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So much longing I could barely breathe.
Seriously. Did Rowan have to kiss me like that if he never planned to keep me? Did he have to casually ruin me for all other men, like it was no big deal? Such a jerk!
All night long, my fingertips reached up to brush my mouth again and again, like I might feel the ghost of his kiss left on my lips. And all night long, a needy hum buzzed under my skin—because the Wild Man of Starlight Ridge wound me up like a clockwork toy, then left me empty and wanting.
So. When the pale light of dawn creeps around the hotel curtains, I roll off the bed with a growl. The bed frame shrieks and the mattress springs all plink in a janky chorus, and I stomp to the bathroom, muttering.
I scrub at my teeth like I’m trying to sand them down to stubs.
I gargle mouthwash and spit viciously at the mirror.
And I take the angriest, most huffy shower that poky little cubicle has ever seen, muttering under my breath about stubborn mountain men and scrubbing my skin until it’s pink and raw.
Ten minutes later, I charge out onto the street, my backpack bouncing on my shoulders. My shiny new hiking books squeak with every step, rubbing at my toes and heels through my thick socks, but I don’t care.
The sting is good, actually. It distracts from the hole in my chest.
Goddamn Rowan.
My legs feel strong after yesterday’s hike, and my ankle doesn’t twinge at all after that stupid fall. As I lengthen my strides, finding a good rhythm, some of the stiffness in my hamstrings melts away, and the breeze drifts over my hot cheeks like it’s trying to soothe my temper.
My damp hair is braided back, with my crocheted headband keeping any flyaway strands out of my eyes. I’m in moss green leggings and a purple tank top, a gray sweater stuffed in my backpack with my other supplies in case I get cold.
Hard to imagine my core temperature dropping even a single degree. Not with this much anger boiling in my veins.
When I saw myself in the mirror this morning, I barely recognized myself. Since when has steel glinted in my eyes? Since when have I looked ready to cut a bitch? Evie Daniels has always been one of life’s peacemakers, more likely to soothe than snap. But here I am storming through town, ready to chew out a certain wild man.
The area map is folded away in my backpack, with my previous best guess for the Wild Man of Starlight Ridge’s location crossed on it in a big X. Could use it again, I suppose, since it sort of worked the first time, but for now I point my feet at the right mountain and march through the empty town streets.
My boots thud hollowly against the sidewalk. A dog walker passes on the other side of the street, nodding politely as their dog gives me a sloppy mutt grin.
Gusting out a long breath, I wave back and force a smile.
The tightness in my chest loosens a tiny bit when I step from the sidewalk to packed dirt. It loosens again when I reach the grassy slopes at the base of the mountain, my arms pumping and sweat already trickling down my spine. The air tastes like fresh spring water and pine.
Yes.
This is right. This is necessary.
I can’t let Rowan go without a fight, damn it. That stubborn jerk is mine.
Arms swinging, thighs burning, I climb and climb without even stopping to gasp for air. As birds burst into song all around me, blasting out their dawn chorus, I climb the base of that mountain like the freaking Terminator. And only when I’m past the tree line, with trunks stretching high to the sky all around, do I finally stumble to a halt with a gasp.
Because charging down the mountain path between the trees, a look of fierce determination etched on his features, is Rowan.
A blue flannel shirt covers his broad chest, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he’s wearing boots again. There’s some kind of leather satchel slung across his back, and god, I forgot how unfairly handsome he is now with his hair and beard tamed. That jawline is sharper than a hunting knife.
Rowan falters too when he sees me, relief and uncertainty and regret flitting across his face in rapid succession. His steps slow, and his piercing gray eyes watch me closely as we meet on the path.
Silence stretches, filled instead by the birds and the breeze through the trees. I’m panting from the climb, sweaty and red-faced, and yeah, now I wish I’d gone a little slower, reining in my rage.
At least then I’d be cool and composed when I faced down the man who broke my heart. Instead I’m clutching at a stitch in my side.
“Going for a pre-breakfast wander?” I snap. Something about seeing him this morning, all handsome and solemn and not winded at all by his hike, makes me want to tear out my own hair and kick him in the shins. If I thought my anger was bad before… well, now it’s choking me.
“No.” Rowan grips his satchel strap. That broad hand took my waist yesterday, tugging me against his body; it squeezed my hip and slid around my back. “I was on my way down to find you, Evie.”
Ha!
