A man who's about to share his space with the one person who makes him question that choice.
When I emerge, she's in the kitchen, mug in hand, staring out the window at the mountains. The morning light catches in her dark hair, illuminating strands of copper and gold.
"I'm heading out," I say, grabbing my rifle from the rack by the door. "Spare key's in the drawer by the sink if you need to go into town."
Riley turns, her expression serious. "Will Brad be a problem? If he sees my car here..."
The thought of that punk coming anywhere near my property makes something primitive rise in my chest. "Let him try."
A smile curves her lips. "There he is. The Elias McKenna my father always talked about."
"And who's that?"
"The most dangerous man in Grizzly Ridge." She steps closer, and I catch the scent of her, rain and something floral, mixed with my soap. "The one who doesn't need to make threats because everyone knows exactly what he's capable of."
The description isn't far off. There's a reason the McKenna brothers have a reputation in this town. Why even the rowdiest hunters think twice before breaking game laws on my watch. Why Sawyer's never had to fire his service weapon as sheriff. Why Cade lived like a hermit on the mountain until Harper crashed into his life.
We protect what's ours. By any means necessary.
And that's the problem. Riley Hart isn't mine to protect. Not in the way my body is screaming for.
"I'll be back before dark," I say, forcing myself to turn away. "Lock the door behind me."
I feel her eyes on my back as I walk to my truck, the weight of her gaze heavy. As I drive down the mountain, I know with absolute certainty that having Riley in my home is going to test every ounce of control I possess.
God help us both.
2
RILEY
Iwatch Elias's truck disappear down the mountain road, dust trailing behind as he heads into the wilderness. Something about the way he moves, confident, controlled, utterly sure of himself, makes my stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with wanting.
I've felt it since I came back to Grizzly Ridge after college. The shift between us. The air going electric whenever we're in the same room. The way his blue eyes track me when he thinks I'm not looking.
Of course I'm looking. I've been looking for years.
Dad used to bring me to this cabin when I was a kid, back when Mom was still alive and life made sense. Elias was always here, larger than life, teaching me to fish in the stream behind the property, showing me how to track deer through the trees. As I grew up, he became a fixture in my world, the stoic, silent shadow at my father's side.
Then I left for college, and the next time I saw him, everything had changed. Or maybe I had. Maybe experiencingthe world had opened my eyes to what had always been there, the raw magnetism of a man who commands every room he enters without saying a word.
I sip the coffee he made, strong and black just like he drinks it, and survey his cabin. It's exactly like him, sturdy, practical, no frills but somehow still beautiful. Exposed beams cross the high ceiling. The furniture is handcrafted, each piece showing the care and precision of a craftsman. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with wildlife guides, military history, and dog-eared classics.
What surprises me are the photos. For such a private man, Elias has quite a collection. Most feature the McKenna clan, six brothers who look so similar they could be different versions of the same man, all dark hair and intense blue eyes. I recognize Cade with his wife Harper at what must be their wedding, Boone in his fire chief uniform with his family, Sawyer looking stern in his sheriff's hat.
And then there's one of me.
My breath catches when I spot it, tucked between family photos like I belong there. It's from my high school graduation, me in my cap and gown, flanked by Dad and Elias. Dad's laughing, arm around my shoulders. And Elias...
Elias is looking at me like I've hung the moon.
How did I never notice that before?
Setting down my mug, I wander through the cabin, doing what I couldn't last night, getting a feel for the man who's reluctantly let me into his space. His bedroom door stands open, revealing a king-sized bed with a handmade quilt and a nightstand stacked with books. The scent of him is stronger here, pine and leather and something uniquely male.
I resist the urge to lie on his bed, to bury my face in his pillow. I'm not that pathetic. Not yet, anyway.
Instead, I head upstairs to the guest room I'd crashed in last night. My few belongings are scattered around, the hastily packed bag containing whatever I could grab before Brad started throwing things, my laptop case, my phone now dead because I left the charger behind.
