Page 17 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

A mka awoke with a jolt and sat up in the bed. Where was she? Blinking, she looked around the small cabin. Oh, yeah. She’d slept with Christian. Who actually owned a home like he might settle down. Shocking. Yes.

She glanced at the empty space where he’d been and then pressed her hand to his pillow, finding it now cold. How long had he cradled her the night before? The daylight made the cabin feel even more bare, but the fire in the hearth gave it just enough warmth to tempt her into leaving the cozy bed.

Sliding out, she headed straight to the bathroom, where she used the facilities, brushed her teeth, and put on her now very wrinkled clothes.

Her jeans were stiff from drying overnight and felt a little grimy, but they'd do for now.

She tamed her long dark hair the best she could with her hands and then stepped back out into the main room.

What time was it? She’d left her purse and phone in the SUV the night before.

Keeping her boots in her hand so she wouldn’t track more mud through the place, she crossed the room and opened the front door to see Christian's broad back.

He sat on the porch steps, his shoulders back and his gaze fixed somewhere in the trees with a creek bubbling by to the side of the cabin.

This morning, he wore jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt, regardless of the chill in the air.

The rain had finally stopped, but the air felt wet, and the bulbous clouds above them promised another storm. Soon.

The trees in every direction dripped more water, while scurrying throughout the forest echoed from small animals seeking food. The larger animals were silent.

“Good morning,” he said without turning around.

“Hi.” She paused at the doorway and then stepped onto the porch. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and walked over to sit beside him.

“I borrowed your SUV and grabbed breakfast.” He handed her a closed Styrofoam container and a fork.

Oh yeah. He didn’t own a vehicle. But he did have a home. Was there a chance he’d stick around? Her stomach growled. She put the boots next to her and reached for it, flipping the lid open to reveal scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage from the Green Plate. “When did you go to town?”

“An hour or so ago. Tika hung out for a bit and then took off to explore again.”

She took a bite and nearly groaned at the still warm and cheesy taste. It was kind of him to get her breakfast. “What time is it?”

“Just after seven.”

She jolted. “I have to get to the tavern.”

“I already talked to Daisy,” he said. “She has things covered for the morning and said she hired help for the day. In addition, the hardware store actually had a window the size of the tavern one that should be installed by now.”

Should his making arrangements like that irritate Amka? She let the fork hang in her hand for a second, not answering right away. The steam from the food curled up into the air between them. He hadn’t looked at her yet. “You’re kind of taking over.”

The porch boards creaked beneath them, the sound quiet but constant. “If I were taking over, you wouldn’t be engaged.”

So they were back to that topic? She dug into the eggs, trying not to notice the hard, impossibly solid body next to her—the same one that had held her all night without saying a word. Her fork scraped the bottom of the container. “This is weird,” she muttered.

“Agreed.”

She kept eating, silence stretching between them. Not uncomfortable exactly, but not easy either. Something hung between them, and she didn’t know what to do with it. “Why?” she finally asked, throwing his own word from the night before back at him. Why was he taking such an interest in her life?

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Didn’t flinch. He just kept staring at the trees like the answer might be carved into the bark somewhere. The side of his face looked as rugged and distant as the mountains around them. “I don’t know.”

“Christian, that’s not good enough.”

“I’m aware.” He turned then, his focus locking on her. That sharp, mismatched gaze cut through her usual defenses like they weren’t even there. Her face heated. “There’s something about you.”

“Yeah?” She stabbed at the last bite of egg and shoved it in her mouth, chewing slow. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away.

She didn’t push, not sure she wanted to hear the truth from him. If he could figure it out.

Nothing about her felt mysterious. In her late twenties, she managed the local bar and had never once left the state where she grew up.

Work filled her days and kept her body strong.

Long black hair framed her face, and her eyes matched the hue perfectly.

She had decent cheekbones and skin. Not flawless, but defined enough to draw a second glance from people paying attention.

She understood exactly what she looked like.

Attractive but not the kind of woman strangers noticed across a room.

She didn’t care. Numbers made sense, and so did people.

She could stretch inventory, calm a fight before it started, and outwork anyone behind her bar.

In addition, she could quilt like the best of them after a couple glasses of wine.

“You’ve traveled the world, C.” Then she coughed. “I mean, Christian.” Only his brothers called him C. She remembered him beating the heck out of a football player from another town who called him that back during a high school game.

“You can call me C.”

Holy crap. Her entire body tingled. A year ago?

She would’ve been doodling his name all over the receipts at the bar.

Now? Now she was engaged to an asshat and might still end up going to prison.

But she had to understand. Just this once.

Her voice came out low, nearly lost under the sound of water dripping off branches.

“I don’t know what you’ve done exactly, but I imagine you’ve met a lot of women. ”

He reached to his side, picked up a to-go cup, and offered it to her.

She stared at it.

“I got you a chai latte,” he said. “From Hitty’s.” He’d gone to both the Green Plate and Hitty’s for her?

Her fingers closed around the cup before she thought twice. Still warm. Still fragrant. She took a big drink without hesitation. “Perfect,” she said.

Hitty had the best coffee and ice cream on the planet, as far as she was concerned. Not that Amka had much to compare it to since she hadn’t exactly made a habit of leaving the state, let alone the country. But Hitty’s had to be among the best out there.

