tipped his head back. “God, I’ll be happy if I never have to deal with that grit again. Give me dirt any day.”
He brought in two sleeping bags from the truck. “I keep a spare handy in case. I haven’t used this one so you don’t have to worry. Sorry there are no cots.”
“Hey, the ground is great. A floor is even better.”
“Yeah, at least there isn’t a rock in exactly the wrong place.” He spread out both sleeping bags. “No pillows,” he apologized.
“That’s what I have a jacket for.”
“If you want, I’ll take you into town for clothes in the morning. I didn’t even think of stopping to get you a change. Hell, I didn’t even think that you’ll want your car if you decide to stay out here.”
He was nice, she thought as she climbed into the sleeping bag and zipped it up. Very nice. “What about your shower?”
“It can wait. I don’t think I stink too much yet.”
He didn’t stink at all. He smelled like pine and fresh air, with a hint of wood smoke. All of it good.
Their sleeping bags were necessarily close in the tiny cabin, but soon Sky was comfortable, having punched her jacket into the right shape for her head. Firelight seeped out of the stove, casting dancing shadows around the darkened interior of the cabin.
Much nicer than a tent in a sandstorm, she thought. In fact, it would have suited her well for a long time.
She felt peace creeping into her, the serenity she had sensed around him at their first meeting, and she wondered if it was contagious, or if it was just the surroundings.
Everything seemed awfully far away right now, but not the kind of far away she’d experienced earlier. This was ever so much better.
She turned her head and looked at him. Firelight reflected from his eyes, telling her he was staring at the ceiling, his head propped on his saddle.
“Craig?”
“Hmm?
“You mentioned your brother.”
“Yeah.” The fire crackled, and for just a second or two the room grew a little brighter. “I was a marine. He joined up two years after me. I got out just before stop-loss started. He didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He wanted to make it a career. He would have stayed anyway. But it got to be too much for him. He was at war for an awful long time, Sky.”
“Too many were.” She knew the toll that had taken, too. She’d worked with men who’d spent the better part of six or eight years in combat zones. Unimaginable. “Is he getting better?”
“He’s gone.”
She sucked a sharp breath. Words wouldn’t come as her heart started to crack.
“I’m sure he’s better now,” Craig said. Then he turned on his side, giving her his back.
Sky stared at that back for a long time before sleep finally snuck up on her.
* * *
Morning arrived with watery light pouring through the cabin’s one dusty window and the smell of perking coffee. Stirring, feeling really good, Sky allowed herself the luxury of stretching and slowly waking up.
The cabin was empty, and for a moment she wondered if Craig had left. He had a job after all. But no, he’d said he’d take her into town this morning for clothes and her car.
Then the door opened and he walked in. For an instant he was framed against the brighter morning outside and the towering pines. In that instant he looked almost mythical, so tall and strong, and clad in his forestry uniform.
And so damn sexy. That sexiness didn’t just come from his good looks and powerful build either. She was drawn to that serenity, that inner strength he seemed to have. He felt like an emotional oasis in the midst of a stressful world.
She sighed, telling herself to quit being fanciful, and pushed up on one elbow, tossing her hair back from her face.
“Sorry if I woke you. I was out taking care of Dusty.”
“Dusty’s your horse?”
“None other.”
“Well, you didn’t wake me. I woke all by myself. That coffee smells good.”
“It smells about ready, too. Want me to bring you a mug there?”
“Actually, I need to get up and move. But thanks.” She pulled the zipper down on the sleeping bag and stood up, padding in her socks over to the table.
He looked so pressed and creased this morning that she felt grungy by comparison. Same clothes as yesterday, and worse, spattered by paint. Maybe she carried the individualistic artist thing a bit too far. But then, honestly, she couldn’t seem to keep clothes for