Page 3 of Ignited By the Mountain Man (Fall for a Mountain Man #2)

KEELY

Iwas gaping again. I'd already chastised myself for doing that earlier at the bonfire, but I couldn't help it.

Silas's workshop was small but impressive. I stood near the doorway, next to him, staring at an unfinished coffee table.

"What's great about it is it has wheels," he said, "so it can move around." He walked over to it and lifted the top. "Ready-made dinner table for people who eat their meals in front of the TV."

"I might fit into that demographic," I said. "But I'm single. I'm sure someday when I have a family, we'll gather around the table together for dinner. That's how I've always pictured it, anyway."

What was I going on about? Talking about marriage and kids was one way to scare off a hot guy.

Why did I care about any of that? This wasn't a date. I was here to do a job and move on to the next location.

But if that was true, why did I feel so nervous suddenly? And why was I noticing the way his hands moved over the wood grain, gentle but confident, like he was reading something written in the texture?

"You want something to drink?" he asked, apparently not fazed by my random family planning commentary. "I keep a mini-fridge stocked out here for long work nights."

"Sure. Whatever you have is fine."

He walked to the corner, where a small refrigerator hummed quietly, and pulled out two bottles of water. "Sorry, nothing exciting. I save the beer for when I'm done with power tools."

"Smart policy." I accepted the water gratefully, suddenly realizing how thirsty I was. The bonfire smoke and nervous chatter had left my throat dry.

"So," I said, taking refuge in my professional persona, "how long have you been doing this? The furniture making?"

"Started about a year after I moved here." He leaned against his workbench, completely at ease in his space. "I needed something to do with my hands. The transition from military life to civilian life was…” He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Rougher than I expected."

"In what way?"

"Everything was different. The pace, the structure, the sense of purpose. In the Navy, you wake up knowing exactly what your day looks like, what your mission is. Out here, suddenly you have all this freedom, and it's terrifying."

I lowered my camera, realizing this wasn't going to be the kind of conversation where I took notes or photos. This was personal.

"So you started building things?"

"Started building this place, actually. The cabin was barely livable when I bought it. But working with my hands, creating something from nothing… it helped. Gave me that sense of purpose back."

I looked around the workshop with new appreciation. "You did all this yourself?"

"Most of it. The guys helped with the heavy lifting, but yeah. Every shelf, every workbench, every piece of organization you see here—that's mine."

There was pride in his voice, but also something vulnerable. Like he was sharing more than he'd intended.

"It's incredible," I said softly.

"What about you?" He took a long drink of water, his eyes never leaving mine. "You travel all over for work. That has to be exciting."

"It is. Or it was." I found myself being more honest than I'd planned. "Lately, it feels more like running than exploring."

"Running from what?"

The question hung in the air between us. It was such a simple question, but the answer was complicated. How could I explain that I'd turned my life into a series of temporary stops because permanent anything terrified me?

"Expectations, I guess. Everyone wants to know when I'm going to settle down, get a real job." I made air quotes around the last part. "As if what I'm doing now isn't real."

"Sounds familiar."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Different version, same pressure. Everyone here thinks I should be dating someone, starting a family. Like I'm incomplete without a wife and kids."

"Are you? Incomplete, I mean?"

The question slipped out before I could stop it. Too personal, too direct. But he didn't seem to mind.

"I was," he said quietly. "For a while after I got out, I felt like half a person. Like I'd left the important parts of myself back in the service. But building this place, becoming part of this community…it helped me figure out who I am when nobody's telling me who to be."

He was quiet for a moment, and I could see him wrestling with something. Finally, he spoke.

"There's another reason the transition was so hard. I lost my best friend in an accident that could have been prevented. Simple safety protocol that got ignored because someone was in a hurry."

My chest tightened at the pain in his voice. "I'm sorry."

“Gomez was checking equipment that should have been locked out.

Someone else was supposed to verify the power was off, but they skipped the step.

Figured it was probably fine." He ran a hand through his hair.

"That's why I get so uptight about safety.

