Page 7

But as the cabin comes into view, I can see the lights are out. She’s in there alone, probably crying, probably scared, hating Montana and everything in it, including me.

I get out of the truck telling myself I’m just being neighborly. But the closer I get, the thinner that excuse becomes. A knot of real worry tightens in my gut. I hope to God she didn’t go outside to mess with the generator or wander off looking for a cell signal. That’s how people get lost up here.

I unlock the door, poke my head in, and say, “Hello, I’m coming in,” feeling weird about invading her privacy. The smell of banana and brown butter hit me before I take another step.

“Oh, thank God you came back.”

She’s sitting at the tiny kitchen table lit by the glow of two battery lanterns, with flour on her cheek, and a copy of Field and Stream in her lap. It’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I immediately resent the word cute. Cute is how you get attached and forget she’s gone the second that contest wraps. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good,” she answers in a small voice. “Power’s out though.”

“Did you bake something?” I sniff.

“Banana pie.” She points behind her. “Want a taste?”

“Absolutely, but let’s get the lights on first.” I head straight for the generator on the covered side porch.

“Good idea,” she says, hurrying behind me. “I tried the switch just like you showed me, but it wouldn’t budge. I was afraid I’d break it if I pulled harder.” She follows me like glue, staying so close I can feel the heat of her body even through the wind, and there’s that warm sugar scent I smelled in the truck.

The woman herself is edible. The thought of kissing every inch of her hits me, and I have to shove it away—twice. Keep your head on straight, and no, not that one.

I yank the cord. The unit catches on the second pull, and when I flip the heavy lever, the lights flicker on inside.

“Thank God!” She actually claps her hands together and jumps. “I knew it would be dark if the power went out, but this is nothing like a city blackout. I didn’t realize dark out here means your eyes just stop working, like someone filled the air with ink.” She lets out a long exhale.

“Sorry you had to go through that. You shouldn’t have any more problems.”

As we head back into the house, she rushes in front, teasingly blocking me as I head for the door. Cute, cute, cute. She crosses her arms, chin lifted, her blue eyes catching mine with that look she has.

“You deserve a reward for saving me. Please tell me you’ll stay long enough to taste what I’ve baked. I actually already cut a slice for you just in case you changed your mind. I thought you might be hungry.”

I should say no and head out immediately. The last woman who looked at me like that was holding a release form for a reality show.

“Now how could I possibly say no to that?”

“You can’t. Good.” She grins and sashays into the kitchen, her swagger is back in full force. I admit, I’m starting to like it. I expected tears or complaints. Instead, she’s back in her element, moving around the tiny galley with a confidence that doesn’t seem to belong in a backwoods cabin, and it knocks me off balance.

“Go ahead,” she calls from behind the counter about ten feet away. “Have a seat. You must be exhausted after climbing all those power lines tonight.” She points to the table.

I settle into a chair. “My job was to stay close to home, so I’m off duty,” I explain, checking the article she was reading when I first came in. “I just don’t picture you caring about outsmarting a trout.”

She laughs, carrying a fork and the plate to the table. “I tried to read it, but every few minutes something would scrape along the outside wall, like claws on wood, or a heavy thud on the roof that sounded way too much like footsteps, and I’d lose my place completely.”

“Well, you’re safe tonight. The only boogeyman you have to deal with is me.”

“You, I can handle, no problem,” she teases. I lift the fork but don’t dig into the pie. I just hold it, watching the anticipation build in her eyes. It’s a small power play, and I can see it’s driving her crazy.

“If you don’t taste that pie right now, I’ll … I’ll …”

“You’ll do what, exactly?” I smile up at her.

“I’ll think of something later and surprise you. You won’t like it.” Her gaze shifts from the pie to the fork, back to the pie. “Now try it. I think it’s really good. One of my best, which I can’t believe I managed under these conditions.”

“Okay, okay.” I tuck the fork into the pie and bring it to my mouth. The taste actually makes me close my eyes. It’s better than anything that should come out of a cold cabin in the middle of a blackout.

“Jesus,” I mutter. “That’s … criminal. Seriously. Where did you learn to do that? You don’t just ‘bake’ something like this.”

“Thanks,” she says softly. Her gaze drops to the table for a second. “I’m really glad you came back.”