Page 19 of Rescued By the Mountain Man Cowboy
I knock on her bedroom door at oh-six-thirty exactly.
"Time to get up."
Nothing.
I knock again.
A groan. Muffled. The sound of a woman who did not, in fact, hear her alarm.
"Anna."
"What?"
"Let's go."
"It’s still dark, Luke Davis."
"Sun's been up ten minutes."
"That is an opinion."
I lean my forearm against the door frame. Cross my boots at the ankle. Try not to smile at the floorboards.
"I got coffee."
A long pause.
"What kind?"
"The hot kind."
"You are a deeply unhelpful man."
"Five minutes."
Something hits the inside of the door. Soft. Probably a pillow.
I take my coffee out to the porch and wait.
She comes out at oh-six-thirty-eight in leggings and a black tank top and a messy bun on top of her head like a burnt match. Face scrubbed clean. Eyes still puffy. She takes the second mug from me without a word, wraps both hands around it, sniffs it like she's testing it for poison, and drinks.
"Oh."
"What?"
"You made it right."
"That a compliment?"
"Don't get used to it."
I let her drink half the mug. Watch her wake up in real time. The sunrise is doing something to her face, catching on her cheekbones and the soft curve of her mouth, and I look at the cedars instead.
Twelve years.
Twelve years between us, and I've known her thirteen hours.
"Alright." I set my mug on the railing. Step out onto the mat I laid down on the flat grass below the porch. "Come on."
