Page 2 of His Wild Desire
"Sprained bad," he mutters after a few prods, his jaw tightening. "You planning on spending the night out here?"
His gaze flicks up to meet mine, one brow arched pointedly. The challenge is clear—either swallow my pride and let this rugged stranger help me, or stubbornly insist I'm just fine and risk freezing my ass off on this exposed cliff all night.
I open my mouth, already preparing a biting retort, but his stony expression gives me pause. For once, I think better of antagonizing someone who could be my only hope of getting off this mountain in one piece.
Clenching my jaw, I force out a grudging, "I'd rather not."
A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and I instantly want to wipe that infuriatingly smug look off his face. "Figured as much. C'mon, then. Let's get you off this trail before that ankle swells up any more."
Before I can react, he's scooping me into his arms with easy strength, my backpack slung over his shoulder. I instinctively clutch at the flannel fabric covering his broad chest, that heady campfire scent surrounding me in a way that's alarmingly soothing.
"Careful there, hoss," I mutter as he navigates the precarious trail with sure steps, "Wouldn't want you to throw your back out and leave us both stranded up here."
Those striking blue eyes cut sideways, pinning me with a look that makes my breath hitch in my throat. "Don't you worry, darlin'," he rumbles in that rich timbre. "I can handle a hell of a lot more than a slip of a thing like you."
My cheeks instantly burn, and I silently thank the growing darkness for concealing my flustered reaction. I'm curvy enough that no one's ever called me a “slip of a thing” in my life, but there's no mistaking the suggestive lilt in his tone or the way his grip tightens ever so slightly as he speaks.
“And the name’s Caleb. Not hoss,” he adds.
“Well, I’m Emma. Not city girl,” I retort.
We lapse into an expectant silence as he carries on, his breaths coming deep and even while I fight to steady my own rapid pulse. I should be repulsed by this strange, uncouth mountain man and his infuriatingly smug demeanor. I should be terrified at the prospect of being alone with him in the isolated wilderness.
And yet, some deeper instinct tells me I'm safe with this rugged stranger. Despite his gruff exterior and condescending remarks, there's something undeniably trustworthy about him, something that makes me feel oddly secure in his arms.
Like he's the immovable, steady force in these wild peaks that will keep me anchored no matter how violently the winds howl or trails twist.
Chapter 2
Caleb
The trek back to my cabin is slow-going with Emma in my arms, but I'm not complaining. Her head rests against my shoulder, those long chestnut locks tickling my jaw. She's stopped shivering now that she's bundled in my body heat, but her ankle's pretty swollen from that nasty sprain.
I kick open the cabin door and step inside, greeted by the comforting scent of woodsmoke and pine. Carefully, I set Emma on a kitchen chair and shrug off my pack, letting it thud to the hardwood floor.
"You, uh, just sit tight," I mutter gruffly. My arms are already missing the warmth of her curvy frame pressed against me, a fact I instantly dismiss.
Shrugging off my pack, I head straight to the stone fireplace and get a blaze roaring within minutes, the familiar motions ingrained from a lifetime out here. This drafty old hunting cabin will be nice and toasty soon enough.
I busy myself stoking the smoldering embers in the hearth, piling on fresh logs until the flames lick higher, bathing the rustic interior in a warm, flickering glow. With a satisfied nod, I grab my med kit and kneel in front of her.
"Alright, let's take a look at that ankle."
Her eyes widen as I reach for the laces of her hiking boot. "You don't have to—"
"You want to walk out of here?" I cut her off flatly.
She presses her lips into a thin line but doesn't argue further as I unlace the boot and ease it off her foot, followed by the thick woolen sock. She sucks in a sharp breath when I gently probe the joint, her teeth sinking into that plump lower lip. For a split second, my gaze lingers there before I force it away with an inward scowl.
Get it together, Stone.
"Definitely a sprain," I confirm gruffly. "You were damn lucky I was still on the trail when—"
"You’re right. Thank you." Those softly murmured words cut me off, her voice unexpectedly earnest. When I glance up, her expression is equally sincere, all traces of that earlier hostility gone. "Seriously, I... I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come along."
My jaw tightens at the unexpected gratitude, that gruff demeanor slipping instinctively back into place like a suit of armor.
"Just did what anyone would’ve done," I deflect with a curt shrug, turning my attention to rummaging through my well-stocked first aid kit.