I should’ve fucking known better. I thought I’d sketched out a pretty fair deal where Aubrey would spend the remainder of the day resting his ankle and ribs. I’d pictured him propped up on the couch, dozing with his eyes closed as he followed my orders to stay off his foot. That picture also included me going back to my cabin for a nap and a night by the fire. Alone.

When Aubrey agreed to wait for our hunting trip, he’d pictured the two of us hanging out in his cabin for the rest of the day and evening. I’d done my best to argue, but deep down, I’d known I was going to stay. And that’s how I find myself, once again, warming up soup and serving him dinner on the couch. At least there’s a fire.

Wait. He started a damn fire while I was in the kitchen. I give him a side-eye of disapproval, but he just slurps his soup happily, ignoring my silent reprimand. That man. I don’t know whether to wallop him upside the head to force him to stay down or marvel that he’s able to be up and around at all. Most guys would take advantage and hold court on the couch, not bothering to lift a finger to help. But not Aubrey. He’s fighting to still do things . . . work and take care of himself and me. The thought gives me a warm fuzzy for a moment before I remember that he wasn’t always one to fight for me. He was the guy who just walked away.

I shake my head, letting the thought rattle loose. If this is going to work, these days next to each other, especially the time spent together, we’re going to have to stay solidly in the present. No past, no future, no big conversations about what happened. I won’t say that I’m not curious, of course. I’ve spent nights awake, tossing and turning, wondering what the hell happened. But it’s been years, and nothing he can say would make it okay, so it’s better to just live in a fantasy world for the next week where we are strangers who just met and have amazing chemistry. Nothing more, nothing less. A short-lived adventure.

Sounds easy enough, but it makes conversation a veritable minefield where every personal question could explode in my face. Thinking carefully, I venture, “It’s beautiful up here. Do you get many guests at the other cabin?”

Shit. Way to go, Ana. That totally sounds like you’re fishing to see if he’s fucking a different woman every week. Well, actually, I would kinda like to know that. But surely, most guests to a remote cabin aren’t single women, right? I bury my face in my soup bowl, hoping he doesn’t see the embarrassment on my face.

He grunts. “This is my favorite place on Earth, I think. Just me and Mother Nature, peace and quiet. You’re actually my first guest at the cabin. Carlotta just made the brochure and the online ad for it.”

I feel the flinch before I can stop it, and know Aubrey saw it too by the grin on his face. “Carlotta is a marketing genius. And my second cousin, so no need to get jealous.”

I sputter helplessly. “I’m not jealous. You just seem to like being alone up here on your mountain of solitude, so I was surprised you had someone to help you with the advertising.” The argument sounds weak even to my ears, but thankfully, Aubrey lets it go unchallenged.

“I have spent the better part of a few years alone up here, so I was glad to have her help. Seems to have worked better than I’d ever hoped.” The comment hangs heavily, but I don’t give in to answering. After a moment, he continues, “So, tell me about you, Ms. Nurse Extraordinaire.”

It’s small talk, a capitulation to my stated desire to keep things light, casual. I both appreciate it and hate it. I feel like the most wishy-washy of women in the history of time, wanting him to force the topic to the elephant in the room while simultaneously wanting to run lest that elephant stomp my heart to smithereens once again.

Fear of the true story of our past makes the decision for me, and I launch into a superficial answer. “I went to nursing school and worked my ass off for top grades so that I could get the placements I wanted. After school, I was lucky enough to get on at St. Joseph’s Memorial Hospital. I spent a year working whatever shifts, whatever department they needed me in, basically being low man on the totem pole and taking what I could get. I’ve paid my dues a bit now and have learned a lot, so I’m lucky to work in critical care more often than not. It’s my favorite, helping people through crises, but getting to know them longer than just a quick run through the emergency department. It was actually a patient who first gave me the prompt to take a vacation.”

I smile as I think of Mrs. Smith and hope she’s okay. By the time I left for vacation, she had been discharged and was happily and healthily under the care of her children once again. I think she’d be proud that I actually followed through and went on vacation. I wonder what she’d say about the whole situation with Aubrey, though.

Aubrey smiles as I talk, listening intently. He raises his glass of tea in salute. “To your patient’s good suggestion.” He takes a drink to finish the toast and then continues as I drink too. “Sounds like you work hard, but I can tell you love it by the way you talk about it.”

I nod. “I do love it. I love helping people, caring for them when they need it, ensuring they get better and can return to their lives. It’s fulfilling. What about you? What do you do up here everyday?” I purposefully word the question carefully, not asking how he ended up here, sensing that might take us down a dangerous road.

