Boone Read online

  And his face. That scar. Had he come in contact with a bear? It wasn’t long, but it was deep. Like his own mountain valley in his cheek, from the middle of his penetrating green eye down his right cheek, ending just before the outside of his lip. Those full and kiss worthy lips. My body betrays me, tightening my nipples under my sweater.

  How I can find him both attractive and scary is beyond me and I chalk it up to shock from believing I was going to be a bear appetizer.

  I finish up and take a deep breath before stepping back into the one large room.

  “You hungry?” he asks as I slowly cross the room.

  “Um, no thanks. I’m fine.” I keep distance between us. “Do you want to know my name?”

  He pauses while stirring something.

  I can see him working behind a half-wall bar area topped by a huge piece of granite overhang with only one stool in front of it. My chest tightens. Doesn’t he never have anyone else here?

  He resumes mixing whatever is in the pot. “You won’t be here long enough for me to need to know your name.”

  I cross the room into the kitchen. “Boone…”

  His eyes remain on the pot of what I can see now is a soup and the deep meaty and salty scent tackles me. My stomach growls and his eyes dart to me.

  “What?”

  “Can I have a cup of soup, too?”

  The side of his mouth opposite to the scar rises in what I can’t consider a smile, but it’s close enough.

  “Grab a mug from the cabinet.” He nods to the cabinet on his left.

  I open to find handmade dishes, bowls, and cups, beautiful enough to be in a museum. “Did you make these?” I examine the stunning glazing, teals and browns and oranges mottled with each other.

  “I like working with my hands.”

  I lift a mug with a massive handle that’s made for his large hands. “They’re beautiful.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge my appreciation, but I’ve been there. My art, my passion, isn’t always received like I’d want, but slowly I’ve built fans and right now I’m a big fan of his talents at the spinning wheel and kiln.

  “Grab me a bowl from the top,” he demands with a grunt.

  I rise to my tiptoes, but my fingers just can’t reach to those bowls. Before I can turn to tell him, his front is pressed to my back and I fight to not make a sound of both desire and alarm. The ridges of his stomach roll against my back and his impressive cock presses into my fleshy ass as he reaches across me effortlessly.

  He pauses as he holds the bowl. His chest heaves against my upper back. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  I swallow and relax my body back into his, the warmth and security swiping away my fears. “Daisy. Daisy Parker.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Daisy Parker.” His voice turns gruff and a low sound rumbles from his chest.

  I slowly turn to face him. He makes no effort to move and our fronts mold to each other. “Boone…” I raise to my tiptoes, my hands sliding along the outside of his red and black checked flannel shirt, the softness igniting my fingers as they brush over his chest.

  “Woman, you’re playing with fire.” His jaw tightens.

  “Maybe I’m ready to get burned.”

  Boone

  I set the bowl down. If she likes them, I’m not going to risk breaking one. My hands go to where her waist cinches in and I hold her firmly in front of me.

  “Daisy, don’t start what you can’t finish.”

  “I’ve never actually finished with any man, Boone.” Her golden eyelashes flicker like fireflies over her dark blue eyes.

  How she says my name is kindling to the fire in my chest. It’s sweet and a little scared. The need to take the fear from her and extinguish it roars to life inside of me. I want to bury my cock inside of her and help both of us to find a release that calms our fast-beating hearts and bonds them as well.

  Her hands pull on my neck. I take the cue, and I claim her mouth like a starving man.

  I bend my knees, so she doesn’t have to stay on her tiptoes. A long, honeyed sigh exits from her mouth as we introduce ourselves to each other. My tongue asks for entry into her body and she doesn’t deny me. I’m famished for this woman. She’s what I’ve been craving for so long that I’d forgotten.

  I tangle my hand into her now flowing hair, waves weave through my fingers. My cock grows until he’s poking from the top of my jeans. She lifts a leg and wraps it around my thigh, grinding her body along my length and making me see stars behind my closed eyes.

