Page 2 of Keep Me, Knox (The Mountain Code #5)

Knox

I've had a lot of creatures wander through my property over the years.

Bears. Elk. A wild turkey that somehow got drunk off fermenting crabapples and fell asleep in my wheelbarrow.

But none of them knocked on my front door.

And none of them looked like her.

She's standing beside me now, nose buried in some handheld tracking gizmo, notebook tucked under one arm, curls pulled into a messy ponytail like she didn't bother with mirrors this morning.

Her boots are caked in mud. Her flannel's tied at the waist, sleeves rolled up, exposing strong forearms. And her jeans… damn, that ass is juicy.

She's got curves for days.

But she’s also strong and athletic. She’s clearly no stranger to hauling gear through the woods. Soft in all the right places, though…

I need to stop staring before she catches me drooling.

She glances up from the tracker and smiles a little, eyes still focused on the cub trying to eat a clump of moss like it's cotton candy. "They look good. Active, alert. I was worried the collar data was off, but it's spot on."

Her voice is low and warm. No fake cheer, no breathy performance like city women tend to slip into when they think a man like me might be useful for opening jars or moving furniture.

She doesn't need anything from me. She's just doing her job. And for some reason, that makes it worse.

I fold my arms across my chest, trying not to make it obvious I'm cataloging everything about her. Freckles across her nose, little smudge of dirt on her cheekbone, the way her chest rises and falls as she breathes deep, steadying herself in front of something wild.

She fits here. Like she belongs.

I push the thought out of my mind. Women like her don’t stay with men like me. I learned that lesson the hard way once before.

"Is she the only one you've got collared?" I ask, nodding toward the bear in my hammock, who's now trying to scratch her back on the fabric without spilling out of it.

"One of seven in this region," Sage says, eyes tracking the cubs as they clamber up the tree again. "But she's the only one with new cubs this year. We've been watching her den site since winter."

"You got a name for her?"

"178-A."

I grunt. "Figures. Boring government label."

She glances at me, amused. "You call her something else?"

I shrug. "Rosie."

Her brows lift. "Rosie?"

"She's been showing up here for two years now. First time was a late spring snowstorm. She curled up under the porch. Didn't even care that I was working in the forge. Just huffed and fell asleep like she owned the place."

Sage lets out a soft laugh, genuine and unguarded. "Rosie," she repeats, like she's trying it out. "I like that."

The cubs are now dangling from the lower branches like overgrown raccoons, swatting at each other. Rosie gives a huff and shifts her weight, setting the hammock swaying.

I sigh. "I’m never getting my hammock back, am I?”

That makes her laugh again. A warm, belly-deep sound that hits me harder than it should.

She crouches to take a note, her jeans stretching in a way that makes me have to look away before my dick gets hard. When she stands, she brushes her hands on her thighs and turns to me.

"I know this is a weird ask, but... any chance I could hang here for a bit? I can't exactly chase her off, and this is the best observation point I've had in weeks. I won't bother you. I'll stay out of your way."

I scratch my jaw, pretending to consider it.

Truth is, I already know the answer. And it has nothing to do with the bears.

"You hungry?" I ask.

Her lips part slightly in surprise. "Um... a little?"

"Lunch is on the stove. Chili. Not the best, but it's hot."

She gives me a look—half curious, half amused—and nods.

"Thanks. Let me just set up my camera equipment to record them.” When she finishes, she follows me to the door. “Mind if I use your bathroom? I’ve been in the woods all day. Toilet paper and running water would be nice.”

I hold the door open for her. "Knock yourself out. Bathroom's to the left."

As she steps inside, a breeze stirs her hair, and something settles in my chest. Something I haven't felt in a long time.

Maybe it's the fact she doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated by me. Or maybe it's the way she talks about Rosie like she’s a friend instead of a threat.

Or maybe it's just that—for the first time in a while—I don't mind the idea of someone sticking around.

Even if it's just for lunch.

While she’s in the bathroom, I throw on a flannel shirt.

We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the occasional clink of spoons and low hum of wind through the trees filling the space. Outside, I know Rosie's still hogging the hammock and her cubs are probably terrorizing my firewood pile.

But in here?

It's calm. Easy.

She leans back, cradling her bowl in both hands. "You’re lucky," she says softly. “This cabin is the definition of peace and quiet. It’d drive most people crazy to be so isolated, though.”

“I love it,” I admit. “My uncle lived here when I was a kid. I practically grew up here. Spent a lot of my life trying to fit somewhere I didn't belong. This—" I glance around the cabin. "—this is mine. Always has been."

She studies me for a second, like she's not just hearing what I said, but reading between the lines. Then she says, "You ever get lonely?"

The question lands somewhere deep, where I keep things boxed up and out of sight.

I could brush it off. Joke. Change the subject.

But for some reason, I don't.

"Sometimes," I say. "I think that’s just the price of peace."

She nods slowly. "That makes sense."

I watch her eyes as she says it. There's something there—something tired around the edges. Like maybe she knows a little something about chasing peace, too.