Page 5 of Snug with the Mountain Man (Fall for a Mountain Man #12)

Chapter five

Maisie

The storm doesn’t let up.

Rain lashes the windows in hard, unpredictable bursts, and the wind screams through the trees like it’s alive. Every few minutes, the roof creaks loud enough to make my stomach drop.

I throw another log on the fire, but the cabin still feels cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones, no matter how close you get to the flames.

The candles are burning lower now. Shadows crawl up the walls. I tell myself it’s fine, that I’ve been alone before, that I don’t need anyone. But every snap of a branch outside makes me flinch.

I don’t need Ford to come back, I lie to myself.

I’m halfway through pouring myself a third glass of wine when something thumps against the back door. It’s not the wind, it’s something heavier. Then, a low rummaging sound, like something or someone trying to pry at the latch.

The glass nearly slips from my hand. I freeze, heart pounding, eyes locked on the door.

The sound comes again. A slow drag. A thud.

My body moves before my brain does. I grab my phone and hit the one number I shouldn’t.

He answers on the second ring. “Maisie?”

“There’s… something outside.” My voice is too high, too fast. “At the back door. It’s not the wind.”

“Stay inside,” he says immediately. “Lock both doors. Don’t move. I’m coming.”

“Ford—”

But he’s already gone.

The next ten minutes are the longest of my life. I stand in the living room, every muscle tight, listening to the wind howl. When the headlights finally sweep across the window, I could cry.

I unlock the door right before it bursts open. Ford steps inside, rain dripping from his hair, flashlight in one hand, jaw set hard.

“You all right?”

I nod too fast. “I—I heard something.”

He checks the locks, then moves to the back of the cabin. The flashlight beam cuts across the floor and out through the window. A few seconds later, he’s back, shaking his head. “It might have been a raccoon, but it’s gone now.”

I exhale shakily, sagging against the couch. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” He places the flashlight on the table and shrugs out of his soaked jacket. His shirt clings to him, wet, muscles shifting as he moves. “Place is fine. You just got spooked.”

“I wasn’t spooked,” I lie, wrapping my arms around myself. “Just cautious.”

“Right.” His mouth twitches like he wants to smile but won’t let himself.

I glance toward the fire. The flames are smaller now, fading fast. “It’s cold.”

“I noticed.”

“I tried adding wood, but…”

He crosses to the fire and crouches, stacking logs with efficient movements. When he stands, the light catches the edge of his jaw, the wet curve of his neck.

I look away, pretending to fuss with the blanket on the couch. “You could, you know, stay here until the storm passes. Roads are probably a mess anyway.”

He hesitates. “Maisie.”

“I’m just saying it’s practical.”

He mutters something under his breath, then he sighs, kicks off his boots, and sits beside me.

The couch is small. Our legs touch immediately.

The fire crackles, light flickering over his face. He looks tired.

I tuck my feet under me and pull the blanket higher. He stares into the fire like he’s trying not to notice how close we are.

“Thanks for coming,” I say quietly.

“Wasn’t going to let you sit here scared.”

“I wasn’t scared,” I say again, knowing how weak it sounds.

He glances over, and his voice drops lower. “You were.”

I swallow, my throat tight. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

The rain beats harder on the roof. The fire pops.

He shifts, the couch dipping as he turns toward me. “You ever get tired of pretending you don’t need help?”

“Never.” I smile faintly. “You ever get tired of pretending you don’t care?”

His jaw flexes. “All the time.”

For a long time, neither of us speaks. The air feels heavier, thicker.

“Remember when I was sixteen?” I say finally. “When you found me trying to fix the dock with a bent screwdriver?”

He groans quietly. “Yeah. You hit your thumb and cried for twenty minutes.”

“I did not cry.”

“You did.” His eyes flick to me, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Well,” I say, trying for playful. “I had a crush on you, and you were mean to me.”

He goes still. The teasing dies in my throat.

“I remember,” he says quietly. The words land like a spark.

“You do?”

“Maisie.” His voice roughens, low and dark. “We shouldn’t talk about your schoolgirl crush.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re tempting me.”

My heart stutters. “And that’s a bad thing?”

He exhales slowly, eyes locked on mine. “It is if I can’t stop.”

The space between us feels electric. I can see every flicker of firelight in his eyes, every slight movement of his chest as he breathes.

I don’t move. Don’t speak. He’s the one who breaks first.

His hand slides to the back of my neck, and then his mouth is on mine, hot and hard, nothing careful about it. I gasp into him, fingers fisting in his shirt as the kiss deepens.

He tastes like rain and heat, like the thing I’ve been craving since the day I noticed him as a man and not just my friend’s older brother.

He presses me back against the couch, his body over mine, solid and heavy, his tongue sliding against mine until my head spins. His hand cups my thigh, pushing the blanket aside, fingers rough and warm on bare skin.

The kiss goes from slow to frantic in seconds. I arch into him, a low sound breaking from my throat.

Then he tears his mouth away, breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine.

“Maisie,” he mutters, voice raw. “I shouldn’t.”

“Then why—”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, the words low and pained. “And that’s exactly why I need to.”

The room feels too quiet, too still.

I reach for him anyway, my fingers brushing his jaw. “Ford—”

But he’s already pulling back, standing, raking a hand through his hair. He looks like a man fighting a war within himself.

“We need to sleep in here for the warmth. I’ll sleep in the chair,” he says roughly. “You take the couch.”

I don’t argue. I just lie there, blanket tangled around me, heart racing, lips still swollen from his kiss.