Aubrey swallows another sip of tea, looking out the window. “Mostly chop wood . . . for myself and for the businesses I contract with. I deliver into town once a week or so. I hike out to clear felled trees when possible. Sometimes, I hike for the hell of it or play fetch with Rex, hunt, and tend the garden as it needs it. It doesn’t sound like much, but keeping everything going is a full-time job, sunup to sundown.”

“It sounds very . . . outdoorsy.” It truly does, but that wasn’t my first thought. My first thought was that it sounds really lonely. I knew he was alone out here, had even joked about the solitude. But I guess I figured he saw people more than once a week. I try to reconcile that with my life, the constant conversation with patients, the chatter at the nurses’ station with coworkers, the phone calls with family and friends. By the end of the day, I usually crave some quiet. But I think Aubrey would crave conversation. But maybe not? He’s out here alone for a reason, after all, whatever that may be.

“Yeah, it definitely is that. But I like it. I did the rat race thing for a while, and it wasn’t for me, the hustle and bustle, the competition for no good reason beyond bragging rights, and the constant need for more status, more money, more power.” He shakes his head, obviously remembering those times, and I wonder when that was, how long after he left me, and what got him there. But I hold my tongue and don’t ask. “Out here, I feel calmer, more connected with what’s really important, just me and Rex hanging out, appreciating the beauty of the woods as they go through the seasons.”

Deciding the question is worth the risk, I wade into the deeper waters. “Don’t you get lonely up here? If you only see folks in town once a week, how do you keep from going stir-crazy?”

He hums, obviously thinking about his answer, which I appreciate. “I do sometimes, I guess. Carlotta comes for dinner a couple of times a month, and my days in town are usually long, so by the time I get home, I’m all peopled out. But mostly, Rex and I manage just fine. Unless it’s weird that I talk to him and he talks back? That’s not weird, right?” He’s joking, his eyes sparkling even though his smirk is hidden in the tight line of his lips.

I adopt a wise doctor affect as I give my diagnosis. “Nope, talking to your dog is perfectly normal. As long as he only barks or eyeballs you back, I think you’re fine. If he’s talking in actual words, it might be cause for concern.”

Aubrey laughs a full, hearty chuckle from deep in his throat and the rumbles vibrate the room. It’s a melodic sound, baser than a tolling bell, and it makes my belly flip-flop. I smile back, confessing, “I don’t have any pets—way too busy to take proper care of them. It wouldn’t be fair, but I have been known to talk to my plants. Studies show it helps them grow and stay healthy. So I think we’re both perfectly sane.”

The smile on his face says clearly that he’s certain neither of us is entirely sane, especially given the circumstances of where we’re sitting and the danger we’re playing with. “Come here,” Aubrey murmurs, more demand than request. I should run back to my cabin, back home to the city, but I don’t. Instead, I walk slowly toward the couch, following his commands and sitting down gingerly beside him so as not to hurt his ribs or ankle.

“I’m not broken, woman.” Aubrey wraps his arms around me, manhandling me to move us both into the position he wants. I find myself lying on my side, half-on and half-off Aubrey as he lies on his back on the couch. It’s warm and comfortable, which makes me tense. But slowly, his fingers running up and down my arm soothes me and I relax against him.

After a few minutes of quiet stillness, I realize that Aubrey’s breathing has evened out and he’s drifted off. He must’ve been more tired than either of us realized after his wood-chopping stunt and then the energetic fucking. His body is probably drained, without reserves to use to heal. I decide to let him rest and snuggle up against him, bound and determined to rest myself too.

But my mind roars with questions. What happened back then? Do I really want to know? What the hell happened today, and am I going to do it again? Do I want to? Does he?

I try to be still, not wanting to disturb him, but I eventually give in and get up carefully so as not to wake him. I stand over the couch, watching with bated breath to insure Aubrey continues dozing. Rex lifts his head from his paws, his protective gaze evaluating me, and I give him a pat to the head to reassure him that I mean no harm.

Quietly, I gather our soup bowls and tea glasses, moving into the kitchen to wash them. Once that’s done, I feel an overwhelming urge to snoop, to find the answers to some of my questions without going to the source. But I won’t do that. It’s wrong, and if I’m going to give in to the urge to know, I want to hear it straight from Aubrey’s lips and watch his eyes when he tells me why he did what he did.

In an attempt to busy myself without waking Aubrey, I wander outside to the back porch. There’s a cushioned rocking chair and a small table with what looks to be a half-formed wood figurine on it. I smile, realizing that although he didn’t mention it, Aubrey must do a little whittling too. The image of him rocking the evening away, deeply concentrating as he putzes with tiny slivers of wood, is adorable in my mind’s eye.