  But then she’s gone, and her stocking feet are swishing quickly across the room. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

  Oh, you can, sweetheart. You just need time. But time will be short with that beacon still flashing against her coat.

  I say nothing, just return to my venison and root vegetable soup. All the vegetables right from my summer garden, housed in the root cellar.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “Would you like butter for your bread?” I ask.

  “I’m gluten-intolerant.”

  I’m a well-read man in the classics and have a high school education that allows me to succeed in my job, but those two words together make no sense.

  I slowly turn my head to her. “Is that a new religion?”

  Her face softens from its distressed state. “No, I can’t have bread or wheat products because of issues in my stomach.”

  “Huh. Okay.” My distance from the outside world often keeps me from understanding what the problems of society actually are these days. But not being able to eat bread, that just doesn’t compute. Bread is a staple for me. Sandwiches during the week. French toast on the weekends. And a slice of fresh bread with soup is heaven. The only thing I truly miss in the bread category are the biscuits and gravy my father used to make. He became sick before I could get the recipe from him. I’ve tried to recreate them, but nothing even comes close.

  I calm my body. I don’t want to frighten her further. My endowment will stay hidden from her eyes… for now.

  I carry both her cup and my bowl to the coffee table. I can still smell the extreme peppery scent on my coat and cross the room to the coat rack and throw the wool piece outside. It isn’t redeemable. I’m just glad Daisy came out relatively unscathed, as well as my eyes. But I will have to take a shower soon to get remaining residue off my skin.

  “Come. Sit. I won’t touch you.” Until you’re begging for it.

  She doesn’t answer but moves toward the couch. “It’s not that I don’t want you to touch me…” The long lines of her neck stretch as she swallows. “It’s that I’m scared. I’ll be leaving soon and I don’t start something I can’t finish. Just like this stupid book I’m taking pictures for. It’s been a dream of mine for almost ten years—ever since high school—and I feel like this”—she motions between us—“is something I won’t be able to finish, too.”

  She’s wrong. She can. I believe in her. Everything I’ve ever wanted I’ve worked hard for and made it happen.

  And she isn’t afraid of not being able to finish, she’s afraid of something big coming to an end. Just like that book. I’ve seen it before. People start something and then never finish it. Life is full of open doors, but it’s hard to close one. It’s an end and we don’t like endings. We like beginnings. But if she can’t start, I can see the end with her coming, too.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” she asks.

  “I don’t know what else you want me to say. You can leave, if you’re not comfortable, but it’s a twelve-mile hike from here to the road.” I nod toward the windows on the front of the cabin. “And as you can see, that wouldn’t be smart.”

  Her gaze tracks to the modest window to the left of the front door. “Wow.” She walks to the window and presses her nose to the glass. “It’s beautiful out there.”

  “And dangerous.”

  She mumbles loud enough for me to hear. “It might be as dangerous in here.”

  Daisy
>
  I sit next to him. His scent is a mix of diesel fuel and earth. He works with his hands and hard by the muscles that press against his shirt sleeves. I’ve never liked when a man covers his natural scent with sprays and colognes. I like to know what they smell like without covering it up. And his natural state makes my head spin.

  He lifts his phone. “I texted 911 and told them you’re here instead of waiting for that beacon to do its job.”

  “Thank you.” Most of me is relieved. “So you have a cell phone?”

  “And electricity and heat. I only use the fireplace when both go out. I might live in the mountains, but I’m not against city conveniences. Just against all the people.”

  “I don’t think I could ever leave the city. I think I’d be scared out here all the time.”

  “Respect the wild and the wild will respect you.” He glances at his phone. “They’ll be here in the morning at the earliest. Did you want to charge your phone?”

  I reach over and shut off the PLB. “If they’re on their way, I’m good. I didn’t bring my charger. Plus, I see you’re an Android guy and I’m an Apple girl.”

  “Then we’re incompatible?”

