The first time I told the story of the bear-scare rabid-raccoon attack, I did it in a rush so that my oldest brother wouldn’t murder Drew.

As soon as Jethro had calmed down enough to listen, Drew took off his shirt and handed it to me.

“There’s a sink in the back and soap. Go wash those scrapes and, please… put this on.” He said, his eyes averted to the floor. He didn’t look at me again until I’d returned from the sink, my cuts and scrapes washed, the dark gray T-shirt covering me to just above the knees of my muddy jeans.

The second time I told the story, it took forever. Questions were asked ad nauseam about the size of the bear, which direction it went, where the raccoon came from—they wanted to know the precise location—when I’d lost my shirt, what happened to Jethro’s provision bag, and how I’d cut and bruised my arms.

Drew crouched next to me the whole time, rubbing my back at intervals or stroking my hair. Instinctively I leaned against him, accepting his warmth and comfort; both felt wonderful, like being submerged in a warm bath. Jethro’s face paled when I came to the part about the rabid raccoon; he gave me tight smiles that betrayed how helplessly frustrated he felt with the situation.

I was just finishing with this second recitation when more people arrived. Three additional rangers and two state game wardens showed up, not knocking as they entered.

Drew stood and Jethro made quick introductions; three of them seemed to know me or recognize me, presumably because I’d spent the first eighteen years of my life nearby. I didn’t really look at the men or catch their names. I did note that they all had beards; just like two weeks ago, I was in a room with seven bearded men.

A little bubble of laughter escaped my throat before I could catch it; it wasn’t loud, but it did make me look a bit unhinged. I glanced at the table, tried to focus on the sturdiness of it, the solid weight of the wood. I rubbed my forehead and found that my hands were still shaking; not as badly as before, but the tremors were definitely there.

Then, I was asked to narrate the story once more. When I related the bit about the raccoon, all the newcomers had similar reactions to Jethro’s: wonder and horror.

Of course adding to this kerfuffle was the fact that Drew was shirtless. I tried to limit my noticing, but I still noticed. How could I not? I don’t care how unnerved a woman is, she notices when a man has a chest and back and arms and stomach like Drew’s.

My reaction to his physical perfection was especially heightened since I was still amped up on adrenaline. If we’d been alone, he might have been in danger of a different kind of bear attack from Ashley the bear. And he was being attacked.

By me.

I tried not to dwell on the fact that life and death situations apparently made me a horny toad.

Instead, I focused on the fact that I felt alive—really felt it—and it was good to be alive. It was good to feel.

Jethro hovered at my side, his hand on my shoulder during my recitation. My eyes kept flickering to Drew’s, checking to see if he was watching me or if it was safe to steal a glance at his bare torso. Of course, it was never safe. He paced the room, but his eyes never moved from my face, his expression focused. I did, however, catch his gaze watching my mouth as I spoke, and sometimes lingering on my neck.

This didn’t help my horny toadness.

When I got to the part where I took off my shirt and faced down the bear, Jethro shook his head and Drew mumbled, “I can’t believe you did that.”

When I finished, the menfolk began to talk among themselves, leaving me to stare dazedly about the room. Once again, my attention focused on the oak tabletop.

I caught the gist of their discussion. They were arguing—well, not really arguing at first—about making me recite the tale one more time. Jethro maintained that I’d been through enough, that they could retell it if needed.

The other five wanted to hear my version again. One of the men proposed that they voice record the story, then have me take them outside to diagram it all out.

Voices were lifting, and I continued to stare at the sturdy table. I’d never noticed the intricate pattern of a wood grain before. The marks were enigmatic and fascinating.

Then Drew was kneeling next to me. His warm hand was on the back of my neck sending little spikes of heat down my spine. His fingers were in my hair. He gently squeezed, bringing my attention to him.

As usual, his eyes were somber and ardent, but now they seemed more blue and silver and vibrant than I remembered. I noted that he had the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes; I was distracted by the striking and bold shape of his eyebrows.

“Ash….”

“Yes?” He had a freckle just below his right eye, and it was very attractive…and distracting.

“Sugar, are you okay?”

“Yes.” I sighed. Usually I wouldn’t put up with being called Sugar; yet when Drew said it, especially like that—all soft, concerned, rumbly, and shirtless—it made me want to taste him.

