Page 6 of Mountain Man

She smiled up at me. “Thank you, this looks and…” She breathed in deep. “Smells amazing.”

Her fingers brushed mine as she took it, and just like when I put my grandpa’s ointment on her leg, zaps of pleasure shot up my arm. I jerked my hand back, retreating a step. “It’s just stew.”

She was blinking up at me like a baby owl. All innocent and soft, and in that moment, I hated how difficult this was for me. Beau would already have had Birdie charmed. Women flocked to him. I just had to look at Birdie and I frightened her.

And since we were identical twins, I knew it wasn’t my looks that freaked her out, it was just…me. Though, I guess, I was bigger than my brother. My size did sometimes disconcert people.

“My grandpa used to say God used extra fertilizer when he made me,” I said, attempting to put her at ease. Maybe make her smile?

Instead, her mouth opened and closed, and opened again. “Ah…he did?”

Christ, what the hell was I doing? She had to think I was crazy. I shoved a hand through my hair. Why the hell was I even trying? I’d been in the company of a beautiful woman for only a few hours—and most of that time she’d been unconscious—and I was already acting like a fool. “Let me know if you want more.” I motioned to her bowl. “There’s plenty.”

She nodded, finished chewing her mouthful, and asked, “Your grandpa? Are you close?”

With her eyes on me like that, my pulse started to race a little faster. “He passed some years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

They weren’t just words. I could see she actually meant them. “Yeah, we were close. He brought me and my twin brother up.”

Her gaze dropped lower, and I felt it like she’d run her hands down my chest. “There’s two of you?”

That’s all it took, her eyes on me like that, and my cock started to swell. I didn’t have much cause to talk to women. I only saw people when I went into town every couple of months. And besides that one humiliating encounter, I made do with my fantasies and my fist.

I’d never seen a woman like Birdie in the flesh, only in those fantasies. She was curvy, rounded hips, soft belly, smooth skin, and big soft—

I quickly dragged a chair out at the table and sat my ass in it to hide what was going on in my pants. I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Same height, but he’s not quite as…large as me.”

A small smile curled her lips and my racing pulse started to beat even faster.

“Ah, so that’s why your grandpa said God used extra fertilizer?”

My face felt hot again, and I was glad I had my beard to cover most of it. How many twenty-seven-year-old men blushed just because they were talking to a pretty woman? “Yeah.”

She chewed and swallowed another mouthful. “Have you lived up here, on these mountains, all your life?”

I shifted in my chair and nodded.

Her head tilted to the side, exposing more of her delicate neck. “What about your brother?”

I didn’t like answering a lot of questions, mainly because I didn’t like talking. Talking meant interacting with people. I couldn’t avoid Birdie—we were stuck together for the next week at least—so I guessed I could answer her questions if it made her feel more at ease, and I assumed by her smiles, it was.

“He left for a while, missed it, now spends part of the year up here, part working on a ranch just out of town.”

Her dark brown, wavy hair had slid to one side, and her big brown eyes were still on me, wide and so pretty I had trouble looking directly at them. “And you chose to stay behind?” she asked.

I had to clear my throat again to speak. “Gramps needed someone to stay and help out.” I shrugged, not touching the part about how tough those years were, how much I’d missed my brother, and how helpless I’d felt when my grandfather got sick.

Those big brown eyes turned sad. “You must have missed him.”

I couldn’t answer. That look in her eyes made my gut tighten in a way I didn’t like. That was enough talking for now. I climbed to my feet and got busy dishing myself up some dinner. At least the topic of conversation had succeeded in taking away the heavy ache behind my zipper. I stayed standing, leaned over the short wooden bench I’d put in last summer, and shoveled my food down, trying not to look at her again. I heard movement, but didn’t look up.

There was a crash, then she cried out.

I spun around to find Birdie on the floor, her empty bowl and spoon on the ground beside her. I stared down at her in shock. “Are you hurt?”

“No, not really, but I guess I put too much weight on my ankle,” she said with a wince.