  “When it comes to phone cords we are. Anything else…who knows?”

  This draws a true smile from him and I feel like I’ve accomplished something good today. His white teeth, a sign of healthy living and lots of vegetables and fruits, catch my eye.

  “You have a beautiful smile,” I say before slipping the first spoonful of stew into my mouth.

  He harrumphs in response. “If you say so.”

  I do.

  “This is delicious.” I start shoveling the stew in, spoonful after spoonful. It’s deeply favored and rich and the large pieces of sweet potato, red potatoes, onions, and leeks create more of a casserole-like experience. The veggies balance the gaminess of the meat. “It’s so hearty and not very fatty.”

  “I trim all my venison down. It’s the fat that can often cause that really gamey flavor.”

  “Good to know. So you hunt all the food you eat?”

  “The meat, yes, but I also trap and hunt for pelts to sell. It paid for all the upgrades in this cabin. During the spring and summer, I grow a garden. There’s a dozen chickens in the coop for eggs, but I get a few things in town when I have to.”

  “Like?”

  “Milk mostly and spices and baking supplies. A few canned items occasionally, but my grocery bill is minimal.”

  “Well, what you’re doing is working. This is amazing.” I eye up the bread. “Did you make the bread?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I have a tiny bite?” One bite won’t be a problem, more than that, and I’ll be regretting it.

  He tugs a small corner off the bread, the soft part. The butter shines in the light. I know he expects me to lift it from his fingers and feed myself, but that’s not what I want. I want him to feed me. This man is complicated and yet, so kind. He’s almost the perfect man, if he just didn’t live in the woods away from people. I crave the movie theatre and getting a cup of ice cream after dinner.

  I lean toward him and open my mouth. His eyes focus in on my actions. He slowly places the bite in my mouth and his thumb flicks my bottom lip as he draws his hand away.

  “Such pretty lips.” His gaze meets mine. “Such a pretty woman.”

  I chew the bite and moan at the soft dough nature of the fresh bread, the yeasty flavor, and the creaminess of the butter mixing in my mouth. “Boone. Oh. My. God. That’s incredible.” I swallow the bite and instantly regret it. I just want more.

  “You want another bite?”

  “I really wish I could, but it’s not a good idea. A little gluten is okay, but more than that isn’t.”

  “What kind of bread can you eat?”

  “Blends of whole grains that aren’t wheat—rice, amaranth grain, almond flour. Even some sourdough breads are okay.”

  “I can make sourdough.”

  “Really?” I sit up. “Will you show me how?”

  “It takes longer than a night. About a week to get the starter going.”

  I don’t know what to say. I definitely won’t be here for that long.

  We eat the rest of our soup in silence.

  “What animals do you still need for your book?” he asks while placing his teal bowl on what appears to be a handmade coffee table.

  “I could use some more shots of red fox and weasel. I finally got a beaver today. I’ve gotten all I need of skunks. In fact, almost got sprayed the last time. So I’m really done with them now.”

  He chuckles. “I’ve been sprayed by worse.” His eyebrows go up.

  “I’m really sorry about that. I thought you were a bear.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “I swear I’ll… I’ll pay for your coat to be cleaned.”

  “It’s a full loss, sweetheart. That spray has oils that just can’t be removed. It’s meant to stay where it’s at.”

  “Again, really sorry. I’ll buy you a new coat.”

  “I’ll see what’s in my closet. I’m sure I’ve got one from my dad that will work.”

  “Your parents? Do they live close?”

  “My mother died right after I turned two from an aneurysm. And my father died from cancer three years ago tomorrow.”

  “On Christmas Eve?” I look around and there’s not a single piece of evidence of the season in the cabin.

  “It was the last year I had a Christmas tree in the cabin. All of the decorations stay packed up in the shed. It just seems like too much work for only me.”

  I reach over and grasp his hand laying on his leg. “I’m sorry for your losses. I lost my parents in a car accident five years ago at Thanksgiving, so I understand how you wouldn’t want to celebrate.”

