Page 4

Three

Becca

T he first thought blaring in my brain like a foghorn is: I’m alive. Holy shit, I’m alive. It’s a miracle.

The second thought, which creeps in as I chuck my guts up onto the grassy river bank is: Ew. When did I eat carrots?

The third thought doesn’t really hit until I’ve emptied my belly, coughing and retching with tears streaking down my cheeks. My limbs are shaking with cold, and my teeth are chattering from shock, and only once my surroundings start to fade back in do I remember that I’m not alone.

There’s a man here.

A dark haired, bearded, weather-beaten man in his thirties, wearing a black baseball cap and a red plaid shirt.

A man who is soaked to the skin, his clothes clinging to the muscled planes of his body; a man who has been stroking my back and murmuring comforting words the whole time I’ve been vomiting in front of him.

A man who clearly just saved my life.

And when I look up at him, that third thought is: Hello, daddy.

I’m not proud of it, but that’s exactly what goes through my brain when I finally lock eyes with my savior again. A wave of dizziness hits, and I slump to one side, bracing myself against the damp grass.

Is this real? Or am I hallucinating, still floating down the river somewhere, hovering on the edge of death? I swear at one point back there, a hungry bear swiped at me from the bank. Maybe it clonked me on the head.

“Wow,” I croak, staring at the man in a daze.

My throat is sore from vomiting so much, but the word escapes me anyway—because yeah, wow.

This guy has toffee brown eyes, both narrowed in concern as they watch me.

He’s ridiculously handsome, but that’s not what’s messing with my reality; it’s the fact that this complete stranger is looking at me with more care than any of my family members have done in my whole life.

I shiver.

“Feeling better?” the man says, still stroking my back steadily.

Even after his dunk in the freezing river, his palm is warm against my body.

Solid and reassuring. “You look better, but we should get you to a hospital to get checked out. My truck is about half a mile away. Do you think you can walk?”

The shakes get worse, traveling along my limbs and rattling my teeth. That river was bone-achingly cold, but that’s not what’s making me shudder like this.

“No,” I whisper, jerking my head from side to side.

The man’s concerned frown deepens. “No? That’s alright. I’ll carry you. Let me just—”

“No, I mean, no hospital.”

The man blinks. He pauses, leaning over me with one arm ready to scoop under my legs. Lord, he’s so big and muscly and broad—he could toss me over one shoulder like slinging on a backpack.

And right now, he’s looking at me like I’ve bashed my head on one too many river rocks.

“No hospital?”

Yup. “No hospital.”

It comes out raspy but sure, because a hospital will be the first place my family look for me. And I did not just defy death only to get caught and marched down the aisle on another day, damn it.

“You need to get checked out.” There’s a stubborn set to this man’s jaw; a commanding tone in his voice. This is a man who’s used to giving orders and being listened to. Well, then he’s fished the wrong girl out of the river.

“I’m fine.”

To prove my point, I flap him away and wobble to my feet. The world tilts queasily as I do it, and my legs shake like a newborn baby deer’s, but hey, I make it. I even give a lurching little spin, arms held wide in demonstration as he stands up too.

“See? Totally a-okay.”

When I come back around to face my savior, he’s gone still as a statue. His teeth are gritted, and his nostrils flare as he breathes. A faint blush creeps over his cheeks above the beard, and he’s staring pointedly up at the sky.

“What? Oh!”

Turns out the finest ivory silk doesn’t hold up so well to being dunked in river water.

No: the torn shreds that are left cleave to every dip and curve of my body, the fabric faintly see-through.

My hard nipples are especially putting on a show.

Somehow, it’s more revealing than if I’d been fully naked, and I yelp and try to cover myself, face flaming.

No one’s ever seen me naked before. Not like that , anyway, and now the sexy mountain man won’t even look at me. Am I that repulsive? Or is he just being a gentleman?

Focus, Becca.

I have way bigger things to worry about right now—like being soaked to the skin in a ruined wedding dress, with no phone, money, or resources, and somehow needing to start a new life without my family finding me.

Hm. Maybe if I walk toward the nearest town, I’ll find a campsite with a lost property box and some spare clothes? That would be a good step one.

My throat aches as I clear it. My stomach hurts too, because vomiting is the worst. Haven’t thrown up that much since I was fourteen years old and I snuck that bottle of fine brandy out of my father’s office cabinet.

That was a short-lived flurry of rebellion, because hangovers are their own lesson.

Of course, no one caught me that time, or even noticed how sick I made myself, because no one cared.

“Could you point me toward the nearest camp site, please?”

Forgetting himself, the mountain man looks down at me again, then blushes even harder. He holds my gaze, though, his forehead pinched in a stern frown.

“Is that where you came from? A camp site?”

“No.”

He shakes his head, not getting it. “Then why do you want to go there and not the hospital?”

With my arms still wrapped around my most intimate parts, I jerk my chin down at myself. “For clothes.” Duh.

It’s funny—I’ve seen a lot of people be frustrated with me today.