Whoa…where is this coming from? What is wrong with me?

“What’s wrong with her?” This came from one of the other men. “She high or something?”

“No, asshole,” Drew snapped, but his eyes remained on mine. “She’s in shock, and she’s got a lot of adrenaline in her system.”

I was aware of the room plunging into stunned silence. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered that Drew was infamous for his lack of verbosity. I imagined his outburst was quite a shock.

Drew’s striking and bold eyebrows came together and he frowned, studying my face, one hand in my hair, the other holding mine. “When is the last time you ate?”

I shrugged.

“We need to get some food in you. It’s a wonder you’re still upright.”

“Thanks for catching me,” I said dumbly, gazing into his eyes like a lovesick teenager. I didn’t care. He was so epically handsome, and he was being so nice, and his hands felt so good, and he was so strong and sturdy, and did I mention epically handsome? And shirtless?

I was vaguely aware of another person walking into the cabin and the men shifting, shuffling their feet, and making room for the newcomer.

“Sugar, I’d be honored to catch you anytime you’d like to fall.”

I opened my mouth to respond but was distracted from Drew’s vivid eyes and attractive freckle by the sound of my name coming from a familiar voice.

“Ashley? Ashley Winston?”

I turned and blinked at my name, my eyebrows high on my forehead. Standing on the other side of the table was a man, and this man looked remarkably familiar. His hair was blond and cut short, his eyes were brown, he was approximately my age, and he was roughly six feet tall. The man was in a blue police uniform, which fit him very, very well. He had no beard covering his square jaw. At present, all his white teeth were on display in a wide smile.

“Ashley? It’s me, Jackson.” He indicated himself with both his hands.

I frowned at the name from my past and allowed my eyes to dart over him again.

I knew the name Jackson exceedingly well because Jackson was the name of my high school boyfriend and best friend growing up. But the Jackson I knew was short and scrawny, Anderson Cooper pale, played the oboe in the high school band, and had a severe acne problem.

He was not a muscular, six-foot police officer with a golden tan, a sandy beard, and a manly-man voice.

“Ashley, it’s Jackson.” His grin became lopsided and boyish. “Don’t tell me I’ve changed that much.”

I flinched when I finally recognized him because he had changed that much, but his smile was exactly the same.

“Oh my dear Lord!” I blurted then shot to my feet, letting go of Drew’s hand. “Jackson James?”

Jackson came around the table, nodding the whole time. “Girl, what the hell happened to you? You look like you just fought off a black bear.”

“You have no idea.” A laugh tumbled from my lips as he folded me into his arms, giving me a big hug.

Jackson withdrew but continued to hold my hands in his. “I heard a little of it on the radio when it was called in.” Jackson’s eyes flickered over my shoulder to where Drew stood behind me, then they came back to rest on my face. “I heard about your momma. I’m so sorry.”

I flinched again, this time because I’d completely forgotten about what was going on with my momma. I’d been entirely wrapped up in surviving; then, when it was over and I was safe, I couldn’t seem to focus on anything tangible except Drew’s impossibly handsome facial features, the warmth of his hands, the deep steadiness of his voice, and his shirtlessness.

“I’m so sorry,” Jackson repeated, squeezing my hand. “I wondered if you would be in town. I’m just sorry it had to take a bear attack for us to run into each other.”

“I’m surprised you decided to come all the way out here.” This comment came from Jethro, who was suddenly at my side. My brother’s proximity forced Jackson to drop my hands and take a step backward. “Isn’t this a little out of your jurisdiction, Jack?”

“Yes, to be honest. Yes it is.” Jackson’s eyes flickered between mine and Jethro’s, his expression open and guileless. “But the report made it sound like there was an exchange of gunfire. And when I heard Ashley’s name….”

I felt a hand on my hip and a chest at my back. I deduced it was Drew’s when he whispered, “Let me take you to get you cleaned up,” his breath warm on my neck.

Unthinkingly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I leaned back against him. He slipped his arm around my waist and turned slightly to address the room.

“That’s enough,” Drew said. “She’s done. You all need to leave.”