I step off the porch, my eyes sweeping along the expanse of trees and sky, taking in the beautiful grandeur with an inhale of fresh air. Lifting my face to the sun, I say a vow of thanks for the day, this messy, dirty, emotional, lovely day, with Aubrey in this forest paradise.

My thoughts turn to tomorrow and the promise I’d made. I’m going hunting? There are so many things wrong with that idea it’s not even funny. I’m gonna get lost, or starve to death, and definitely get attacked by a bear. Trey is going to blame himself for leaving me alone up here with an injured mountain man who couldn’t protect me from the vicious grizzly attack, and Brad will bawl big, melodramatic tears at my funeral while looking spectacular in head-to-toe black, of course.

Okay, so maybe it’s not that bad. But I do worry that Aubrey is overdoing it, as evidenced by his impromptu nap right now. Especially considering he said he’s usually going sunup to sundown. Hiking and hunting may not be the best idea tomorrow, but I have no faith in my ability to talk him down from his plan.

Deciding that I should take a play from my nursing guidebook, I begin searching for a long, thick stick that would make a good walking stick. I know better than to call it a cane because a man like Aubrey would never use a cane or a crutch. But a walking stick is a tried and true hiking aide, one that I can hopefully get him to use.

The mission gives me focus as I search far and wide for the perfect option, making sure to keep the cabin in sight the whole time just to be safe. Finally, I kick a thatch of fallen leaves and the perfect stick emerges from the pile. I pick it up, pulling a few thin sprouts of twigs off and smiling. I need to get the bark off because it’s rather brittle, but I think it’ll work.

I test it out as I walk to the back porch and decide that this is going to be a negotiating factor for tomorrow. Aubrey is using the stick to help him walk or we’re not going. And I know he wants, maybe needs, to go hunting. I settle in the rocking chair, picking at the bark to get down to fresh wood as I watch the sun dip below the horizon line and listen to the forest come to life with the buzz of night creatures.

It takes me a long while, and eventually, I even use Aubrey’s axe to get a few stubborn areas of bark off. But my work pays off, the surface of the tall stick smooth to the touch and just what Aubrey will need tomorrow.

I lean the stick near the back door, knowing that I’ll have to surprise him with my gift in the morning if I have any hope of his actually using it. Sneaking quietly back inside, I see that Aubrey is still asleep but has rolled to his side, trying in vain to somehow fit his huge form onto the skinny couch.

With a small smile, I gently rub his shoulder. “Aubrey, wake up. Let’s move you to the bed so you can get comfortable.” It takes a couple of repeats, and some cringes from discomfort on his part, but I manage to help him shuffle to his bedroom and lie down.

As he plops onto the bed, he mutters, “You too, Sweet Ana. Stay with me, at least for tonight.”

I don’t answer, my voice stuck behind the lump in my throat. But I pat him, trying to get Aubrey to settle back to sleep without an agreement from me. But he’s not having it, and he pulls me to the bed next to him. I let out a cry as I tumble down, trying desperately to not smoosh him, especially on his sore ribs. “Whoa! Aubrey, get some rest, okay?”

He opens his eyes, bleary but still focused on me. “Stay, Ana. Please.” His voice is rough with sleep, sexy and rumbly, but it’s the ‘please’ that does me in.

“Fine, I’ll stay. But let me fix your ankle up.” I sit up on the bed, carefully unlacing his boot and pulling it off. He winces at the pressure, his eyes popping open, clear and brown and staring daggers at me. “Sorry, need to check it out and prop your foot on some pillows.”

He’s already back to sleep before I finish my explanation, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “Nurse Ratchet . . . nice, my ass.”

I hold the giggle in, ever the consummate professional. Or not, considering present circumstances. I do a quick check of Aubrey’s ankle, noting that the swelling does look significantly better and the bruising is already starting to change colors as it goes through the long healing process. I cradle his foot, slipping a stack of pillows underneath it, and then I stand back to assess.

I should sleep on the couch. I’d still be staying like he asked, but not so dangerously close to him. Even as I talk myself into it, I know Aubrey will give me shit about it in the morning if I do that.

Pausing in the doorway, I realize that I don’t want to sleep on the couch. I want to sleep in this big bed with this big beast of a man, curled up against his body. It’s stupid, clearly a rash decision made more on lust than logic, but how many opportunities like this come up in a lifetime? None? One? Maybe more if you’re lucky enough to get some sort of fairytale miracle?

Decision made, I slip my jeans off, leaving my T-shirt and undies on for polite manners and slide into the bed next to Aubrey. He instantly wraps his arms around me, holding my cheek to his thick chest and cupping my thigh where it lies across his. I fall asleep without a single question on my mind, the simple feeling of settling in Aubrey’s arms as comfortable and easy as coming home.