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“Chances?”
“This is their world. We’re just passing through.” He took his own insulated cup of chili and settled cross-legged on the ground cloth he’d laid out for them. “I think of it like walking through a grumpy neighbor’s yard without their permission. Be graceful, be respectful, pack out what you pack in, don’t leave any messes, and if they spot you, stand your ground but recognize that they have a right to be suspicious.”
Had she ever crossed through a neighbor’s yard? She thought about it as she licked chili from her spoon. “Where I grew up everyone had box hedges and fences. If you lost a Frisbee over the hedge, you just said goodbye to it.”
She shivered as another cold wisp of wind sent a chill through her. “It’s getting colder.”
“Higher elevation. And a cold front’s coming in. We should put on another layer.”
He got to his knees so he could rummage around in his backpack. When she didn’t move, he glanced her way. “Problem?”
She screwed up her face, embarrassed to admit her mistake. “I’m wearing all my layers except rain gear. I couldn’t fit an extra shirt in my pack, so I left it behind. I have lots of extra socks, though.”
It must not be the first time a client had messed up their packing. Galen nodded and tossed her a long-sleeved shirt made out of some kind of super-wicking high-tech fabric. “Socks are good,” he said mildly. “And the rain jacket will help with the wind.”
She put down her chili and pulled the shirt over her other clothes. Instantly she felt warmer. The shirt held a pleasant scent, like pine needles mixed with blueberries.
“Did you go berry picking in this?” she asked as she sniffed the arm.
“Sorry.” He turned endearingly red. “Do you want a different shirt?”
She had no idea why he was embarrassed. Maybe he thought she couldn’t handle a shirt that wasn’t perfectly clean. “No, why would you say that? It smells good. I’m not some shrinking violet princess, you know. I can handle a little dirt.”
His mouth curved behind that beard. “Good to know, since we might be sleeping on dirt tonight.”
He found another of those insulating shirts, then shrugged off the flannel lumberjack shirt he wore over a snugly fitting Henley-type shirt that clung to every hard muscle of his torso.
Her heart beat fast as her eyes slid across his chest. Those broad shoulders, those thick muscles, that burly perfection. What would he say if she asked him to take off that undershirt too? Her mouth went dry at the prospect of seeing him shirtless. It wasn’t just that he was built. He was just so…solid and real and completely, thoroughly himself. She found that outrageously sexy.
Maybe she had some kind of mountain-man kink.
Before he could catch her drooling over him, she turned back to the view and snapped a few photos. By the time she was done, he’d pulled on his extra layer and his flannel was back in place. He’d also pulled on a watch cap to keep his ears warm as well.
Before she could admit that she hadn’t brought a hat, he handed her a hand-knitted stocking cap made with a moire wool that ranged from teal to violet. “It’s beautiful. Did someone make this for you?” she asked as she tugged it on.
“I made it.”
“No way. You know how to knit?” She took the hat off to admire it more closely.
“I do. It’s a winter night kind of thing for me. Nothing like listening to the wind howl across the lake while I knit one, purl one. I’m not the only one around here who likes to knit. There’s a craft circle that meets in the winter.”
“You go to a craft circle?” So many surprises coming out about this shy-seeming mountain man.
“Sometimes, when I need help with something tricky. I’m pretty good with the needles, but you should see some of the others around here. Masters of the fricking craft. You know who else likes to knit? Bliss Gault. We talk knitting sometimes.”
Brenda knew about the beautiful model who’d recently returned to Lake Bittersweet, and who’d just given birth to twins. She must have some kind of connection to Galen, but she couldn’t figure it out right now. Small towns were like that, so many interconnections that you lost track. So many of her grandmother’s friends thought of her as “CeCe’s grandkid from that girl who married the Scottish lord.”
A minor lord, she always wanted to say. One who grew up in Connecticut and never went to Scotland, and only used that title to network with other Social Register types.
She put the hat back on, its soft wool caressing her ears. Now she could face the rest of the hike, wearing Galen’s shirt and hat, safely encased in Galen-ness. It was such a good feeling that it made her heart glow.
“Maybe you could teach me to knit,” she said tentatively. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’ve never taken the time.”
“You want me to teach you how to knit?” For some reason, that thought seemed to shock him. “You mean, after this trip?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t bring knitting supplies along. Did you?” She smiled to take the edge off her comment.
He shook himself out of his shocked state. “No. Sure. I’ll teach you. When?”