He watched her drink, expression unreadable.

“You know how I take my drink. You know what I like. So why the interest?” Her voice sharpened. “Or do you just collect wounded animals?”

His mouth curved, just barely. “Are you wounded?”

She cursed herself internally. Why had she said that out loud? “Well, someone tried to blow me up,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. “Last night somebody shot in my direction, although I’m not entirely convinced they aimed at me.”

“That’s not what you meant by wounded.”

Now he was perceptive? She dragged a hand through her unruly hair. “You’re worried about me? Is that why you’ve gone into overprotective beast mode?”

His lips twitched again. “Beast mode? That’s a new one.”

She stared out at the trees, letting the quiet stretch.

Christian was just the type of guy to rescue wounded animals, and no doubt, he wanted to help her. Somehow sensed she needed it. Even if he admitted he had some kind of interest in her—and that would be an ego boost—what were they supposed to do about it?

He hadn’t said anything like that, anyway. Not really. Christian didn’t strike her as the type to flirt just to pass time. Maybe he had a compulsion to fix broken things. Maybe he thought she was one of them.

She wasn’t broken and didn’t need rescuing. Yet, sleeping in his arms had been the first decent rest she’d gotten in way too long. That wasn’t nothing.

“You’re in a mess,” he said finally. “I don’t understand it, but I want to help you out.” He looked out at the drenched woods.

Yeah. That’s what she figured. He’d help anybody he thought to be in danger.

It wasn’t about her at all. She wasn’t the most worldly woman, but she knew enough to spot danger when it came wrapped in quiet comfort.

Men like Christian didn’t stick. They didn’t belong in town life or behind tavern counters.

And they sure didn’t fall for women who could balance the books, handle a bar brawl, and still patch a quilt at the end of a night.

She turned toward him, closing the lid of the Styrofoam container.

If she needed to scare him off, she knew how.

Probably too well. “Listen, Christian. If you want to make a go of it with me, you just say the word. But I’m telling you right now.

I want home, hearth, and babies, and I want them now. ”

He didn’t blink. Didn't even twitch. That surprised her.

She smiled, slow and deliberate. “I’m not lying to you.

” And she wasn’t. Not technically. She did want home, hearth, and babies.

Just not with Jarod. God, definitely not with Jarod.

But she wasn’t about to say that out loud.

This wasn’t about Jarod. This was about watching Christian take the hit and flinch.

Only he didn’t.

That irritated her a little. She sipped her chai again, finding it still nicely warm. “Christian,” she said, drawing his name out a little, “you’d be an interesting life. Chaotic. Loud. Probably plenty wild.”

He gave nothing back.

“But let’s be honest,” she went on, “you have zero intention of settling down. I’ve never pictured you that way.” She set the cup down on the porch deck. “And when I found out you took that AWT job? It tracked.”

The AWT flew into nowhere, found poachers, tracked down traffickers, shut it all down and vanished like ghosts. The few she’d met didn’t have homes. Or families. No PTA meetings or minivans. Just boots, planes, and the next mission.

“So here’s the deal,” she said. “Either make a plan with me and give me a bunch of babies, or butt out of my life.” She watched him now, waiting, keeping her expression calm and pleasant. Like she’d just offered him a sandwich. It was the only way to get him to back off, and he definitely would.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and darn if her lips didn’t start tingling like he’d touched them. “What if I say yes?” he asked.

She snorted. Couldn’t help it. “Then I’d fall off this seat in a dead faint.”

That earned her the smallest hint of a smile, but it didn’t go anywhere. Yeah, a woman could get addicted to that almost smile. “You’re not looking to settle down, Christian. Don’t lie.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You playing games, baby?”

Baby? Seriously? He’d called her that at the fire, but she’d been focused on survival. Now she focused on him. That endearment should not make her go gooey inside. “No. Are you?”

His gaze lifted, locked with hers. Steady. “Don’t ever play games with me, Amka. I don’t lose, and I don’t take prisoners.”

What did that mean? Her mouth dried out immediately. She’d wanted to push him off balance, but now she wasn’t so sure who’d lost their footing. “I’m not playing.” She sipped her latte again to stall. “I need you to back off.”

“Too tempting?”

“Yeah.” The word left before she could soften it.

He felt so solid next to her. “So you really want the whole marriage, babies, family thing?”

“Of course I do.” Her spine straightened. “Don’t you? Someday?”

He leaned back slowly, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. “Never thought about it.”

Yeah. That’s what she figured. She took another long drink. The latte had cooled a bit but still held a punch of power with caffeine and sugar. “Well,” she said, keeping her voice light, “I’ve appreciated the overprotective caveman act. Really. But I’ve got to get to work.”

His head tilted, as if waiting for her to finish.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a Glock and a shotgun beneath the bar. If anyone threatens me, I won’t hesitate.”

“All right.” He stood, making the porch creak in protest. “Put on your boots. I’ll take you.”

She blinked. “You’re not going to fight me on that?”

“Nope.”

She leaned back, trying to mask her surprise. That had actually worked? Apparently so. But as she slid on her boots, she couldn’t help feeling the tiniest sense of sadness deep inside. What if he had said yes?