Cherise Sinclair - Master of the Mountain

“Hey, Matt!” one of the women yelled from the front door. “Come help us decide on tomorrow's plans.”

“Be right there,” he called back, then patted Rebecca's arm. “You go ahead and sign in. I'll be on the porch with Paul and Amy.”

She nodded, unable to tear her gaze from the dog.

“Rebecca, eyes on me, not the dog.” The deep, rough voice broke her free, and she turned to the owner. He looked as mean as his dog, with steel blue eyes in a deeply tanned face-a ruthless face decorated with a day-old beard and a white scar below his left cheekbone. After handing her a pen, he tapped the paper in front of him. “Name and address. Signature on the release.”

“Release?”

His firm lips curved. “So you can't sue us if you fall down the mountain and break your neck.”

Right. After filling out the paperwork, she picked up her suitcase, holding it in front of her just in case the dog moved. When the owner rose, she retreated a step. He stood at least an inch over six feet, with muscles straining his dark red flannel shirt. The rolled-up sleeves displayed thick forearms with heavy-boned, corded wrists. More scars graced his hands. Whatever he'd done in the past must have been brutal.

“I'll show you to your cabin.” He walked over to her, and when the dog followed him, she couldn't seem to move. That animal would rend her to shreds, spilling her blood, tearing her…

“Open your hand, sugar.” A flash of amusement showed in his eyes as he tugged the suitcase from her hand.

“Sorry,” she whispered. Matt was already out the door; he'd left her, left her here with that dog.

It stared at her, growling.

“Thor, be nice,” the man snapped.

The dog stopped, although Rebecca could see it wanted to bite her.

“He can tell you're scared, and he's going to play the bully.” The man stepped closer until she had to look up at him-his dog wasn't the only bully in the place-but when his gaze met hers, somehow she knew he wouldn't let her be hurt.

Putting a hand on her lower back, he herded her toward the door.

Pretty little thing, Logan thought, with the biggest green eyes he'd seen in a long time. Ones that showed every emotion coursing through her-mostly fear, right now. What had brought a timid mouse into this herd of kinky yuppies?

He heard the click of the dog's toenails on the floor and turned. “Thor. Stay here.”

After a long pause and a surely-you're-not-serious look, Thor walked slowly back to the desk and dropped down with a long-suffering sigh.

The oversize mutt could be a real drama queen. Logan grinned, then followed the mouse named Rebecca out the door.

Wasn't it interesting how her timidity disappeared the minute she realized Thor had stayed behind? Her posture straightened; her head came up. Now she actually looked like the professional woman the French-braided hair and deep blue suit proclaimed. Obviously a successful woman, for only that kind of expensive tailoring could manage to hide all a woman's best attributes. A shame, really. She had a lush body that screamed for highlighting, not hiding. And well made-up or not, she couldn't conceal the freckles dancing across her nose and cheeks.

As they waited for Matt to break loose of the two club members he'd joined, Logan leaned against a porch post. Damn, he was tired, right down to the bone. The two nightmares last night hadn't left him much sleep, especially the final one. He scrubbed his face with his hands. Bullets, rockets… Those weren't so bad. But the dreams of IED explosions and his teammates being blown to bits… Fucking A, he hated those.

When Matt joined them, Logan steered the couple toward the string of cabins left of the lodge. The ones on the right had filled up earlier. Serenity wasn't very big, although when all the cabins were rented, the place kept him and his brother running.

As they entered the end cabin, Logan flipped on the light switch and saw the young lady take in the accommodations. The king-size bed boasted a blue and gold quilt in a Texas-star pattern if he remembered correctly. Two nightstands and a dresser. A tiny woodstove in the corner. Two overstuffed armchairs with lamps. A small round table under the back window. A blue and green rag rug crocheted by Aunt Marg. Small bathroom in the back. Seriously rustic. He glanced at the city girl.

She looked a bit taken aback, then walked over to the bed and ran a hand down the quilt. “That's amazing how the colors shouldn't blend, but they do. Whoever made this has quite an eye.”

“I'll tell my aunt Laverne you said so.”

Matt sauntered in and dropped his suitcase beside the door before joining Rebecca. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and nuzzled her neck. “Come hang out, babe.”

She stiffened slightly and glanced at Logan, as if uncomfortable with public affection.

He smothered a grin. She was definitely hanging with the wrong crowd.

She stepped out of Matt's grasp. “I'm pretty beat.”

Matt hesitated, his gaze going from Rebecca, then to the door, as if pulled by a magnet. “If you're sure…”

“I'm sure.”

“Okay.” He took a step toward the door and stopped. “Oh, the woodstove…”

“I'll show her,” Logan said. He set her suitcase beside the other.

“Thanks, Logan. I'll be back soon, babe.” Matt hurried out of the cabin as if afraid someone would stop him.

Somebody wanted to start swinging tonight, didn't he? With a cynical smile, Logan motioned the abandoned innocent over to the iron stove and knelt to put in kindling and logs from the adjacent bin. She stood close enough that her hip brushed against his shoulder. A soft, round hip. As he lit the fire and adjusted the vent, her fragrance wrapped around him. Her light soap smelled nice enough, but the underlying scent of sheer female made him want to strip her down and see if she tasted as sweet. He cleared his throat and shifted away. “Is all that clear?”

She frowned at the stove, studying it as if it were some esoteric puzzle he'd be quizzing her on later, then nodded. “I think I've got it. Thank you.” To his relief and regret, she walked over to the tiny bookcase near the bed. As he rose to his feet, she pulled out a book with a happy cry. “ Little Women! I haven't read this since grade school.”

When her eyes lit up like that, she lost the city stuffiness and just looked appealing. Too appealing. Those pink lips went past kissable and edged into carnal.

“How late can I sleep in? Are there certain times for meals or some such?” she asked, holding the book like a precious treasure.

“Your group usually rotates cooking and KP, but hot coffee and snacks are always available in the kitchen.”

“I'll be one of those in for early coffee.” She wrinkled her nose in a way that merged the tiny freckles. “I'm a caffeine addict.”

“I'll see you then.” Logan reached the door, stopped-pretty women were hell on a man's thinking processes-and pulled keys out of his pocket. “Here's your key. I'll give Matt his at the lodge.”

She crossed the room. As she took the big, old-fashioned key, her dimple flashed. “Cool. You have an interesting place, Mr. Hunt.”

“It's Logan.” He ran a finger down her cheek, finding her skin as soft as it looked. Dammit . “Welcome to Serenity.”

Early the next day, Rebecca followed Matt down the tiny trail toward the lodge. Her steps crackled on the frost-covered ground, and her breath turned white in the frigid air. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her body. Wasn't it almost summer? When they reached the clearing, she stopped and stared. Under a deep blue sky, mountains piled higher and higher until reaching the tallest, snow-capped peak. Fog spotted the mountainsides, and a few white patches drifted lazily up into the sky, as if wakened by the sun. Aside from the murmur of voices in the lodge and the gurgle of a nearby stream, silence ruled. No roar of cars or screech of brakes, no planes, no shouting, no music. Everything seemed almost too stark, the colors too sharp, the sounds too naked.