He stares at me for a long moment, then at Rascal, who has naturally decided this intimidating stranger is his new best friend, and finally at my fox-printed leggings.
"You're about half a mile off the marked trail," he says finally, his voice rough like he doesn't use it often. "In the completely wrong direction."
"Ah." I try for a winning smile. "Would you believe I meant to do that? You know, for research purposes?"
One dark eyebrow lifts slightly. "Research?"
"I'm writing a children's book about forest animals and friendship and..." This explanation sounded much better in Evie's cozy lobby. "Never mind. I don't suppose you could point me back toward civilization?"
Instead of answering, he crouches down to scratch behind Rascal's ears. My traitor of a dog melts into the attention like he's found his soulmate. "Your dog's wearing a sweater," the stranger observes, and I swear I catch a hint of amusement in his tone.
"It's his adventure outfit," I defend. "And you're wearing enough flannel to upholster a couch, so maybe we shouldn't judge each other's fashion choices?"
That actually gets me something close to a smile. Just a quick quirk of his lips, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it. He straightens up, and I realize just how much he towers over me. "Come on, city girl. Trail is this way."
"I have a name, you know. It's Daisy."
He glances back at me, those hazel-green eyes unreadable. "Rowan."
"Like the tree?"
"Like the tree."
And just like that, I'm following a stranger through the woods, my dog prancing happily between us, while my writer's brain spins tales about grumpy forest guardians and lost travelers. Not exactly how I planned to start my great mountain adventure, but then again, the best stories never go according to plan.
"So," I venture, after five solid minutes of hiking in silence, "do you often rescue helpless city girls from certain doom, or am I special?"
Rowan glances back at me, expression caught somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement. "You weren't in danger. You were lost."
"That's debatable. I read this romance novel once where the heroine got lost in the woods and had to be saved by a mysterious mountain man who turned out to be?—"
"I'm not mysterious," he cuts in. "I work here."
"Aha!" I dodge a low-hanging branch he holds back for me. "So you're not a hermit living alone in a cabin, spurning society and nursing old wounds?"
He actually stops walking at that, turning to face me with those striking eyes. "What kind of books are you reading?"
"The good kind." I grin up at him, oddly delighted by the way his jaw ticks. "Though I have to say, you've got the whole brooding mountain man aesthetic down pat."
Rascal chooses this moment to tangle himself thoroughly around Rowan's legs, apparently trying to ensure his new favorite human can't escape. I bite back a laugh as Rowan carefully untangles the leash, his big hands surprisingly gentle with my ridiculous dog.
"Your dog needs training," he mutters.
"Rascal is perfectly trained. For the city." I watch as my dog immediately proves me wrong by trying to chase a squirrel, nearly faceplanting into a tree. "He's adapting."
"Like owner, like dog." Rowan catches me as I stumble over a root, his hand warm and steady on my elbow. He quickly lets go, but I can still feel the imprint of his touch. "You do know those aren't hiking boots, right?"
I glance down at my boots, which okay, might be more fashion than function. "They're boots! They're boot-shaped."
He makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be a sigh of despair. "You shouldn't be out here alone. These trails aren't for beginners."
"I had Rascal."
"Your sweater-wearing dog who's currently trying to befriend a chipmunk?"
Sure enough, Rascal has his nose pressed to a hollow log, tail wagging furiously. I scribble quickly in my notebook. Brave forest friend makes unexpected allies...
"Are you taking notes?" Rowan sounds incredulous.