  “That one off of I-90 near Bozeman that involved all those cars?”

  I roll my lips inward and my eyes look to my hand on his arm. The lip rolling has become my go-to to keep from crying. Five years seems like it should be long enough, but it isn’t. I know three years definitely isn’t for his father’s loss, and never knowing his mother… I can’t even imagine.

  “Don’t do that,” he whispers.

  I look up.

  “Don’t do that to those perfect lips, sweetheart.”

  “Perfect?” I whisper back, my stomach rollercoasting with the word. No man has ever looked at me with such lust in his eyes.

  “Perfectly perfect.” He swallows, pats my hand and then rises, I stare up at the mountain of a man, towering over me. “All of you is perfect, Ms. Parker.”

  A heat of a fast-moving blush sears my face.

  His eyes soften. “But thank you for your sympathy and I’m sorry about your loss. I lost a buddy in that same pileup.”

  So much loss in his life. In our lives.

  Had the fates—or Mother Nature—brought us together to share our pain or our hope? I didn’t know, but I was ready to find out.

  Boone

  I find her inquiries oddly comforting, which makes me uncomfortable to realize. I don’t want to want her. I just do.

  The lack of space is clearly an issue.

  “I’m going to go take a shower and get that oil off my skin and out of my hair.” I need to get away from this woman and it seems to be the best excuse.

  “Do you mind if I borrow a t-shirt to change into to sleep?”

  “Help yourself to whatever is in my closet.” I motion to the cedar freestanding wardrobe I made. “It’s sparse pickings, but it’s all clean.”

  I don’t wait to see what she pulls out. She could wear nothing, and I’d be happy. Actually, I’d be living with a hard-on, all the fucking time, but I wouldn’t complain.

  I close the door behind me. I shake my head viewing my handiwork in the shower. I was hopeful—maybe foolish—when I refinished the bathroom and installed dual heads in the shower. But now it just looks sad to me. I turn on one side and let the steam fill the room before stripping down. I st
ep in and the burning-hot water soaks into my body.

  I try to calm my brain, but every vision behind my closed eyelids is Daisy. Laying on the ground like Sleeping Beauty. Taking pictures with so much passion it radiated from her like rays from the sun. In my arms, pulling me closer like she truly wants me. The woman smells like sunshine and peaches. Fresh fucking peaches. And it’s driving me crazy. I had to get away before I took a bite of her.

  I grab the shampoo and soap up my hair, bringing the suds down my face and into my scraggly beard. For a moment, I consider shaving it all off, but it’s been with me for so long I won’t do it just for a woman. I lather it up and stand there with my hands pressed to the wall allowing the suds to stream down my body, all the tension rolling down the drain with them.

  “Is it okay if I join you?” Her voice is timid as she announces herself.

  I can’t formulate an answer, but I reach out and slide the glass door to invite her in.

  Daisy takes her time removing her clothing. Her sweater first, my eyes examining every inch of her lightly tanned skin, only capped by a sexy pink bra. Then her snow pants. She turns around, the siren coming out, and slowly slides them over one cheek and then the other. Underneath is a second layer. Good girl. Better warm than cold out in these conditions. She slips the long johns down and steps out of them. A hot-pink thong disappears between her round butt cheeks and she looks back at me.

  Her face is rosy and bright.

  “Daisy?”

  “I’ve never done this before.” Her gaze drops. “I feel ridiculous. I’m sure you could have any woman you want…”

  “Come here.” I hold out my hand and she walks toward me. I reach behind her and unhook her bra, the straps sliding down her arms and to the floor. “Damn, baby, there’s no part of you I don’t like.” I reach into the shower and start the other showerhead allowing it to warm the floor, then I guide her into the shower. She shivers before the water warms her.

  “My thong!”

  “You don’t need it.” I grab one side and rip it off, watching it drop to the floor.

  “Boone!”