Dangerous.
My shields slammed back up. Hard.
Because Carson Reed was a man who unsettled things in me.
He was the kind of man I did not fall for, the kind I could not fall for, and the kind that the universe seemed intent on throwing directly into my path anyway.
Chapter Six
Carson
The cabin was warm when I stepped inside, only because the heater had been running nonstop since morning, but it still felt foreign. A small wooden space with a twin bed, a kitchenette, and just enough elbow room to feel more than luxurious. Most seasonal guide accommodations were lucky to include a mattress and a fire extinguisher. This place? It was a high-class suite in comparison.
But the moment I closed the door behind me, the silence rushed in too quickly. It pressed against my ears, heavy and empty. It was yet another reminder that solitude wasn’t always the clean escape I told myself it was.
Sienna had shown me the gear shed that was more like a huge garage compared to most places. But it had taken longer than it should have, mostly because the Harper family had stocked gear as if they expected to guide twenty guests at once instead of five.
Rows of backpacks, neatly folded tents, waterproofing spray, two full shelves of first-aid kits, four sizes of crampons, coils ofrope, solar lanterns, fuel tabs, and enough wool socks to warm the feet of a small army. Honestly, it was impressive. Even if some sections looked like someone had quickly shoved gear out of sight before a surprise inspection, it was chaotic, but it could be slimmed down and organized without too much effort.
“It is not that bad,” Sienna had insisted, pushing aside a precarious tower of snowshoes that immediately tried to fall on her.
“It needs organization,” I said.
“It needs love,” she corrected, dodging a tumbling helmet.
I caught it before it hit her head, and she flushed, not because of the near-injury, but because she’d made an ungraceful noise when it fell. A chirp snort? It was hard to say what it actually was.
“It’s fine,” she’d said again, eyes wide. “It’s… controlled chaos.”
I didn’t argue, not because I agreed, but because watching her flit around the cramped space, explaining why each shelf was arranged the way it was, made it easier to let her talk. She thrived on motion, energy, and filling the air with words when she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. I related more than I wanted to admit.
And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I found myself listening to her as if it mattered.
The way her braid swung when she turned too fast. The way her expression shifted when she talked about past groups. The fondness in her voice when she described a trail she cared about as if it were a living thing. All those things dug deep and rested just under the surface of all my thoughts, and that was unnerving.
It had been a long day. A good day, I could admit that. She was knowledgeable, capable, and imaginative. She made jokes under her breath that she probably thought I didn’t hear. She mumbled apologies every time she thought she got too close to me in the narrow aisles of the shed. And every time she did, I felt something warm roll through me that I pretended wasn’t happening.
I barely remembered the walk back to the cabin. I had been too busy thinking about the schedules pinned to the bulletin board by the door. The list of upcoming hikes and multi-day tours we’d be leading.
Training for six trips.
Six weeks.
Six stretches of time where Sienna and I would be miles from town with nothing but trees and sky and the unpredictable behaviors of paying tourists.
Together.
Only together.
And I had not expected that thought to hit me in the stomach the way it did.
I pulled off my gloves, tossed them on the counter, and paced the small length of the cottage. My boots thudded softly against the floor, snow melting in small puddles under the heat vent.
I tried to focus on the gear list in my hand. Tents that needed checking. Stoves that needed new fittings. Ropes that needed to be retired soon. The lodge might have been stocked to the rafters with equipment, but a few things required hands-on inspection.
That was what I should have been thinking about. The job. The logistics.
But my mind kept diverting in one direction.
