"I'm so sorry," she stammers, trying to tame her sleep-mussed hair. "I didn't mean to—"
"Don't." I stand before I can do something stupid like touch her. "Coffee?"
She nods, and I escape to the kitchen, needing distance. Last night changed something. Her confession about the ex-fiancé, about waiting for marriage, about running to find something real – it woke up every protective instinct I've got.
Some bastard threw away her trust, and now she's here, in my cabin, looking at my world with those wide green eyes.
"Oh wow."
I turn to find her staring out the window at the ice-covered landscape. Morning light catches her profile, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.
"Chester’s not going anywhere today, is he?"
I set her coffee down, black like she asked for last night. "No. Need to get you into town though. People will be wondering about the new bookstore owner."
Something flickers across her face – uncertainty, maybe fear. She grips her coffee mug like armor. "I could walk?"
"It's eight miles."
"Okay, maybe not walk." She bites her lip, and I force myself to look away. "But you don't have to—"
"Get dressed." I pull on my shirt, feeling her eyes on me. "I'll drive you."
"But—"
"Harper." I meet her gaze, letting her see what I can't say. That I need to do this. Need to know she's safe. "Let me help."
Something passes between us in the silence. Understanding, maybe. Or danger.
"Okay," she whispers.
I nod, already heading for the door before I can do something reckless like kiss her. "Twenty minutes. Wear boots."
Outside, the cold air clears my head. What the hell am I doing? She's running from a man who betrayed her, and here I am, wanting to keep her. Wanting to be the one who shows her what real feels like. To not be alone.
And that's the problem, isn't it? Because Harper James isn't meant to be alone. Not when everything in me is screaming to protect her. To show her that not every man will break her trust.
To be her first. Her last. Her everything.
I press my forehead against the frozen truck door and curse. I'm in so much trouble.
*****
The truck cab feels smaller with her in it. Harper fidgets with her seatbelt, worrying her bottom lip again, and I grip the steering wheel tighter. Only fifteen miles. I can handle fifteen miles of her vanilla scent and nervous energy.
"So," she breaks the silence as we pass Miller's Creek, "what should I expect?"
"Stares. Questions." I glance at her. "Small towns run on gossip. By noon, everyone will know you spent the night."
She pales. "But nothing happened—"
"Doesn't matter."
"Great." She slumps in her seat. "My first day as a business owner and I'm already the scandal."
I shouldn't find her pout charming. "Could be worse."
"How?"
