Page 15 of The Mountain Man's Paradise
“You’re my first anything.”
She doesn’t tease me. Instead, she turns just enough to meet my eyes, and whatever joke she’d been planning disappears.
“Really?” she says softly. “I’m honored.”
Fuck.
“Watch,” I mutter, stepping away before I do something that’ll end this lesson for completely different reasons.
I set another log on the block, raise the axe overhead, and bring it down cleanly. The wood splits in one strike, both pieces falling neatly to either side.
When I look up, Rosalyn isn’t watching the log. She’s watching me.
Very slowly, her gaze travels from my boots to my jeans, then over my arms where my sleeves are rolled to my elbows.
“I think,” she says carefully, “I understand why people read romance novels about mountain men.”
I bark out a laugh. “Is that right?”
She nods with complete seriousness. “I’ve learned something about myself today.”
“What’s that?”
“Watching you chop wood is…extremely distracting.”
I set the axe aside.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, absolutely.” She bites her lip, clearly trying not to smile too broadly. “I was trying to pay attention to your technique.”
“And?”
“I failed.”
I close the distance between us. “You failed?”
“Completely.”
My hand reaches for her waist. “Bad student.”
“The worst.”
“I might have to take you inside for remedial lessons.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
She reaches up, curls her fingers around the front of my shirt, and kisses me before I can say another word.
The wood can wait.
Everything else can too.
The smell of garlic fills the kitchen. Rosalyn stands beside the stove stirring onions in my cast-iron skillet while I slice carrots on the counter. After disappearing into my bedroom for most of the afternoon, we eventually remembered that people need lunch, and showered and changed into clean clothes.
“I’ve got to admit,” she says, glancing over at me, “I thought mountain men lived on jerky and canned beans.”
“I’ve got canned beans.”