I wasn’t surprised when no one argued this time, given the tone of his voice. Even if he didn’t have several inches on every man in the room, Drew’s commanding presence and aura of perpetual in-chargeness would have been enough. I surmised that when Drew Runous put his foot down about a matter, nobody was quick to contradict.

Bearded men were grabbing their hats and muttering to each other, their shoes scuffing on the wooden floor as they departed. I didn’t miss that Jackson’s eyes were focused on Drew’s arm around my waist before they lifted to mine.

“I’ll stop by the house this week so we can catch up.” He gave me a friendly smile. “You’re a very lucky young lady, Ashley Winston.”

I blinked at him, but couldn’t find the words to respond that luck had nothing to do with my survival. Me being a badass, however, might have been involved; also, Drew’s gun. Jackson didn’t seem to mind my silence because he gave me a wink and left without saying anything further.

Drew turned to Jethro and said over my head, “I’ll take her with me; you’ve got that trip to prep for.”

Jethro squeezed my shoulder. “Thanks.” My big brother then gave me a kiss on the forehead. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

I nodded and Jethro gave me an affectionate smile; he then crossed to the other rangers and gathered what he needed for his trip.

Drew turned me toward him, but I watched Jethro’s back as he left the cabin. When I was alone with a shirtless Drew, I lifted my eyes to his.

As usual, he was watching me, but his gaze was devoid of the weird, intense heat that he’d employed the first few days of our acquaintance. He seemed to be regarding me with measured yet detached interest.

“You have a history with Jack?”

I nodded. “He was my high school boyfriend.”

Drew frowned. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

A spike of irritation shot up my spine and I stepped away from him, the day’s events and lingering adrenaline fueling my blunt response. “Not that I need to explain myself to you, but growing up, Jackson James was the only person other than my momma who didn’t see me as an ignorant, disposable piece of ass. He saw more in me than what I looked like. At least, I thought he did. But the years have given me wisdom. I’ve learned that no amount of good intentions or education on my part are going to change people’s first impressions of me, or seeing what they want to see. I might be able to debate the merits of Gestalt theory with acuity and confidence, but that doesn’t make a lick of difference if the other person isn’t even listening. So I guess you could say that I am smarter than that now.”

Drew’s eyes sparked hot and fierce as I spoke, but I got the impression the ferocity wasn’t directed at me. When I finished, he was once again glaring at me with his trademark heated intensity, but it was subdued and hesitant like he was trying to rein himself in. Several long moments passed, our bodies swaying toward each other. I felt like I was being pulled toward him, I was dizzy with it.

Or maybe it was just low blood sugar.

I broke the silence, no longer able to tolerate the electrified tension between us. “I can drive myself, you know. I did drive here earlier. Momma’s car is down the hill.”

Drew frowned, his eyes moving over my body, assessing me. “When’s the last time you ate?”

I stared at him and rewound the day. When I came up empty, I rewound yesterday. I swallowed and said, “I had a bagel.”

“When?”

“For breakfast.”

“When?”

I pressed my lips together and scowled. “Yesterday.”

He watched me for a beat, but before he could issue his retort, I yielded. “Fine. You have a good point. I shouldn’t be driving when I’m exhausted and lightheaded from hunger. Point made and conceded. Moving on….”

I rocked on my feet, feeling slightly dizzy, and I had to take a step back and hold on to the table to steady myself. Drew wrapped his arm around my back to keep me upright.

“I’m carrying you,” he growled, though he didn’t sound put out. Mostly he sounded determined.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said and pushed him away. “I can walk.”

“Ash….” My name was a whisper close to my ear. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You needed it earlier.”

“I didn’t need you. I just needed your gun.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Drew close his eyes slowly, his mouth pressing into a stiff line. I couldn’t tell if he was upset or trying to keep himself from blurting that’s what she said.

At length he cleared his throat and lifted me into his arms. I thought about pitching a fit but decided against it. Really, I only had enough energy for an eye roll.

“I’m carrying you down the hill.”

“Fine.”

“Then I’m driving.”

“Whatever.”

“After that you’re going to eat.”

“Okay.”

“Then you’ll sleep.”

“Sounds great.”

Drew glared down at me in his arms and mumbled, “‘Ah, women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent.’”

Good Lord, I must’ve been half-unhinged, because that Nietzsche quote made me laugh.