"Wildlife?"
"Bears getting into trash. Moose in gardens. City girls in snowbanks."
She laughs, the sound bright against the muffled quiet of the falling snow. "Are you categorizing me as wildlife, Mr. McKnight?"
Something hot and dangerous unfurls in my chest at the way she says my name. "Definitely unpredictable enough to qualify."
My truck's just ahead, and I guide her around to the passenger side, opening the door. She pauses before climbing in, snowflakes catching in her dark brown hair. "I appreciate this. Really. I know taking in strays wasn't in your plans today."
No, my plans involved checking the upper logging roads before the storm hit, then a quiet night with whiskey and paperwork. Instead, I'm taking home a woman who looks like a dream incarnate and talks to her truck.
I shouldn't want this disruption. Shouldn't notice how her jeans hug her curves as she climbs into my truck
But damn if I don't notice it all.
I circle around to the driver's side, using the moment to get my head straight. Tomorrow, she'll be in town, running her bookstore, living her life. And I'll be back in my routine, alone with my mountains and my responsibilities.
But when I slide behind the wheel, she's hugging herself for warmth, and before I can think better of it, I'm shrugging out of my coat.
"Here." I drape it over her. It swallows her whole, and something primitive in me stirs at the sight of her in my clothes.
"Won't you be cold?" She burrows into it anyway, and I crank the heat.
"I run hot."
Her eyes flick to me, then quickly away, color rising in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold. "I bet you do."
Christ.
I put the truck in gear, maybe a little harder than necessary. The snow's falling faster now, thick flakes making it hard tosee more than a few feet ahead. We should make it to my place before the worst hits, but it'll be close.
"The guest cabin's got a generator," I say, more to distract myself from her presence than anything else. "Basic supplies. You'll be fine until morning."
"Alone?" Her voice catches slightly on the word.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. "My house is about fifty yards away. Close enough if you need anything." Far enough that I won't spend all night thinking about her, soft and warm in that bed. "I'll check on you before I turn in."
"My hero." There's a teasing lilt to her voice, but something else too. Something that makes me want to prove just how unheroic I can be.
"Don't get too comfortable with the idea." I force my voice to stay gruff. "Soon as the road clears, you're on your way to town."
"Trying to get rid of me already?"
Yes. No. Maybe. "Town's better suited for someone like you."
"Someone like me?" There's an edge to her voice now. "And what am I like, exactly?"
I glance over. She's sitting straight, chin lifted, looking ready for a fight despite being wrapped in a coat three sizes too big. Everything about her is soft, delicate, civilized – and yet there's steel under that sunshine smile.
"You tell me," I say finally. "What brings a city girl to the middle of nowhere? In February? Alone?"
She's quiet for so long I think she won't answer. Then, softly: "Maybe nowhere is exactly where I need to be."
Something in her tone makes me want to turn this truck around, drive her back to wherever she came from, and handle whatever, or whoever, she's running from. It's a ridiculous impulse. I've known her less than an hour.
But as we climb higher into the gathering dark, I can't shake the feeling that whatever brought Harper James to my mountain isn't done with her yet.
And God help me, I'm already invested in how this story ends.
