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Callie

This was not how my vacation was supposed to go.

I was supposed to be enjoying a peaceful hike with my dog after a day spent taking photos for my latest freelance job. Then, enjoying a nice long bubble bath and a glass of wine. Simple. Easy. The perfect way to end the day.

Instead, I was stumbling through a darkening forest, rain pelting my face and my boots sinking into the increasingly muddy ground with each desperate step. The flashlight app on my phone cut a weak beam through the gloom, battery warning flashing ominously.

“Max!” I shouted for what felt like the thousandth time, my voice growing hoarse. “Max, where are you, boy?”

Only the steady drumming of rain against leaves answered me. That, and the distant rumble of thunder that seemed to be getting closer.

I should have listened to the park ranger. What was his name? Brad? Brett? He’d warned me about the storm front coming in, advised against hiking the trails alone. But I’d smiled, thanked him for his concern, and assured him I’d be fine. This was not my first rodeo. Hiking in the woods when it was raining came with my job description.

Except now it was more than a little rain, and my newly adopted shelter dog was missing, night was falling, and I was probably lost myself.

“Max!” I tried again, cupping my hands around my mouth to project the sound.

I’d only had Max for three weeks. He was still adjusting to me, to being in a real home after who knows how long at the shelter. When that branch had fallen during our hike, the crack like a gunshot, he’d bolted before I could tighten my grip on his leash.

I looked at my phone again. One bar of service. I quickly dialed the ranger station, but the call failed to connect. So much for modern technology.

Then—faint, but unmistakable—a bark.

My heart leapt. “Max?” I pivoted toward the sound, nearly losing my footing on the slick ground. “Max, baby, is that you?”

Another bark, clearer this time. Definitely Max. I’d know that deep woof anywhere.

I pushed forward, ignoring the branches that clawed at my rain jacket and the mud that sucked at my boots. The terrain was steeper here, not part of the marked trails I’d been following. But Max’s barks were getting louder, more insistent.

“I’m coming, buddy, hang on!”

Ten minutes of slipping and sliding brought me to the edge of a small clearing. Through the rain, I could make out a cabin, rustic, isolated but with what I hoped was a welcoming glow in the window.

And there, pressed to the glass, was a large, furry head with the unmistakable tilt of Max’s right ear.

“Max.” Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by confusion. How had he ended up inside someone’s cabin?

I sloshed through the puddles leading to the front door, questions tumbling through my mind. Who lived all the way out here? Were they kind to take in my dog, or was Max trapped? I knew I should have proceeded with caution, but that was who I was. Sometimes, I go where angels feared to tread.

As I reached the weathered porch steps, thunder cracked directly overhead, making me jump. I caught another glimpse of Max through the window and something else. A massive figure moving past the window. A man, tall and broad-shouldered.

I squared my shoulders and marched up the steps. This was no time for nerves. Max was inside, and I was getting him back, intimidating stranger or not.

I knocked firmly, then harder when there was no immediate response. Finally, I resorted to pounding with the side of my fist, rainwater flying from my sleeve with each impact.

“Hello? Excuse me? I think you have my dog!”

The door swung open so suddenly I nearly fell forward.

And then I was looking up—way up—at the most gorgeous grump I’d ever laid eyes on.

Holy. Mother. Of. Mountains.

He filled the doorway completely. Six-foot-something of pure, rugged muscle wrapped in a gray thermal shirt that clung to what had to be an eight-pack set of abs—wait was that even possible? Worn jeans hugged powerful thighs, and his broad shoulders could’ve been carved from the mountain itself. Dark hair with a hint of unruly wave fell just long enough to curl at the temples and the nape of his neck, like he’d forgotten to cut it rather than styled it that way.

A jawline that could cut glass, currently tensed in obvious irritation. And his eyes—stormy gray, like the clouds overhead, equally thunderous, set beneath heavy brows that were currently drawn together in a scowl that should’ve been intimidating but instead made my stomach perform an unexpected somersault.

He was the kind of man who didn’t need to say a word to make the world fall silent.

I knew I had momentarily lost my ability to speak.

