More Than a Feeling

Chapter 4

The look on his face was even better than she'd anticipated. His open mouth and startled eyebrows contracted into a tough-guy glower.

"No."

Ah, the growly voice was back. She put her hands up in a helpless gesture, as though the situation were beyond her control. "Sorry, Christina. House rules."

His lips parted; his eyes rolled to the side. He looked as though he was starting to wish she had left him out in the snow.

Ruthie turned away and headed to the kitchen so he wouldn't see her fighting back a grin. "You hungry?"

"I'm fine," he said, a petulant note in his tone.

She almost snickered. Mr. Tough Guy was pouting. She reached the stove, and from the corner of her eye, saw him cross his arms over his chest in a huff. He immediately grimaced and unfolded them again, gritting his teeth.

She pretended she hadn't seen, and starting stirring again. "Well, I've got some homemade chicken broth here. I was just making it to freeze, but you can have some if you want. If you can keep broth down for a while, I've got beef stew in the oven."

The internal struggle spilled over onto his face. He glanced sideways at the pot, and his stomach rumbled audibly again. "Yeah, okay."

While she poured steaming broth from the saucepan into a large brown mug, she waged an internal battle of her own. He clearly didn't want to talk, but her curiosity was growing by the minute. Who was he? What was he doing out here? Why the secrecy? And what the hell had done that to him?

Carrying the mug to him, she decided she had nothing to lose. "So, if you don't mind my asking, what brought you out here? We don't get many out-of-towners."

He reached out to take the mug from her, and his fingers brushed hers. The touch zinged right up her arm, and unexpected heat rose in her cheeks. She hoped it wasn't visible.

He was eyeing her warily. "Hunting."

Why was he so determined to lie to her about everything? "Oh? Interesting. What were you hunting with a handgun, Christina?"

He stopped short in the middle of blowing on his broth. He raised his head and fixed her with an intense stare. "Where is my gun, Ruthie?"

She forced herself to hold his gaze. Tried to act as though that look wasn't rattling her, as if the low rumble of his voice saying her name like that had no effect. "It's safe."

She thought he would press, but after another uncomfortable few seconds, he returned his attention to his mug. He took a tentative sip, and his eyebrows jumped up. "That's...wow." He took a longer swig. "That's really good."

Again with the heat in her cheeks. Knock it off, Ruthie. "Glad you like it. You need rest and comfort food. That's my professional opinion."

He nodded, but didn't stop gulping his broth.

"So," she ventured, "in your professional hunter's opinion, what did that?" She gestured at his chest.

He eyed her over the top of his mug, clearly hesitating.

"Hey, I live here," she insisted. "I need to know what's out there."

Green eyes studied hers a little longer. "Wolf." He finished off the broth.

Heat burned through her neck and face now, but this time without the accompanying ripples in her stomach. Her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

He lowered his mug, eyes wide and innocent.

"Those claw marks are spaced way too far apart to be a wolf. They're too deep to be a wolf. And wolves don't claw things; they bite." Her voice rose steadily as she picked up steam. "Oh, and wolves only have four claws, but whatever attacked you had five. Bears have five. Wolverines have five. But the spacing is too big for a wolverine, and I don't see how one could have inflicted that wound unless you were kneeling or on your back."

He squinted at her. "Okay. So maybe it was a bear and I just didn't see it very well."

She glared at him. "It wasn't a bear. A bear would have ripped your lung out with a swipe like that."

He sat calmly, head tilted back, bottom lip pushed up into the top one. "Wow. You sure know a lot about forest creatures."

She fought the urge to smack him. "More than you, obviously, Mr. Hunter."

He nodded as if in agreement. He knew that she knew he was lying through his teeth, but he obviously didn't care. For some reason, that pissed her off more than anything else.

Her words burst out with more force than she'd anticipated. "Why are you lying to me about everything? After I saved your life?"

His smart-ass expression evaporated. A quiet intensity took its place. "Because you saved my life. Because it's better for you not to know."

Just as surely as she'd known he was lying about his name, lying about what attacked him, she knew he was telling the truth now. In his green eyes, the flexing corners of his jaw, she read only sincerity—and a hint of sadness. He was trying to protect her. From what, she had no idea.

Her anger drained away. Her curiosity was off the charts now, practically eating her alive, but she wouldn't push him anymore. She exhaled and tried to release the built-up tension in her body. "Okay," she nodded at the mysterious stranger who'd wrecked her plans for quiet and seclusion. "You win, Chrissy. No more questions."

This time, the corners of his mouth tugged upward. He glanced down into his empty mug, then held it out toward her. "Did you say something about beef stew?"