Page 42 of Maple Kissed by the Mountain Man

Ford Burke stood in the middle of my shop holding an oversized framed photograph and scowling at the wall.

“A little to the left,” I said.

He moved it half an inch.

“Your other left.”

I smiled from my perch on the front counter, swinging my legs. “Maybe back to the right.”

“You’ve moved this picture six times.”

“I’m considering the light.”

“It’s been dark for an hour.”

His eyes narrowed. I had learned to recognize that expression over the last months. It didn’t mean he was genuinely annoyed.

Most of the time.

Maggie Bennett Photography and Art had officially opened that morning. Ford had arrived before sunrise to carry in the heavy oak display boxes and had remained through the entire opening celebration, enduring three straight hours of strangers shaking his hand and calling him my muse.

He still hadn’t recovered.

Above the front door hung a wooden sign carved from a maple limb brought down by the October storm. Ford had made that too. The deep gold lettering read Maggie Bennett Photography and Art.

My name. My shop. My dream.

The photograph he was hanging showed the ancient maple reflected in rainwater beneath the morning sun, the golden festival ribbon mounted in one corner of the frame. A second copy already hung above the stone fireplace in his cabin, filling a space that had been dark and blank for years.

His cabin wasn’t quite so empty anymore. Neither was his bathroom. Or his closet. Or the drawer beside his bed where he’d gruffly told me to leave anything I needed. I now had my own chest of drawers, again, hand crafted by Ford.

Ford stepped down from the ladder and folded it, carrying it toward the back room. I leaned back on my hands, watching every line of his broad back.

Even after all these months together it had done absolutely nothing to lessen the effect he had on me. If anything, it had gotten worse.

He turned around and caught me staring. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s my answer.”

“I’ve decided to borrow it.”

Ford approached the counter, stepping directly between my legs and spreading them wide. “You’ve been borrowing a lot of my things lately.”

“I returned your clothes,” I teased softly.

“You left them tangled in the sheets on my bedroom floor.”

“That still counts as returned.”

“And half my bed.”

I wrapped my legs tightly around his hips, drawing his heavy body against mine. “Only half?”

“More when you sleep sideways and kick me.”

“You could make me sleep at my apartment down the street.”