His smile breaks free, a real one this time, transforming his face from intimidating to devastating. My stomach does a traitorous little flip.
“Good. I’ll help you move your stuff tomorrow.”
“I can?—”
“I know you can. But you don’t have to.”
“Tank, I?—”
“Where are you parked?” He’s already reaching for my bag, sliding the strap off my shoulder before I can protest. His fingers brush mine in a whisper of contact, his calloused skin against my knuckles, and my whole arm tingles like I touched a live wire.
Get it together. He’s being helpful, not seductive.
But my body didn’t get that memo.
“I left my car at the Roadside. I didn’t want to drive this far out, what with the snow and all, so I got a cab here.”
Tank nods as if he approves of that decision. “My truck’s out front. We’ll collect your car tomorrow too.”
I should argue. Should insist on independence, on taking care of myself.
Instead, I nod and follow him into the cold Montana night.
Chapter 2
Tank
I don’t bring women home.
It’s not a rule I made consciously, but more like a truth that settled into my bones somewhere between my third deployment and my first year on this mountain. My cabin is my space. The one place I can be too loud, too much, too everything without worrying about overwhelming someone. Without watching their faces tighten when my voice carries too far, or my presence fills too much of the room.
And now Jessie Henry is sitting in the passenger seat of my truck as I navigate a snow-laden road that nobody takes unless they’re lost or they’re me.
What the hell am I doing?
The answer comes faster than I’d like:whatever it takes to keep her safe.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. That motel she mentioned, the Roadside, out on 12, I know the place as well as the type of people who drift through there. The locks don’t work,and the manager doesn’t ask questions. The thought of Jessie sleeping there alone...
My jaw clenches.
Nope. Not happening.
My brain wasn’t listening to reason tonight. I had no intention of bidding.
But when I looked across that auction room and saw red hair catching the light, saw her spine go rigid when Mr. Rolex opened his mouth, saw her chin lift like she was preparing to fight the whole damn room if necessary, something deep inside me clicked into place.
I told myself the bid was about protection. About not letting some wealthy businessman win a cohabitation placement with her like she was a prize at a county fair.
And that’s true. But it’s not the whole truth.
I wanted her looking at me. Wanted to be the reason her shoulders relaxed. Wanted to see if her sharp tongue could handle mine.
Well, shit. Guess I’ve got a woman living with me now.
The cabin comes into view as we round the final bend—a solid A-frame tucked into a clearing where the pines part enough to let the stars through. Smoke still curls from the chimney; I banked the fire before heading to town, not expecting to bring anyone back.
Not expectingher.
