silver in the scruff on his jaw glinted in the late afternoon sunlight.
What would it feel like under my hand? What wouldhishands feel like on my skin?
He was old enough to be my father. But everything about him called to something deep inside me. His quiet competence. His solid strength. A therapist would probably have a field day explaining my attraction.
God, I had to stop my runaway thoughts about Beck Antonovich. He was a kind man who’d offered to help me. He’d cooked all my meals, and now he was basically my pack mule as I conducted research. I was lucky to have his assistance.
But the pattern from the morning held. Every time I wanted to investigate an area with strong readings, Beck found a reason to redirect me. Too steep. Too dangerous. Landslides. Avalanches. Rocky terrain.
Each excuse was plausible on its own, but together they formed a picture I couldn’t ignore.
