Page 10 of The Mountain Man’s Retribution (Summer in the Pines #7)

Chapter Nine

BODIE

A week passes, and Fawn grows braver each day. Though I’m introverted by nature, unexpected visitors sometimes arrive. At first, Fawn’s footsteps thud along the hallway at the sound of the doorbell, and she disappears into my bedroom, huddled beneath the blanket in the corner.

But as days fly by, and she grows increasingly accustomed to unannounced guests, her footsteps retreat more shallowly down the hallway until she hovers near the living room, eyeing the strangers I speak with in choppy, short phrases.

I pore over Flint’s books, retrieving a handful that discuss psychology in general terms. But I find few resources to help, and when I enlist the services of an online therapist to speak with Fawn, knowing town is out of the question, my homesteading partner refuses.

I don’t know if she’s more overwhelmed by the technology behind these meetings or speaking to someone about her life.

So, I meet with Ms. Everdean myself, trying to sort out how best to help Fawn while keeping my head on straight. She recommends that Fawn keep a journal, which quickly reveals my little elf can barely write. It’s on a par with a first or second-grader, though I would never say as much.

The journal serves a purpose beyond therapy, though.

It’s meant to draw her out, get her to tell me more about Big Man and his sons, and provide me with the information I need to hunt them down.

But Fawn refuses to open up, almost as if she senses my darker intent.

Frustrating the hell out of me, she repeats again and again when I ask too many questions, “I want you more than revenge.”

The journal more or less a bust, I fall back on the greatest pleasure Flint and I shared as fellow homesteaders: singing music.

I pull down his dusty guitar and find the tambourine and hand drum, showing her the basics.

After tuning the guitar, I encourage her to tap along on the tambourine, finding and keeping my beat.

The first few attempts are a disaster, but finally, we get a steady rhythm going, and I launch into “Hey Jude.”

Fawn listens quietly, her large eyes rounding as if she’s never heard it before. When I ask, she confirms the observation, making my mind swim. Never heard the Beatles? I can’t fathom it.

When I get to the “na na na” and improvising at the end, I encourage her to sing along, make any sounds she likes.

She sits mutely, despite my encouragement, pleasure written in her face.

After a few days, her rhythm grows steadier, and she adds a few sounds to the last part.

By week’s end, she loves the song, crooning along.

Touching my arm, she says, eyes pooling with emotion, “Be sure to let her in.” Her gentle words are the culmination of a headlong descent into the strangest, most captivating intimacy of my life.

Days have become patterns of shared memories I cherish and anticipate, not knowing exactly when the shift occurred.

Collecting herbs becomes a gentle brushing of fingertips and wistful sighs.

Tidying the cabin transforms into sidelong glances and flushed cheeks.

Washing dishes leads to splashed water, teasing flirtation, and embraces that set my blood ablaze.

Singing together at night morphs into whispered promises between the heady lyrics we sing.

I bring her wildflowers daily at the end of my chores, feeling like I’m ten feet tall the way her adoring eyes appraise me.

I wash her knee-length locks and rub them with herbal oils to work out the knots, while we discuss favorite recollections, childhood dreams, and the big thoughts we don’t feel safe sharing with anybody …

except each other. I comb her pretty curls and braid or put them in a large ponytail at her request, feeling sunk to my neck in need for this woman.

I use the same oil to moisturize her hands and feet, and to massage her shoulders and back.

She soaks up my touch, purring like a well-loved cat, pursing her lips and whimpering.

I clean the dirt from beneath her fingernails and toenails and show her how to cut them properly after several failed attempts, and she learns to brush her teeth with an herbal paste Flint swore by.

Nightly after singing, I read from her favorite books, selecting chapters and passages that make her blush, cover her face, and reveal to me, in gentle tones, the romantic desires of her passionate heart.

She’s breathtaking, the kind of stunning I never knew existed, and she awakens my heart, making me feel the vibrancy of life in a raw way that scares and compels me.

But it eats me alive to know she existed all these years, less than ten miles from my cabin, lost in a world of pain, punishment, and depravity

Through every touch, every ritual, I work to convey that she is cared for, a prize.

