Chapter 3

3

GILLIAN

D rinking tequila was like taking a big swig of rubbing alcohol.

But after three swigs, my ankle was no longer hurting. And I was no longer nervous about my conversation with the hottie in the gray T-shirt.

"Do you always take your shirt off to chop wood?" I asked as I grabbed another pretzel from the small bowl in my lap. "Seems dangerous."

He had his own bowl, which was perched on his lap as he reclined in the big, cushy chair nearby. He'd left the sofa to me and my injured ankle.

"It's hot out there," he said with a shrug. "I can't see why it would be dangerous. I know how to use an ax."

"I know how to walk, but you see how that worked out for me."

I gestured to indicate my ankle, which seemed to be even bigger than it was thirty minutes ago. It was swelling. Great. Maybe I should have tried to get out of here before the situation got worse.

"Exactly why were you walking through the woods?" he asked, grabbing his beer bottle from the table next to him to take a sip. "You kind of strayed from the trail."

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. What could I say? I'd gotten lost? I thought the trail veered this way? That wouldn't work—no way in heck would anyone believe someone would mistake a path between trees as an actual hiking trail.

"I heard a weird noise," I finally managed to choke out. "I was curious."

Being nosy, in other words. He would have every right to point that out, but instead, he continued to stare at his beer bottle as though lost in thought. As though what I'd said required thinking over.

"You heard the sound of an ax chopping wood and thought exploring it would be a good idea?" he asked.

He looked up at me then, and my heart skipped a beat. There was a fire in his eyes I couldn't quite define.

But then he spoke again, and I knew exactly what it was. Protectiveness. Fierce protectiveness.

"Sweetheart Falls is a pretty safe place," he said. "But there are still dangers. I'm not sure where you're from, but?—"

"I'm from here," I said. "I grew up here. Moved away to go to college, but my parents still live in town. My college roommate and I got an apartment in Bozeman after graduation, but I'd love to move back. I just have to find a job that'll let me work from anywhere."

"What is it you do, exactly?"

He lifted his bottle and drank from it without taking his eyes off me. His stare warmed me all over.

It wasn't just lust, either. I felt comfortable and protected when he looked at me.

"I'm a data analyst for a bank," I said. "Exciting, I know. They let me work from home most of the time, but they require us to come into the office at least one day a week."

I shrugged as if that could explain it all. The truth was I couldn't really explain why I didn't like my current living situation. For most people my age, it would be a dream. But my roommate was into the social scene, while I was more of a homebody. On weekends, she routinely dragged me out on the town with our other friends when all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and binge-watch episodes of whatever show I was streaming that week.

"So, you probably feel pretty safe on these trails," he said.

I nodded. "We were walking them when I was in elementary school. Some of my best memories are of hikes my family took up these mountains on that very trail."

"How do you know I'm not dangerous?" he asked. "You don't even know my name."

I smiled. "You don't know mine either. I could be dangerous."

I wasn't sure what our names had to do with whether we were safe or not, but this felt a heck of a lot like flirting. And I was enjoying every second of it.

"Kane Bishop," he said. "I'd say you could look me up, but you won't find anything on me out there. I keep a low profile."

"I couldn't look you up anyway. No internet access, remember? And I'm Gillian Morris. You'll find plenty about me out there, but I'm guessing you don't go online."

"Not unless I absolutely have to. The public library has computers I can use on the rare occasion I need it."

I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "You know what? I could learn a lot from you."

His eyebrows lifted. "How so?"

"Do you know how many times social media has ruined a perfectly good day? And that doesn't even take into account the hours I waste on it every week. I probably could've cured cancer by now if I put that time in something constructive."

The slight smile I'd seen faded. What had I said? Social media? Wasting time? Cancer?

"So your plan was to hike back down the mountain tonight?" he asked.

I was so relieved at the change in subject, I spoke without really thinking it through. "I was going to tent camp at the overlook."

That look came across his face again. Protectiveness. I instantly knew that I'd said too much.

"You know there are bears up here," he said.

I looked down at the tequila bottle between my legs. I'd set it there after taking one sip, hoping he didn't notice I couldn't bring myself to drink more. But maybe another sip was in order.

I unscrewed the cap as I spoke. "My friends dared me. They don't believe I'm adventurous enough. I haven't really experienced life, I guess. But I have experienced this trail and that campsite many times."

He said nothing. Just stared at me. But somehow I felt like I was in a chair at a therapist's office. He didn't have to say anything for me to go deep inside myself and ask why I gave a darn what my friends thought. I certainly didn't have to try to impress them.

"Well, if you're up for a motorcycle ride, I can put you on the back of my bike and take you to town," he said. "Do you have somewhere else to stay?"

I shook my head. I could stay with my parents, but I was determined to beat this challenge. But his offer gave me an idea.

"You could do me an even bigger favor," I said. "Take me to the overlook and set up my tent."

He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. It was a justified reaction, but I had a good reason for the request, and it had nothing to do with spending the night there. I had a picture to take and a dare to win. Nothing was going to stop me. Not even an injury.

But as I prepared to convince him, he said the last thing I expected.

"Let's do it."