Page 3

Thank God! “Hello? Is someone there?”

Mac came around the bend.

Thomas “Mac” MacAllister of Alberta, Canada, to be precise. A year and a half at Watchdog Mountain Division, recruited by Kyle, who had made some joke about never expecting to employ a real Mountie that Mac had clearly heard seventeen thousand times and still smiled at politely. He was tall, had an incredible build, and just radiated warmth.

But beyond all that goodness, it was his attitude that got her every time. He was kind and curious and friendly. Some people were wired to be suspicious of everything, but Mac had apparently been wired to find the world genuinely interesting and the people in it worth his time.

On the days he didn’t have a principal to guard, he walked past Jodie’s desk in the morning coming in, and again in the evening going out, and he always smiled when he greeted her.

But he was like that with everyone, which was the whole problem. She wasn’t special, she was ordinary. She was Jodie the receptionist, which was just fine by her—except when it came to him. She wanted Mac to see her for once.

Well, he sure could see her now, sitting on the trail and looking pathetic.

“Jodie? Is that you?”

“Hey, Mac. Fancy meeting you here.”

He jogged up to her, crouched down, looked at her ankle, and then looked at her face.

“Oof. That looks unpleasant.”

“It is.”

“What happened?”

“I got mugged by a tree root.” She pointed to the root sticking up that he had almost unconsciously avoided as he’d jogged up to her.

He nodded once. “Yup, they will do that.”

Then without saying another word, he tucked one arm behind Jodie’s knees and one behind her back and stood up with her.

Jodie grabbed his shoulder out of pure reflex and found herself approximately four feet off the ground, cradled against the chest of a man she’d been trying not to think about for the better part of a year.

Well, she thought. This is fine. Everything is fine.

Except, the day was already bright and sunny and the temperature was climbing rapidly. No way would she let Mac carry her down in this heat.

“I can probably hop,” she said.

“For seven miles?”

“Sure. It’s downhill.”

“Jodie.”

“Okay, no.”

He started down the trail, sure-footed and utterly unbothered by the fact that he was carrying a full-grown woman. She felt his chest move when he breathed.

Stop noticing that.

“How did you end up on the trail?” she asked, because talking was better than the alternative, which was noticing things she shouldn’t.

“Day off. This is my favorite trail. No one ever comes up here.” He glanced at her. “How did you end up on the ground?”

“My date left me here.”

Mac stopped walking and looked at her.