Page 5

Four

Jake

T he only folks beside myself who have ever seen inside my cabin are my sister Brooke, her husband Hunter, and my niece Ellie.

No other soul has stepped foot past the doorway.

There aren’t even previous owners who can lay claim to that knowledge of my cabin, because I built it myself a few years back, board by board, nail by nail.

It’s not perfect, but I constructed this whole place from scratch.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t invited anyone else from the town to drop by. I’m over-protective of my home, too paranoid that someone will point out a wonky fixture or scuffed up floorboard and I’ll feel it like an ice pick in my chest.

Or maybe I’m just a grumpy, reclusive bastard. That’s what Brooke and Hunter always say, teasing me for hiding myself away in the mountains when I used to be such a social kid in high school.

What can I say? The older I get, the more I’m sure that the trees are better company than people anyways.

“This is us,” I announce, my tone more sure than I feel. Call me crazy, but a large part of me really wants Becca to like this place.

And why wouldn’t she? My cabin sits in a secret grove in the forest, tucked in a gap between the trees.

My truck is parked to one side, for when I need to get further afield than the few miles into town.

At this time of year, wildflowers carpet the grassy clearing and birds flit past busily overhead, building nests.

Their cries echo down from the canopy, and everything around us is green and vibrant and alive.

“Oh, wow.” Becca’s arms tighten fractionally around my neck, and she cranes to get a better view of the cabin as we approach.

Her damp hair is snagged and tangled to shit in a crazy updo, with twigs and pine needles sticking out of it.

What the hell was she doing before she fell in that river?

“It’s like something out of a fairy tale.

Or like one of those pictures you get on cozy jigsaw puzzles. Super cute.”

Relief coasts through me, and I breathe a little lighter as I stride across the clearing. Though I’ve been carrying Becca for half a mile, my arms aren’t too tired. Mostly, it feels really fucking good to hold her body so close to mine.

“I like those window boxes,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“Ooh, bird feeders too!”

“Yeah.”

Ellie likes spotting the birds as they flit down to the deck to feed. So do I. It’s restful. Which reminds me—

“Ah, shit. I left my fishing stuff back at the river.”

Becca bites her lip, her fingertips scritching through the hair on the back of my head. Makes me want to fucking purr. “I’m sorry. I’ll replace it, I swear.”

“No, no.” Should never have said anything, but I was just thinking out loud. Sure didn’t mean to make her feel bad. “It doesn’t matter. No one else goes to that spot, so I’ll pick it all up another day.”

The deck steps are sturdy beneath my boots, which are still squelching audibly from their dunking.

When we reach the center of the deck, I pause, because there’s no real excuse to keep Becca in my arms from here.

The decking and floorboards are all carefully sanded and treated, because Ellie runs around barefoot too sometimes and the last thing I want is to give a toddler splinters.

Still, it’s a real fight with myself to make my arms set Becca down. When her feet land on the deck and I have to straighten up without her, a miserable pang reverberates through my chest. Feels so wrong to have even a few inches between us.

Don’t be crazy , I tell myself, frowning as I stalk past to unlock the front door. Just ‘cause you fished her out of the river, that doesn’t mean you get any claim over her. She’s not a prize salmon.

“Brr,” Becca says, huddling close to my side as I work the key. “It’s cold out here when I’m not all bundled up against you.”

“It’s that mountain breeze. And you’re still damp.”

“Uh-huh.”

The lock clunks, and the door swings open.

“Better stay close then,” I hear myself say, even as we step inside out of the breeze. Becca hums and slips her hand into mine. My heart leaps.

Holy shit.

“This, uh…”

Come on, brain. Get back online. A beautiful woman is holding my hand, but that’s no call to lose the power of speech—even if my heart’s galloping faster than a stallion right now.

“This is my, uh. This is my cabin.”

No shit.

“It’s gorgeous,” Becca says, glancing around, her hand still clasped in mine. I look around too, trying to see the place with fresh eyes. Trying to see what she sees.

The furniture is basic but sturdy, each piece carved and built with love from local wood.

Everything is lit by sunshine spilling through the windows.

There’s a small kitchen with a breakfast bar; a sofa and coffee table; a rocking chair that Ellie loves to sit in.

A bookcase; a log burner; woven rugs on the floor.

Two doors lead off the main space: one to the bathroom, one to the bedroom. Thank god that’s in a separate room, because if Becca cracked a joke about my bed, I might just burn to a crisp with arousal and embarrassment.

“Wow.” Becca squeezes my hand. “I can’t believe you get to live here. You’re so lucky.”

Heat spreads from the crown of my head all the way down to my waterlogged boots. Hearing her praise the home I built with my own hands… that’s one hell of a natural high.

“There’s hot water.” Reluctantly letting go of Becca’s hand, I nudge her toward the bathroom. “You take a shower and warm up while I find you some spare clothes, then we’ll check over your injuries and take it from there.”

