Page 18 of Cowboy Mountain Man

The sweatshirt is soft, dark gray, and large enough to qualify as temporary housing.

“Pants?” I ask.

He looks at my jeans.

“I’ve got sweatpants. They’ll be too long.”

“I can roll them.”

He gets those, too. In the bathroom, I peel off my wet clothes and hang them over the shower rail. The sweatshirt falls past my hips. The sweatpants require three rolls at the waist and several more at the ankles.

I look like I lost a bet. I also smell like Harlan. Clean laundry, cedar, and something I can’t identify but would happily spend an unreasonable amount of time investigating.

I meet my reflection. “Behave.” My reflection looks unconvinced.

When I come out, he has changed into a black T-shirt. That’s unfortunate. The shirt fits his shoulders like it was consulted during construction. He looks up from the fireplace. His gaze drops to the sweatshirt. Then to the rolled cuffs and back to my face.

“Better?”

“Warmer.”

“Good.”

He looks away.

I don’t. There’s a small scar near his elbow. Another along the inside of his forearm. I wonder how he got them. I wonder about several other things, too.

He puts a kettle on the gas stove.

I hug myself, warding away the chill. “You have any of that famous wild strawberry tea Woodbridge advertises like it’s going out of style?”

“Of course. Didn’t take you for a teetotaler, though,” he says, running his hands through his hair and side-eyeing me.

“Depends.”

He arches a brow. “On what?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” I bite my bottom lip. “Maybe.”

That gets me an actual smile. Small, but there. I feel ridiculously accomplished and dangerously intrigued by this giant mountain man.

An hour later, my clothes hang on a drying rack near the fire, and Harlan has fed me soup and bread.

The road is still closed. He gets enough service near the kitchen window to check with Alden and send the deputy the photograph of the note.

I text my sister.

Road blocked by storm. Staying at protector’s cabin. Safe. Will call tomorrow.

Her response comes through in pieces.

Protector’s cabin?

The body-hiding one?

In the flesh

I turn my phone facedown. Some conversations can wait. Especially when they make my cheeks heat, and the protector in question is far too observant for both of us.