But each interaction, each stolen moment, comes with a consequence I never foresaw, another sliver of my heart lost. An intense, unyielding desire to make her mine burgeons.

To keep her with me forever, lost in this world of a thousand intimate little gestures … and desperate for more.

Fawn snuggles with me unhesitatingly at night, pleased by the bed and my warm arms, her hair my favorite blanket.

And she always demands goodnight kisses, which lengthen and blossom each evening until her cheeks are red from my beard, and my fucking insides are so knotted I don’t know how much more I can handle.

The level of self-control it takes not to pull down her jogging pants and slide into her at night when she snuggles her ample ass against my cock is monumental. Especially when I wake up every goddamned morning with her tiny hand gripping my dick like it’s hers.

Fawn’s everything I could ever want, funny, smart, affectionate, resilient.

A creature of the forest, she represents all that drew me from civilization.

Question is, when the time comes, will she become enamored with that civilization?

Like a raccoon caught in a shiny object trap? Or will she choose me?

I awaken tense and needy with her hand cradling my manhood, working to extricate myself without waking her.

Usually, she’s so sleepy, she barely notices, but today, her stunning eyes peer at me, a timid smile on her face.

“Let me please you,” she begs, drawing closer, her hand gripping me jealously.

“Oh, God.” I groan, so fed up with this exquisite torture.

Her head closes the distance, her hand still holding me. “Please let me taste you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut tempted beyond all fucking reason. “No,” I moan, drawing away from her and jumping to my feet. “If you want to please me, Fawn, then you must do as I say today.” I sound like a fucking brute, but it’s the only way to make her understand.

“Yes.” She looks down, cheeks flushing.

“Today, you and I must run errands to the neighboring homesteads. You’re coming with me.”

Her breath catches in her throat, and panic contorts her visage. But I’m ready for her reaction this time. I order firmly, “These cannot be put off any longer, and I need your help. It’s just to mountain folk like us. The immediate vicinity. Not the backwoods where you came from.”

“I want to stay here,” she protests, brows stubbornly knotting.

“Do you want to stay here? Or do you want to please me, Fawn?” God, I feel like an awful person, but how else can I motivate her to take baby steps into the real world? A world she still knows so little about.

She shakes her head, eyeing me wildly, “no” on the tip of her tongue.

“It would please me exceedingly,” I urge.

Fawn sighs, face fracturing. “But I’m not ready.”

“You’re ready,” I strain, trying to keep my voice gentle, though the need to run down the hallway and jack off in the bathroom is strong. “You say you trust me, Fawn. Keep taking bold steps like you have all week. Be my partner today.”

Big eyes staring up at me pleadingly, she swallows loudly.

I try again, remembering what the therapist has told me. That for the time being, until Fawn acclimates to the world, I must learn to speak to her on her own terms. “You say I make you strong, but those are only words. I need proof through your actions.”

Her face works hard, twisting and scowling, to hold back sobs. I have to take it as a win that she hasn’t already crawled under the blanket in the corner. “Do you trust me?” I ask, leveling my gaze on her.

In a voice so soft I have to read her lips, she answers, “Yes, Bodie, I trust you with my life.”

“Then, the decision is made.”

After dressing and eating breakfast, we stand in front of my truck on the passenger side. Her face is whiter than a dinner plate, and her body trembles.

I ask, “Have you been in a car before?”

She nervously snickers at the question. “Yes, of course,” she replies a little indignantly. The woman never ceases to amaze me.

“And you know what this is?” I ask, holding up my cell phone. I’ve been slowly introducing her to technology all week, but my truck and cell phone are new. Today, as we do our rounds, I may need my phone, so it’s time for this conversation.

“Yes, Big Man used it to call his townspeople and sons sometimes. He would not allow me to have one, though.”

My mind chews on how to use this knowledge to track him and his sons down. Of course, he may have used burner phones. I would have in his place, especially after years of squatting and keeping a kidnapped woman.

I open the passenger door, waiting expectantly. Fawn eyes the hand I offer her. “It has been a while,” she excuses. “But I trust you.”

I help her scramble into the seat, leaning over her and buckling her in. She grabs my bearded cheek, stroking it and leaning forward for a kiss. My lips dance over hers. Desire sizzles through my veins, demanding satisfaction.

