Page 15 of Working for the Mountain Man

Chapter 5

Elsie

Ididn’t sleep well, I kept tossing and turning for most of the night, and that’s why I’m sitting at this table at seven in the morning, staring at a blank document, replaying how Hugo acted yesterday.

He lifted his hand as though he was reaching out to touch me, but he pulled back just at the last minute.

Because wanting something doesn't make it right.

I’m annoyed, not disappointed that he stopped, because why would I be disappointed about that? That would imply I wanted him to keep going, which I absolutely did not, except apparently my body didn't get that memo. Because I lay awake until close to one in the morning thinking about his hand near my jaw and what his mouth would have felt like if he had not had the good sense to step back like a functioning adult.

I open the manuscript and sigh. I’m at chapter twelve and Callum is mid-conversation with the heroine about her feelings. He’s being charming, patient and perfect.

I delete the line, it’s too cutesy, too polished.

Instead, I write:He doesn’t say much. He listens, taking everything in, those serious brown eyes watching.

I stare at the screen.

Wait.

Callum doesn’t have brown eyes, but Hugo does.

Crap.

I delete the line and close my laptop. Now isn’t the right time to write when I’m thinking of Hugo.

Two Weeks Later

I go to Whitfield and Sons Hardware before work, because Hugo was right about the boots, which I hate. After all, I don't enjoy a man being right about anything to do with me within the first week of knowing him.

"You're the writer," the lady I assume is Doris says, before I have said a single word, she’s looking at me over her glasses. "Staying up on Ridge Line."

"Word travels fast,” I say with a smile.

"It’s a small town, everyone knows everyone and if we don’t, we get to know them." She comes around the counter. "I’m Doris, what do you need?"

"Hi Doris, I’m Elsie. I need boots. Work boots, to be more specific, ones with grips."

Doris looks at me for a long moment, her brows narrowed. "Hugo told you to come in, didn't he?"

I jut my chin out. "I'm choosing to believe this was my idea."

"Of course it was, honey." She’s already walking toward a wall of boxes. "He sent the Caldwell boy in here for the same reason last spring. Told him he was going to break his neckon the south ridge in sneakers. The boy listened, most people around here listen to Hugo about roads. It's the one subject nobody argues with him on."

She finds my size, hands me a pair that looks practical, and watches me try them, her gaze focused on my feet.

"Good," she says. "Tell him Doris approved."

I gape at her. The hell? "I'm not reporting back to him."

"Sure you're not, honey,” she says with a laugh.

I pay her for the boots and leave, glad to escape from her craziness. The woman looked gleeful at me, reporting her approval to Hugo.

Kincaid's is busy when I stop in for coffee. A waitress with silver-streaked hair and reading glasses on a chain takes one look at me and says, "You're the one staying up on the Ridge Line cabin, am I right?"

"How does everyone know that? Can I have a black coffee with a splash of cream, please?"