That’s not a deer.
It’s not one of the elk I saw wandering through the yard either.
It’s much larger.
The rustling in the brush is coming from a full-blown daddy moose with daddy moose antlers.
Staring at me like I’m in his territory.
Wow.
He’s beautiful.
Large as a horse—probably larger—with dark brown fur and a big bump between his shoulders and the most massive antlers I’ve ever seen, those fathomless dark orbs staring directly at me while he slowly chews something in his huge jaw.
But also—didn’t one of my brothers make a comment last night about not fucking with moose?
And that is amoose. Like,themoose.
If there are bigger moose, I don’t think I want to know.
It snorts at me again, big brown eyes narrowing.
I creep closer to the back of the house for lack of a better idea.
It lowers its head.
I’m contemplating making a mad dash for the front door when a window clatters open beside me, screen launching away from the house, and a long, thick arm reaches out.
“Inside,” Rhys barks.
And that’s the last warning I get before the moose charges as Rhys hauls me into the house through the window.
He flings me onto the bed and slams the window shut, then throws himself on top of me.
All of the air wooshes out of my lungs, and every muscle in my body tightens while I wait for the moose to sail through the window and maul us.
But there’s no thud.
No glass shattering.
No shouting.
Just me and the mountain of a man pinning me to the quilt-topped mattress.
“Is it gone?” I gasp with the little air that’s left in my lungs.
“It’s staring,” Rhys whispers.
And that’s when I’m reminded that the firewood isn’t the only wood at the cabin.
That solid lump against my right butt cheek is definitely not a leg, and if I thought that was a bulge against my ass earlier, I was mistaken.
Holy shit.
Is that real, or is he pranking me?
“Rhys?” I squeak out.