For a split second, I forgot about Max, forgot about the rain, forgot my own name. All I could think of was that this man looked like he’d walked straight out of one of those romance novels where the cover model is inexplicably shirtless in a snowstorm.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stared at me like I was the last thing he wanted to see.

“Can I help you?” His voice was deep, rough with disuse, as if he wasn’t in the habit of speaking to people often. The sound rumbled through me like distant thunder, making me feel things that were entirely inappropriate given that I was soaking wet, exhausted, and worried about my dog.

Get it together, Callie. This is not the time to wonder if his stubble would leave beard burn on your thighs.

Before I could answer, a joyful bark sounded from inside, and Max pushed his way past the man’s legs, launching himself at me with such enthusiasm that I stumbled back a step.

“Max!” I dropped to my knees, heedless of the wet porch, wrapping my arms around my dog’s damp fur. “You bad doggie, I was so worried.”

Max wiggled and licked my face, his whole body wagging with excitement. For a moment, the rain and my exhaustion didn’t matter. I had my dog back.

“I take it, he belongs to you.” The deep voice brought me back to reality. The man was watching us, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable.

I stood, keeping a firm grip on Max’s collar. “Yes. Thank you for taking him in.” I pushed the dripping hair from my face, suddenly aware of how I must look—soaked to the bone, muddy, probably resembling a drowned rat.

“You shouldn’t let him run loose up here.”

The judgment in his tone made my spine snap straight. “I didn’t let him run loose. He got scared and bolted during our hike. I’ve been searching for him ever since.”

He scanned me from head to toe, taking in my bedraggled state with a slightly raised eyebrow. “In this weather?”

“No,” I snapped, heat flaring in my chest. “I just really enjoy extreme hiking in the pouring rain.” I drew in a deep breath, regretting my outburst just a little. This man had taken in Max, after all. “Sorry. It’s been a rough afternoon. Thank you for looking after him.”

Thunder boomed again, and the rain somehow intensified, now coming down in sheets. The man glanced past me at the deluge, then back at me with a sigh that suggested I was the biggest inconvenience in his life.

“You’d better come in,” he said grudgingly, stepping aside. “The trails will start to flood, if they haven’t already.”

“That’s okay,” I said, lifting my chin. “I can make it back to my cabin. It’s just down by Aspen Loop.”

His laugh was short and humorless. “Not tonight, you won’t. Aspen Loop’s on the other side of Sawmill Creek, which is probably already overflowing its banks.”

As if confirming his words, a crackling voice came from a weather radio inside. “Flash flood warning remains in effect for Lone Mountain and surrounding areas. All hikers and campers are advised to seek immediate shelter. Sawmill access road is now closed due to high water...”

The man gestured at the radio. “See?”

I hesitated, looking from my dog to the intimidating stranger and back again. He looked about as enthused as I was to be here, but I was out of options. I needed shelter from the downpour and anyone who looked that annoyed at finding a damsel in distress on his doorstep wasn’t trying to lure me inside.

And did I mention he’s gorgeous? In an I might bite your head off but you’ll enjoy it kind of way.

“I can walk down,” I insisted, though the rational part of my brain was screaming at me to take the offer of dry shelter, no matter how begrudgingly it had been made.

His eyes narrowed. “In the dark? Through flash floods? On trails you clearly don’t know?” He shook his head. “That’s suicide, city girl.”

The city girl comment ignited my temper. “I’m not helpless, you know. I—”

Another crash of thunder, directly overhead. Max whined and pressed against my legs.

The man simply stood there, waiting, one dark eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

I exhaled slowly, admitting defeat. “Fine. Just until the storm passes. My name’s Callie by the way. Callie Winters.”

At first, I didn’t think he was going to tell me his name, then he stepped back, allowing me in. “Gabriel,” he said finally. “My name’s Gabriel Holt.”

I stepped over the threshold, Max at my heels, into the warmth of the cabin.

And just like that, I was trapped with a stranger who looked like he could snap a tree in half with his bare hands, miles from civilization, during one of the worst storms I had ever seen.

Some vacation this was turning out to be.