I gesture toward a smaller trail that cuts through the trees.
Micah looks at it, then at me. "That’s your house?”
“Yes.” I shift my weight, suddenly aware that this is the part where the normal script says to thank him again, go inside, and forget this ever happened. Get back to the regular scheduled monotony of my life.
Which is fine. That'sfine.I’m perfectly content with my life.
Or Iwas, before I knew of Micah’s existence. Now, I find myself not wanting to part ways quite yet.
I turn toward him. "Thank you," I say. "Again. For the rescue.”
He nods once. "Stay on the trail," he says.
I huff out a breath. "You're really committed to that line, huh?"
"It keeps people out of trouble.”
Indeed. But maybe trouble is what I want at the moment…
“I owe you dinner,” I blurt. “To properly say thanks.”
Micah's gaze sharpens. "You don't owe me anything.”
"I do," I insist. "You put yourself in danger to rescue me. At a minimum, that deserves a nice meal.”
Chapter Four
Micah
Ishouldsayno.
Should turn back around and lead Roxy back to our own cabin in the woods and forget all about this beautiful woman with her shiny blonde hair, big brown eyes, and soft, luscious curves.
That thought sticks with me as I follow her down the narrow path to her house. I helped her out of the ravine and even made sure she got home safely.
My job's done.
It’s what any decent human would do, and it doesn’t require payment of any kind. Not even a warm, homecooked meal—which I have to admit would be amazing.
On occasion, I load up the smoker with venison, beef, pork, chicken, and fish—the five main food groups in a mountain man’s diet. That’s the extent of mycooking.The truth is, Roxy and I both eat most of our meals out of cans.
Roxy trots along beside Jenny without so much as a glance in my direction.I guess that settles it. If I ever want to see my dog again, I’d better follow too.
I try to not stare at Jenny as she moves through the trees. She's so careful, watching her feet as she steps over roots, adjusting when the ground dips. She barely even looks at her surroundings, her eyes glued to the path in front of her.
I don’t need to remind her to stay on the trail. She’s clearly not the sort of woman who steps out of line, well,ever.
And yet shedidfollow Roxy into a ravine and now she’s invitedmeover for dinner.A bit of a conundrum, this woman.
We step out of the woods into the clearing of her back yard. Her cabin is small, well-kept, with daffodils and tulips blooming in cheerful patches along the walkway. There’s a woodpile stacked neatly beside the steps and a pair of muddy boots by the door.
She pushes the door open and steps inside. "Make yourself at home.”
I follow her inside, hesitating for only a moment. The space is warm—and not just temperature. There's a lived-in quality to it, with papers stacked on the table, a laptop open beside them, and several highlighters and ink pens next to that. A colorful crocheted blanket is draped over the back of a leather loveseat, and a cozy armchair sits next to the couch. Roxy claims the chair for herself, hopping up and settling in.
I groan. “Roxy—” I start, ready to tell her to get off the furniture, but Jenny just laughs.
“I did tell her to make herself at home,” Jenny says. “You should, too.”