“We will go nowhere today like this,” I confess with a throaty chuckle. “Shame with the work of loading everything.”

My eyes wander to the bed of the truck, and Fawn’s follow. “You are right.”

Trying to get her as invested in this trip as I am, I say, “Remember the endless eggs you pulled from the root cellar and washed earlier? How you had to swallow fear to go down there?”

“Yes, because I used to be locked in the cellar.”

I nod, grinding my teeth. “And it was wrong. It will never happen again.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, her hand reaching for my pants. But I pull back, shaking my head.

“It’s not the time or place,” she says, quoting my words, the corners of her mouth turning up.

“That’s right, my little elf. See how quickly you’re learning?”

“I am trying, Bodie. So very hard. Like I did to go down into the cellar because you had no time to comfort a silly, fearful woman.”

I shake my head, and she frowns. “You mustn’t speak of yourself that way.

Remember what I’ve told you all week? That men and women both have fears sometimes.

It doesn’t make us silly, and we shouldn’t be ashamed of those feelings.

” I kick myself for her statement, having called her “silly” the first time she hid from me instead of running errands.

She has a long memory, despite her pleasant demeanor.

“And what do you fear?” she whispers.

I must be careful with this answer. It’s clear she expects me to be fearless and deadly, always willing and able to protect her. No matter what. Admitting too many of my fears to her would pull the rug out from under her, undo some of our progress.

Instead, I confess, “I’m afraid I’ll do wrong by you. Only you won’t realize it until much later, and you will never be able to forgive me. I couldn’t stand that, Fawn.”

“Never,” she gasps, palming my cheek and sliding her fingers through my beard. “You are mine, and I am yours. Remember? We are meant to be together no matter what, like Elizabeth and Darcy?—”

“Jane and Rochester,” I finish with a gentle smile. “I hope so. But I want you to make a fully informed decision, not one based on a limited understanding of the world.”

“Nothing will change my mind,” she argues with conviction as she has all week. Frowning, she adds, “Perhaps, you don’t want me?”

“God, no,” I counter, snagging her chin with my finger and forcing her to look up at me. “How could you even think such a thing?”

“When animals mate in the wild, they don’t hesitate, Bodie. Perhaps I don’t please you enough?”

“Never talk that way again, Fawn. You please me more than I can express. But I want you to be my equal ...” I look away, running my hand through my hair. I don’t know how to explain myself.

“Your equal,” she repeats quietly. “You are strong, fearless, and dangerous. I don’t know how to become those things for you.” Tears spring to her eyes. God, here we go again.

“I don’t mean you have to be exactly like me.

I love our differences. Your softness, tenderness, and your open-hearted generosity.

But I do want you to know what you’re getting yourself into with me.

We aren’t forest animals, Fawn. I don’t just want your body alone.

I want your heart, your soul, and your mind, too. Like I wish to give you in return.”

“You keep saying that,” she says darkly. “But if I were everything you could possibly want, would you truly let me into your heart? Or would you find another reason to put me off?”

Her words slam into me hard. She’s hitting far too close to the target. “I don’t know what you mean,” I grumble.

“You told me the day we met that you don’t trust easily. Why not?”

I long to walk away, change the topic of conversation, or somehow otherwise distract her.

But I can tell by her large, curious eyes that she won’t let me.

Sighing heavily, I confess, “Once I was engaged to a woman. My high school sweetheart. But I caught her fucking my best friend after unexpectedly returning home early from a deployment. After that, I quit trusting people. And believe me, I found plenty of folks who reinforced these suspicions until I gave up on society altogether, moving here to embrace nature.” I look away, clenching my jaw.

“And to find me,” she whispers, smiling at me sweetly.

“It seems so,” I concede, dropping my shoulders and relaxing into a lopsided grin.

Her ardent gaze captivates me, absorbing my face and making me feel like a fucking superhero.

I kiss her gently, watching her cheeks blossom with color.

“Enough about me and my past. Let’s make running errands into an adventure we can enjoy together. Okay?”

She stares at me skeptically.

I add, “I swear to keep you safe, and I also have a special treat in store for you.”

“A special treat?” Her face beams. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.”