My parents, Aunt Prue, that groomsman who wanted to drag me back by my hair.

Even the make up lady and the other staff members at the manor house.

All of them looked at me with pinched mouths and visibly fraying tempers, and every single time my insides shriveled a little.

But when my bearded savior looks at me with pure exasperation, my heart flutters and my stomach churns with excitement.

A bubble of trapped laughter fills my chest. It’s different when he looks at me like that, because there’s no undertone of dislike.

It’s more like I’ve baffled him, and he’s truly concerned.

“I get that you need clothes,” he says, still keeping his eyeline carefully above my shoulders. “But why from the nearest campsite?”

“Well, I figure there might be a lost property box or something.”

“Okay.” He processes that, nodding slowly. “And then what? You wander off into the wilderness with nothing but a set of borrowed clothes, covered in cuts and bruises, your lungs half full of river water?”

That’s about the size of it, yeah. And I know it’s a terrible plan, but it’s the only one I’ve got. If it keeps me away from my family, it’s worth the risk.

“Hey, it’s a free country,” I joke weakly. That’s what I’m doing all this for, right? Freedom. For the first time in my life, I want to be in charge of my own destiny.

But the sexy mountain man shakes his head, firmer this time, and starts unbuttoning his plaid shirt. As the fabric sags open, a white tank top shows underneath, soaked through and plastered to his muscles so tightly that you can see his dark chest hair through the cotton.

Hngh.

“We’re not doing that,” he says. “I’m not dropping you off at some campsite in this condition.”

“Well, I’m not setting foot in a hospital, so…”

“I’ll take you to my cabin,” he says, still unbuttoning.

“We’ll find you some clothes and other supplies, we’ll check over your injuries, and then you can do whatever you want from there.

” Shrugging off the shirt, the man holds it out to me, his expression pained.

“Please put this on. You’re… it’s very distracting. ”

Lips pressed together against a laugh, I take the shirt and pull it on. The fabric is damp and musty with river-smell, but it swamps my body and covers everything up. It blocks the cool mountain breeze too, and I immediately feel warmer. Steadier. Safe.

My pulse calms.

“The name’s Becca,” I say, working on the buttons and giving him a teasing smile. My stomach flutters again when his mouth twitches in response. He does like me. Or he tolerates me, anyways, even though I’ve clearly thrown off his whole day. “Since you didn’t ask.”

“Jake,” he says, with a gruff nod. “Since you didn’t ask either.”

I beam at him, and he huffs a reluctant laugh. His boots scrape as he turns away, squinting at a path into the trees.

His arms are bare now, with goosebumps rising on his bare skin and his soaked clothes clinging to his body. He looks so sturdy—like he completely belongs in this wild landscape of rocks and mountains and trees.

“I won’t take you against your will, obviously.” He addresses the forest as I roll his massive sleeves up my forearms. “But I’d really like to take you to my cabin and help you out, Becca. It’s gonna mess with me otherwise. I’ll worry.”

Warmth spreads through my chest like liquid gold. Has anyone ever worried about me before? About me as a person, not just as a source of potential embarrassment to the family? I don’t think so.

“Okay, Jake.” It’s a nice name; simple and solid. It suits him. “That works for me. Steal me away to your lair.”

He snorts and starts to turn away, ready to lead me there, then glances back at my bare feet.

“Shit.” His chest rises and falls, like he’s sucking in a deep breath. “I’d better carry you after all. There are snakes around here. You shouldn’t go stomping through the woods barefoot.”

I’m already bouncing on my toes, grinning, ready to fling myself into the stern mountain man’s arms. And maybe this is all a dream, or a hallucination from whacking my head on a river rock. Surely it’s too good to be true otherwise.

“Incoming!” I leap at his chest, all my bumps and bruises long forgotten. Honestly, I haven’t felt so alive, so good, in years. I’m giddy with it.

Jake yelps, scrambling to catch me, then hitches me up bridal-style. He’s breathing hard, giving that exasperated frown again, but it melts away when I boop him on the nose. He stares at me from mere inches away, completely baffled.

“Who are you?” he asks, almost to himself.

I shrug cheerfully. It’s a new day, the first one of the rest of my life. “I haven’t decided that yet.”

“Maybe I’m dreaming,” he mutters. “I fell asleep fishing and now I’m dreaming.”

My arms loop around his neck. “But it’s a good dream, right? A fun one, at least.”

Jake ponders that, turning for the trees. “Yeah,” he says at last, striding toward the path that plunges into the forest. “It’s a good one.”

Hopefully he still thinks that when he realizes I’m as real as it gets, baby. A flesh-and-blood woman who needs his help, with tons of baggage and nothing to offer in return except a smile and heartfelt thanks. People love that, right?

“I’m gonna make this up to you,” I say, adjusting his cap where it’s slipped forward. Touching him just feels so natural, so right . “I promise. I’ll pay you back for rescuing me somehow. I will.”

Jake sighs and hitches me higher against his chest. “I work for Mountain Rescue. Just doing my job.”

Well, whatever. It still means the world to me.