I've seen what happens when people get careless. "

"That's not being uptight," I said softly. "That's caring about people."

He looked at me with something like gratitude. "Most people think I'm just being a control freak. They don’t know who I really am.”

Something in his voice made my chest tight. "And who are you?"

"Still figuring that out." He smiled, and it transformed his whole face. "Tonight's been educational in that regard."

"How so?"

"Well, for starters, I learned I like teaching people things. Watching you build that fire, seeing how excited you got when you got it right…that was pretty great."

Heat crept up my neck. "I got pretty excited about a marshmallow too. I'm easily impressed."

"I don't think that's true." He pushed off from the workbench and moved closer. Close enough that I caught that woodsy scent again. "I think you appreciate craftsmanship. Quality. Things that are built to last."

Was he still talking about furniture? Because the way he was looking at me suggested we'd moved into entirely different territory.

"Can I see more of your work?" I asked, needing to redirect before I did something stupid like close the distance between us completely.

"Sure." But he didn't move away. If anything, he stepped closer, reaching around me to point at a bookshelf along the far wall. "That was my first real piece. Took me three months because I kept messing up the joints."

His arm was practically around me now, his chest just inches from my back. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell his cologne mixed with sawdust and something uniquely him.

"The wood grain is beautiful," I managed, though I was having trouble focusing on anything but his proximity.

"Cherry. It's local—from a tree that came down in a storm last year." His hand moved to the wood, fingers tracing the lines. "Feel this."

Before I could object, he was guiding my hand to the smooth surface, his fingers covering mine. The wood was silky under my palm, but all I could think about was the warmth of his skin, the gentle pressure of his touch.

"The grain tells a story," he said, his voice lower now, rougher. "Every ring, every variation in color—that's a year of growth, of surviving storms and droughts and whatever else came its way."

"It's beautiful," I whispered, though I wasn't looking at the bookshelf anymore. I was looking at him, at the way the workshop lights played across his features, at the intensity in his dark eyes.

"Keely."

My name sounded different in his voice. Less professional, more intimate.

"Yeah?"

"This isn't really about the article anymore, is it?"

It was the question I'd been avoiding all night. The truth I'd been dancing around since he'd taught me to build that fire.

"No," I said softly. "It's not."

His hand was still covering mine on the wood, but now his thumb was tracing small circles across my knuckles. Such a simple touch, but it sent heat shooting through my entire body.

"What is it about then?" he asked.

I turned in the circle of his arms, suddenly brave or foolish or both. "I don't know. I've never felt anything like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like I want to stop running. Like maybe staying in one place for more than a few days wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."

His other hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Keely…”

"I know it's crazy. I know I don't know you, not really. But tonight, building that fire together, being here with you…it feels like the most real thing I've experienced in years."

"It's not crazy." His forehead touched mine, and I could feel his breath against my lips. "I've been thinking the same thing."

The air between us was charged, electric. Every nerve ending in my body was focused on the places where we were touching—his hand on my face, my palm still pressed against his chest, the whisper of space between our bodies.

"I should probably mention," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "I don't usually do this."

"Do what?"

"Go home with men I just met. Let myself feel…whatever this is."

His smile was soft, understanding. "What's different about tonight?"

"You." The word came out more honest than I'd intended. "Everything about you."

He kissed me then, soft and careful, like I was something precious that might break. But when I kissed him back, when my hands fisted in his shirt and pulled him closer, careful went out the window.

This kiss was hungry, desperate, full of all the tension that had been building between us since that first moment by the fire. His hands tangled in my hair, and I made a sound I didn't recognize, something between a sigh and a moan.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine again. "Tell me to stop," he said roughly. "Tell me this is moving too fast, and I'll drive you back to town right now. No questions asked."

I looked into his eyes, saw the want there, the barely leashed control. Saw a man who would absolutely respect my boundaries, who would put my comfort above his own desire without hesitation.

It was that more than anything else that made my decision.

"Don't stop," I whispered. "Please don't stop."