I’d be more bossy about the medical side, but Becca seems miraculously fine after nearly drowning in the river.

She chatted happily for the whole walk here, and her breaths were sounding normal.

No telltale gurgling sounds of waterlogged lungs.

Honestly, her dress seems more beat up by the whole ordeal than she does, because there are only a few cuts and scratches visible on her bare limbs, and she stopped shaking a while back.

If I hadn’t caught her motionless body myself, if I hadn’t been the one to perform CPR, I’d question whether the whole thing even happened at all. But the memory of her chalk-white face sends a shiver down my spine.

Thank god I went fishing today. Thank god.

“Okay.” Becca strolls toward the bathroom door. “But will you help with the buttons on my dress?”

A bolt of arousal spears through my gut, and I go still as stone.

“Sure,” I rasp.

Fuck.

* * *

The bathroom isn’t tiny, but with both of us crammed between the sink and the shower, it suddenly feels small as hell. Everywhere I shift, everywhere I look, I’m accidentally nudging Becca or glimpsing her bare skin or catching her eye in the mirror.

“You’re blushing,” she points out, brimming with delight. She’s practically bouncing on her toes, overjoyed to get me twisted in knots like this. Glad one of us finds it funny.

Becca’s facing away from me, her back to my chest, with my plaid shirt tossed on the sink edge. This dress of hers hides absolutely nothing with the fabric soaked through; she might as well be buck-ass nude. And still, there are dozens of fussy little buttons to undo down her spine.

These buttons would be bad enough, but now that the material is damp, they’re sticking and bloated. It’s an impossible task, and at this rate, by the time I get them undone one by one, it’ll be nightfall.

“Becca?” I address the nape of her neck. It’s one of the few safe parts of her body for me to look at, and it’s also the prettiest nape I’ve ever seen. This woman is so goddamn elegant. She’s a wonder of nature.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to keep this dress?”

She scoffs. “No. I didn’t want to keep it before it got soaked and torn to shreds.”

Well, then. Gripping both sides of the fabric, I rip the back of the dress open in one strong motion. Becca makes a shocked sound, clutching the edge of the sink for balance.

Just being practical. Nothing to see here.

But we’re both pink-cheeked in the mirror, both breathing hard. Becca’s slender back is bare. Her hands shake as they reach up and start pulling twigs and hairpins from the snarl of her red hair. “Th-thanks.”

“No problem.”

And… I should go. She asked for help with her dress, and I’ve torn it half open. There’s no excuse for me to linger, and yet—

“You want help with your hair?”

She beams at me in the mirror. “Yes, please.”

We lapse into silence, both focused on undoing the mess on her head. Whenever either of us pulls a twig or hairpin free, we set it beside the sink in a growing pile.

“This sure is a strange choice of outfit to go hiking, Becca.”

She shoots me an odd look in the mirror. “I wasn’t hiking. This is a wedding dress.”

White static fills my brain, and I snatch my hands away, holding them aloft in horror.

A wedding dress? Becca was getting married today?

She’s engaged?

There’s a guy out there somewhere looking for his fiance.

Or another girl is. Whatever. Whoever they are, they’re probably worried sick about Becca too, and meanwhile I’m here touching her and tearing her dress open and having all these thoughts , these heated thoughts, that I’ve got no right to be having.

“Wait, no.” Reading the panic in my sudden silence, Becca spins around and grabs my wrists. “No, no, no. It’s not like that at all.” She puts my hands on her shoulders, and I let her, because I am a weak asshole.

And I cannot stop touching this woman.

Can’t stop wanting her. Can’t stop needing her, even now that I know she belongs to someone else. My thumbs rub beneath her collarbones, stroking her warm skin. Oh, god. Feels so good.

“It was arranged,” Becca says, raising her chin until I meet her gaze.

Her green eyes are calm and steady—everything I’m not right now.

“It was arranged by my family, and I didn’t want it but no one cared.

So I ran away, and that’s how I wound up in the river in my wedding dress.

I barely even knew the guy. You can… you can keep touching me, Jake. ”

A shaky breath heaves out of my chest. My thumbs are still stroking small circles beneath her collarbone, and I’ve never been filled with so many conflicting emotions before. They’re crashing around inside me, filling me to the brim.

Relief, possessiveness, confusion, anger, fear. Gratitude that Becca seems to be feeling this thing between us too, and I’m not going crazy.

“You’re a runaway bride,” I say slowly, because that’s not something you hear every day. It’s a lot to process.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Becca bites her lip, still holding my gaze. “I’ve already caused you so much trouble, but my family might cause you even more. If they find me, anyway.”

My spine straightens, and I scowl down at her. “They’re not gonna find you. Fuck that.”

And if they do? They’ll have to go through me first.

She may not be mine, but I’d already do anything for this woman.