Page 20 of Mountain Grump Protector

That’s all it takes, and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to discover exactly what it is and how that sweet spiciness would taste on my tongue.

The moment I step into the cabin, it feels smaller than it did this morning.

I lower her carefully onto the couch before she can start fighting me, but the second my hands leave her waist, she scoots backwards, trying to put space between us.

I pretend not to notice. Mostly because if I acknowledge how much it bothers me, I’m going to have to start acknowledging a whole lot of other things when it comes to Willow.

And I am most certainly not going to start doing that.

“Stay there.”

Her brows lift. “Bossy.”

“Stubborn,” I mutter under my breath as I head for the bathroom and the first aid kit.

To my surprise, when I return a few minutes later, she hasn’t moved. Not that she would have gotten very far on those feet.

I crouch in front of her, the first aid kit next to me, and reach for a boot.

“I can do it myself.”

“I know.” I lift my gaze to hers and hold it for a moment, waiting for the challenge I’m sure will come.

It doesn’t, so I start work gently loosening the laces of her boot, careful not to jostle it too much as I slide it off her foot.

The second I do, she hisses in a breath.

“Jesus.” I shake my head and clench my teeth. It’s worse than I thought.

She’s not wearing socks, and the skin all along the back of her heel has been rubbed completely raw. A blister has already broken open from the walking.

And that’s only one foot.

“What?” She tries to pull her leg back, but I hold her foot gently but firmly. “It’s fine.”

“You know it’s not.” I shake my head. “Where are your socks?”

She doesn’t bother answering my question. Instead, she says, “It’s just a little blister.”

“Are you always so determined to pretend that everything’s fine when it’s obviously not?”

She opens her mouth but shuts it, pressing her lips into a tight line before she admits, “It’s usually easier that way.”

The quiet honesty in her voice takes me off guard. For a second, all I can think about is how she’s probably spent way too long taking care of everyone else while no one has bothered to make sure she’s okay.

The thought twists something in my chest. Something I push away before I can let myself think about it too much.

Without another word, I remove her other boot and get to work cleaning her up.

She jerks at the first touch of the antibiotic cream. “Sorry.”

Her eyes snap to mine like she wasn’t expecting that word from me. “It’s okay,” she says quietly, the fight gone from her voice now. “It’s just a little sensitive.”

It’s the first time she’s admitted even the slightest bit of weakness. I don’t draw attention to it, but continue smoothing the cream over the sore spots as gently as I can.

I’m in dangerous territory. What I should do is step away, throw a handful of Band-Aids at her, and let her take care of it herself before I lose my damn mind over a woman I’ve only just met.

Instead, I stay where I am and finish the job, taking my time placing each bandaid as carefully as I can.