Page 36 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

“You got your photograph, Maggie,” he said, refusing to meet my eyes as he backed a step away. “The rain’s coming again. You need to get off the mountain before the lower road washes out.”

A sharp, painful laugh burst from my chest. “You really are a coward, Ford Burke.”

His jaw locked, his eyes snapping to mine, dark and dangerous. “I’m making sure you get down this mountain before the weather turns. Again. That’s all this is.”

That one word, again, said it all. If the weather hadn’t turned…

“No, you’re panicking because last night meant something to you, and instead of dealing with the fact that you actually care about what happens to me, you’re shoving me into my car so you can go back to wallowing in your silent little fortress.”

“I’m not panicked,” he said calmly even while taking a slow, menacing step toward me. “I’m realistic. You don’t belong up here. You never did. You came up my mountain to get a shot for your contest, and now you have it.”

“And what about last night?” I demanded, taking a step right back toward him. “What about what happened in that tent? What about everything you said to me while you were inside me?”

Ford went dead still. A muscle jerking in his cheek.

“That was a mistake.” The lie falling heavy and sharp between us. “It was cold. We were trapped. It didn’t mean anything.”

The words stole the breath from my lungs, but I held my chin high, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing a single tear fall.

“Right,” I breathed, a cold, bitter smile touching my lips. “A mistake.”

“Maggie—”

“Don’t worry, Burke,” I interrupted, stepping around him to grab my bag off the hood. “I don’t stay where I’m unwanted.”

Ford flinched as if I’d struck him across the face. For a second, his dark mask fractured.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice dropping into a harsh, gravelly whisper that sounded like it physically pained him to speak. “I didn’t want you here.”

“Message received loud and clear.”

I yanked the door open, tossed my gear into the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel. I slammed the door shut before he could say another word, locking it with a sharp click.

Ford stood there, not moving, his hands curled into heavy fists at his sides.

I turned the key, the engine roaring to life. I put the car in gear. “Enjoy your empty mountain, you miserable, gorgeous bastard,” I muttered under my breath.

I slammed my foot on the gas, spraying gravel as I spun the car around and drove away.

I didn’t look back.

Chapter Seven

Ford

I watched Maggie’s taillights disappear.

Then I stood beside the open gate like a fool.

Her tire tracks filled slowly with muddy water. My jacket hung over the gate’s iron bar where she’d put it, the empty sleeves snapping in the rising wind.

She’d taken the photograph.

And she’d taken every drop of my control, my heart.

And left.

Exactly as I’d told her to.