Page 19 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

Another drop landed squarely on my forehead.

“Is that rain?”

Ford swore, a low, earthy word that echoed through the trees.

“You said it was supposed to stay clear.”

“I also said the mountain doesn’t give a damn about weather forecasts.”

“You’re the official mountain spokesman. Fix it.”

“Put your camera away.”

For once, I did what I was told, and not a moment too soon. The rain started falling fast and furious, fog rolled in and it was like we were in the middle of some wilderness survival movie within seconds.

Ford shoved my tripod into my hands and stripped off his heavy jacket.

“What are you doing?”

“Cover your pack.”

“It has a rain sleeve!”

“Use the jacket too.” He was already unbuttoning it.

“You’ll get soaked.”

“I’ll survive.”

He draped the coat around my shoulders and my pack before I could argue. It swallowed me whole. The sleeves covered my hands, and the bottom reached halfway down my thighs. It was hot from his body and smelled intensely of cedar, soap, and Ford.

I wanted to bury my face in the collar and inhale him until I was dizzy.

“We need to move,” he said.

“What about the creek?”

“That’s why we need to move.”

He set a brutal pace down the trail. I hurried to keep up, clutching the front of his jacket closed with one hand. It didn’t do much good as the wind started again. Rain slicked the wet leaves and softened the ground beneath my boots.

My foot slid on the first steep descent.

Ford caught my arm before I could go down.

“I’m fine,” I gasped.

He didn’t let go. His hand moved down until his large, rough fingers closed around mine, his calluses scraping deliciously against my skin.

“Stay beside me.”

“Is that concern again?”

“Do you want me to leave you here?”

“No.”

“Then watch your feet.”