Page 98 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

Kendra

A crunch sounds to my right.

I open my eyes.

Another crunch.

I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, but it’s long enough that my tears have dried on my cheeks and my breathing has evened out.

The sun filters through the branches above me, and my body aches as I sit up.

There’s another crunch right before a cute pointy face appears.

“Hey, Buddy,” I whisper through my still-tight throat.

The fox takes a few steps closer.

I cross my legs and set my hands on my knees.

I want to reach out for him. I’m dying to pet him. But I also know he’s a wild animal, and I probably shouldn’t let him this close to me.

But I’m not exactly in the best headspace right now, so I continue to talk to the furry guy.

“It’s okay.” I keep my voice gentle. “I’d love to be your friend. If that’s okay with you.”

He inches closer, and that’s when I notice his limp.

My exhausted heart squeezes inside my chest. “Are you hurt too?”

He comes another step closer, then another, keeping his front foot off the ground.

I thought I was done crying, but I’ve been wrong about a lot of things recently.

More tears fall as I see the string wrapped around his perfect little furry foot.

“You poor thing.” My crying turns to sobbing.

This is too much.

He hobbles closer and lets out a noise that’s more like a scratchy shout than a bark.

The sound catches me off guard, and I jump, making him jump.

And it’s all just sad and cute, and oh my god, I am currently not mentally stable enough to tend to an adorable woodland creature while maintaining any sort of dignity .

He shouts again, creeping closer.

Ready for it, instead of startling, I laugh. “You really are the cutest thing ever, aren’t you?”

I hold out my hand, palm up.

My new best friend stretches his neck, sniffing, while I focus on breathing and staying still. “See, I’m okay.”

He hobbles closer. And closer, until his bristly chin hair rubs against my fingertips.

I huff a laugh that has him hopping back. “Sorry, sorry.” I let out a real laugh this time. “I mean, I’m clearly not okay , like, at this moment. But in the general sense of the term… I’m an okay person. I’m just dealing with a little heartbreak,” I explain. To the fox.

I reach my hand out a little farther, setting it down on the forest floor between us.

“Can I call you Buddy, or do you have another name you prefer to go by?”

He cough-shouts and takes a hop forward, clearly confirming that Buddy is acceptable.

“Okay, Buddy. Can I see your leg?”

I’d feel ridiculous about talking to a fox, but I swear he understands me.

Buddy shuffles forward, then holds his injured leg higher.

Finally, a male that listens.

The ends of the string are frayed, like he’s chewed it. But it’s still knotted around his leg, between his ankle and his elbow. Or whatever an elbow is called on a fox.

I lift my gaze to meet his yellow eyes. “I need scissors. I could probably untie those knots with enough time.” I glance at my painted nails and refuse to think about Luther. “But I’m afraid it would cause too much tugging, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

He blinks at me.

“I’m going to get up now, okay? And I need you to follow me.”

I get to my feet as slowly as I can, trying not to startle Buddy.

He backs up but doesn’t run away. And I take that as a good sign.

“Okay, come on, little dude.” I pat my side and take slow steps.

Buddy shouts again. Then follows me.

I can feel dirt and other forest items stuck to my body, but I don’t want to scare Buddy by trying to brush it off, so I leave it.

When I reach the yard, I glance back to confirm Buddy is still behind me.

He’s just a few feet away.

“Keep following me, okay?” I keep my voice soft.

His little feet are quiet in the grass.

“Now, just wait here for one second.” I hold up my hands before I hurry onto the deck, into the house, and down the hall to my bathroom.

Yanking the top drawer open, I pull out my little pair of beauty scissors, then I rush back outside.

I stand on the deck, looking. But I don’t see him.

Buddy is gone.

“No.” I start to cry all over again. Big hiccupping sobs.

Buddy is hurt.

And he needs help.

And—

A scratchy shout cuts through my tears, and Buddy scurries out from under the deck.

“Dammit, Buddy.” I keep crying. “I told you I lied about being okay. You can’t play games with me right now.”

