“Stay where you are and keep your fingers crossed. What’s his name again?”
“Scamp.”
Flint snorts. “Good name. That coffee smells good. I’ll be back in a minute.” He turns and opens the door, the cold wind blowing inside for a second.
Tears rush to my eyes. Maybe Scamp will get his fairytale after all. At least he won’t be out in the storm. I take out my phone. Still no service. I hope my sister isn’t too worried.
The door creaks open and Scamp runs inside, his claws clattering on the stone floor. Flint throws me the bag of steak treats, shouting something about firewood as he closes the door.
Scamp runs over to me and leans against my legs while I cover his massive head with kisses. He doesn’t look like he’s injured, just cold and freaked out. I wrap a towel that’s in a basket by the side of the armchair around him, talking to him the whole time to calm him down. His big furry brown and white body relaxes as I towel off the snow. He lays his head on my arm, glad to be by the warm fire.
Scamp settles down after I’ve given him a bowl of the steak treats and some water. Rummaging around in the fridge, I find vegetables and a big packet of beef. It’s labeled ‘eat if power off’. I chop it up, making an impromptu stew and letting it bubble on the stove.
Flint stomps back inside, shaking snow off his shoulders as he carries in a big pile of wood. My pulse immediately speeds up.
“Got the logs,” he says, his deep voice rumbling in the cozy cabin. He hangs up his coat and walks to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He reaches up into a cupboard, gets down a bottle of brandy, then adds a swig to his cup. He walks over with the bottle and pours some into my cup after I nod.
His gaze softens as he watches me cuddling Scamp. “He’s lucky to have you listening out for him.”
I glance up, meeting his eyes, heat flooding my cheeks again. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t found him.”
Flint shrugs, brushing off the compliment, but a hint of a smile tugs at his mouth as he sits opposite me. He’s so big that our knees almost touch and my heart skips a beat. “Wasn’t gonna leave this little guy out there in that. Besides, you seem pretty attached.”
It’s my turn to shrug. “I’m responsible for every animal I foster, but Scamp’s special. I like the way you call him little. He’s part Saint Bernard. The vet could barely lift him onto the table when he first came in. ”
The fire crackles, casting a soft glow over the room. The storm outside rages on, snow pelting the windows. Flint leans down, stacking another log in the fireplace, his big, rough hands working carefully as he stokes the flames. He moves with a natural confidence, each motion easy and sure, a sharp contrast to my nervousness.
As the fire builds, Flint sits back in his chair. Silver streaks his temples, although his beard is still dark. I’m guessing he’s in his early forties at most. “Looks like we’re in for a long night, Pixie. You got any good stories?”
I chuckle, relaxing a bit, though my heart’s still racing from how close he is. “I’m more of a listener, honestly. I’m curious about the way you carry yourself. Military?”
Flint grins, a little surprised. “Good guess. Marines, a while back. Retired. Firefighter for the last six years. I’m also with the search and rescue squad, that’s just me and Grizz. Ember Heart Ridge Search and Rescue cover this side of the mountain, but we deal with some emergencies here ourselves. Like you.” His gaze lingers, thoughtful. “You foster animals for a while?”
“A couple of years. At one stage I was looking after a litter of puppies, a cat, and a parrot. Never again!” I stroke Scamp’s fur, and he sighs contentedly, nuzzling closer. “Guess that sounds weird? My family’s big joke is that I’d rather be with animals than people.”
Flint raises a dark eyebrow. “Nothing strange about it. Animals have a way of being more straightforward than people. I’d have a dog if my job wasn’t so unpredictable.”
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then glances toward the stove. “What’s cooking?”
“Stew. There was a note to use the meat if the power went off.”
“Perfect,” he says, his tone warm. “I have to admit, Pixie, I’m not much of a cook.”
Outside, the wind howls louder, rattling the shutters. In here, there’s only the gentle crackle of the fire, the comforting weight of Scamp at my feet, and this gruff, gorgeous man who’s already done so much to make me feel safe.
Chapter Four
FLINT
Poppy ladles the stew into bowls. Her cheeks are flushed a rosy pink, mimicking the rose color of her sweater. Longing shoots down my spine to my cock, my stomach muscles tightening. I want to strip her naked and lick every inch of her until she’s trembling with need. See if her nipples are the same shade as her cheeks.
But this is wrong; I’m an old man. A fresh-faced, sweet-voiced pixie like Poppy could have the pick of boys her age. She’s innocent. The opposite of a grizzled, forty-year old vet who’s more used to firehouse banter and his cold bed than sweet words and soft skin.
“Smells good. I appreciate you taking charge and making it.” I pet Scamp’s rough head. He’s asleep, but he occasionally sniffs, as if the smell of the meat is interrupting his dreams.
“Mom likes to say I’m a whizz at using my initiative. I like to have a project on the go.”
“I know what you mean. Keeping busy is natural to me, too. Are you close to your parents?”
