Page 19 of Liberated By the Logger

Brose places a big bowl of chili in front of me, along with a plate with a thick piece of buttered sourdough. His smile slips away as his eyes meet mine, his face now stoic. “I’m not.”

Huh? “You’re not what?”

“I’m not sorry you walked in on me.”

Okay, there really is something wrong with my hearing. No way he said that. I rub at the outside of my ears like I’m trying to clear them before seeking confirmation.

“You’re not mad I invaded your privacy?”

Brose shakes his head, his smile reappearing. He’s got a seriously cute smile—full lips and a slight gap between his two front teeth. It adds a touch of softness to his otherwise rugged features, along with the copper freckles peppering his fair skin. And his gray eyes creasing in the outside corners when he’s smiling, makes him hard to resist.

“It may not be the way I imagined our first interaction taking place after saving you from the storm, but it certainly is memorable.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Oh, gosh. No. Let’s forget it happened, please?”

Gently, Brose pries my hands away from my face, gathering them in his much larger, calloused hands. “No can do. It’s going to make a great story to tell our kids one day.”

I roll my eyes at his absurd response, snickering nervously. “You’re a funny guy.”

“I can be. Though there’s nothing funny about what I said.”

Say what?

He lets go of my hands, nodding at my bowl. “Eat up before it gets cold. What would you like to drink? I got it all. Water, milk, juice, pop, beer, and the heavier stuff.”

Still floundering from him mentioning future kids, I stutter. “Uh, um, water is fine.”

A stiff drink is probably what I need, but I’m already not thinking clearly around this man. He’s spouting nonsense, right?

If Brose claims he’s not joking, he must be referencing our future kids we may have separately. He couldn’t possibly mean children we share. I shake my head to myself, misunderstanding him—again. It’s not like the mountain man could be interested in a future with me. We hardly know each other.

Brose places a tall glass of ice water in front of me before taking the barstool next to me. I pick up my spoon, unable to enjoy the delicious smelling meal before me.

There’s still a lot I want to say to him. The man saved me from a grizzly fate. I need to thank him.

“Brose?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

Darlin’. His little nickname for me is growing on me. Normally I dislike pet names, seeing them as unnecessary or even degrading. But the term darlin’ in his deep timbre sounds like a soft caress. I like it—a lot.

A flare of annoyance lights up inside of me. He probably talks this way to all the ladies. He seems like the charmer type. And yet, I can’t help hoping it’s reserved for me.

He brushes a wisp of my hair away from my face, his fingers gently cupping my cheek. “Where’d you go just now?”

Taken aback by his ease with which he touches me—like he knows me on an intimate level—my thoughts tumble out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

“Do you call every woman darlin’?”

“No. Ain’t ever felt the need to call any woman anything other than her name.”

My heart leaps. “Except me?”

His gray eyes soften, like he can see it matters to me. “Except you.”

Oh, my heart. If he doesn’t watch himself, I’ll be falling in love with him before the day is done.

Dammit, Aspen. Thank the man already before you stop using your head.