He sits at the base of the steps.

I pull in a slow breath, needing to gather my composure so I stop embarrassing myself in front of the wildlife.

“Okay…” I exhale. “I can do this.”

I move toward Buddy and cautiously descend the stairs, lowering myself to sit in the grass before him.

Buddy watches me as I cross my legs.

And this time when I hold out my hand, I lay the scissors on my palm.

They’re small enough that they don’t hang off my hand, and I have the pointy end facing me so Buddy won’t accidentally poke his nose.

He inches closer and sniffs the metal.

Then he sits again.

I chuckle. “Ready to get this over with, huh?”

My hands want to shake as I reach for his leg, but I will them to be steady.

Buddy is a wild animal, but he’s small.

Worst case scenario, he freaks out and bites me, and I have to go to the hospital to get some shots. And when I come home with a bandage on my arm, I’ll have to explain to my dad that I was playing nurse to a fox from the woods, and he bit me.

Best case scenario, Buddy holds still, lets me cut the string off, and then he becomes my lifelong companion.

“I promise to do my best,” I whisper to Buddy as I reach for his leg.

His fur is thick, but he feels so fragile.

“You’re such a good boy.” He holds perfectly still. “The best.” I slide one side of the thin scissors under the string. “We’re almost done.” I squeeze the handles of the scissors together. And the string breaks, dropping to the deck.

I slowly lower his leg and watch as Buddy gingerly sets his foot down.

“See? Does it feel better?”

Buddy darts his head down, snaps up the string, and then he shakes it like he’s trying to kill it.

A real laugh bubbles out of me.

“Yeah, you tell that string who’s boss.”

Buddy drops the offending item and shouts again.

I snag the string before he can go back for it and ball it up in my hand.

I don’t want him swallowing it.

“Well…” I look at his leg and the indentation in his fur where the string was.

I want to do more, like apply some ointment or something, since I’m pretty sure his skin is rubbed raw in places. But I’m certainly not qualified to treat a fox.

“How about I get you a little snack?”

He bounces once, and this time, his shout is extra loud.

I laugh again. “Alright, just hang tight.”

Rushing back inside, I put some lunch meat into a small metal mixing bowl, then I dig through the garage to find a handful of towels.

Buddy is still waiting for me when I step back onto the deck.

“I know they aren’t much,” I lift the bundle. “But maybe you can take a little rest on them and let that leg heal up.”

The towels are old, discards meant for rags, so my dad won’t miss them.

I stand in the grass, not sure where to set them down, when Buddy lunges forward and snags the corner of a towel.

He drags it out of my hold and goes under the deck with it.

“Dad’s not gonna like this,” I say as I drop the rest of the towels where he disappeared. “Now, don’t get so lazy that you forget how to hunt.” I set the bowl of meat down next to the towels. “This is a one-time thing.”

I’m pretty sure we both know this is not a one-time thing.

Buddy pops his head out from under the deck, sniffs the meat, then dives face-first into the bowl.

I lower myself to the steps, turning sideways so I can watch him.

The smile fades from my face.

I was expecting something so different from today.

I could tell something was off.

Knew we had to talk. Was nervous about exposing our relationship to my dad.

And the unease I felt was real.

Just for all the wrong reasons.

“Karma, am I right?”

Buddy glances up at me as he swallows another slice of turkey.

Buddy is confused, but I’m right.

I deserved this.

I did the same thing all those years ago. I made the decision to end it with my boyfriend. I didn’t give him a choice.

But I knew.

I knew he wanted a family.

I knew I was doing him a kindness by not making him choose between me and something he wanted.

And I knew I didn’t love him.

I didn’t love him, and I wasn’t sure I ever would, so I cut him loose.

Unlike then, Luther doesn’t know what I want.

He doesn’t know what I can and can’t have.

He doesn’t know how I feel about him.

But maybe he knows something more important than all that.

Maybe he knows that he doesn’t love me.

And maybe he knows he never will.