Goddamn Beau.

How could I have forgotten my brother? We always let the other know how long we’d be up here for. We took each other’s backs. Our grandfather had drummed this into us as kids. We always had a return date and if one of us didn’t show, the other went looking.

We’d never had to go looking, which was why I didn’t even think about it.

“Tonight’s our last night, and I…I want…”

What did Birdie want? I had a feeling—a strong feeling—I knew exactly what she wanted from me, and Christ, I wanted to give it to her again more than anything in the world. Over and over. Now I might never get to be with her again like that, and it was my own damned fault.

My earth had moved on its axis last night. Making love to Birdie had been life altering. My feelings for her went far beyond lust—they had before I knew what it was to slide deep inside her, but now? Christ, I wanted to give her a lot more than that, more than the physical, I wanted to give her everything.

“You can quit shoving,” Beau said. “We’re out of earshot.”

I gave him one last push for the hell of it. “Why did you have to show up tonight?”

Beau actually looked sorry. “I thought you’d fallen on your giant head and needed me to save your ass. Brother, this is not my fault. You really need to get a sat phone.”

He was right, of course. This was my own fault. Beau was only making sure I was all right. I cursed.

Beau stared at me, brows low. “What’s going on here?”

My face heated. I hated it. We’d talked about women before, but it was always Beau doing the talking and me doing the listening. That’s the way it had been our whole lives, and not just when it came to women.

“You’re sleeping with her?” Beau asked.

“No, I’m—” I cut myself off, not able to lie.

Beau winced. “Shit, Hank, I’m sorry, man. I messed up your night.”

I shoved my hand through my hair. “I don’t even know if that was going to happen again tonight. I mean, we’ve done it—” I cut myself off again, feeling uncomfortable, something I never had around my brother.

Beau grinned again. Bastard. “She’s a beautiful woman.” His head tilted to the side. “You like her, don’t you? A lot.”

There was no point lying, Beau could read me, just like I could him. “Yeah.”

“You going to see her again?”

I shook my head. “What’s the point? Birdie likes to move around. She likes new places, new people. She said herself she couldn’t live like this.”

Beau thumped me on the shoulder. “Shit, man, I’m sorry.”

My brother got it, he understood. He might work on a ranch during the summer, but that was only to save enough money to finish building his house. I’d inherited our grandfather’s place, and we’d split the land, but my brother needed his own home.

Beau had left for a while, tried life off the mountain, and had quickly worked out it wasn’t for him. So, yeah, he got it. If we ever decided to settle down, get married, and have kids, we had to find a woman who could handle this life, or we’d end up like our father.

“I hardly know her. We’ve spent a week and a half up here together, that’s all. She’ll go back to her life, and I’ll carry on with mine. I’m just…” I shrugged. “I feel something for her and I wanted her to be—I wanted…” I cursed again. Taking about this was so goddamn hard.

“You wanted to spend one last night with her.” Beau finished for me.

I dipped my chin.

“For what it’s worth, the way she was looking at you in there, she wanted the same thing.”

I thought he might be right.

But there was nothing for it. I’d have to go back to life without her.

I’d have to go back to settling for fantasies.

* * *

We’d been trekking for a few hours, stopping regularly so Birdie could rest. Beau took the lead and I took the rear, making sure one of us could catch her if she tripped or fell.

We’d left first thing this morning, after a shit night sleep. I’d slept on the chair and Beau on the floor. I wanted to lie beside Birdie one more night, but I didn’t trust myself not to touch her.

She seemed fine. Had been chatting the whole time. Glad to be going home. I didn’t want Birdie to be unhappy, but seeing just how happy she was, it stung.

I’d kept quiet as Beau asked her all the questions I hadn’t asked her, questions I’d desperately wanted to ask.

“So you’re an only child?” Beau asked. “How old were you when your father left?”

“Yep, it was just me. He left when I was a baby. Mom raised me all on her own, but she died when I was eighteen.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau said. “Do you have any other family?”

She shook her head.

We’d both lost our parents, only Beau and I had been lucky enough to have our grandfather. She’d had no one.

“Who watched out for you?” I asked, speaking for the first time in more than an hour. But I had to know. The idea of Birdie being all on her own, with no one to make sure she was safe and had what she needed, was more than I could stand.

She glanced at me over her shoulder.

“Eyes ahead,” I said.

“Right, sorry,” she muttered.

She wasn’t used to this type of terrain, and as much as I wanted her eyes on me, I wanted her to not sprain her ankle again more.

“And no one,” she added, eyes trained forward. “There wasn’t anyone to watch out for me, but then I was used to looking after myself. My mom had to work; she had all my life. I was used to being alone.”

I hated that so much it burned like a ball of fire in my belly.

“I guess you’ll have a big welcome home party to look forward to when you get back,” Beau said. “Your friends will want to celebrate that you’re okay.”

She was silent a beat. “I don’t really have many…um, well, I kind of just—” She cleared her throat. “I move around a lot, and I work, but other than that I don’t really socialize much.”

She didn’t have many friends? I assumed she picked up new friends wherever she went.

“I don’t really like crowds. Lots of people make me nervous. I like quiet, solitude. I guess it’s my own fault. I don’t go out much or try to meet people. Well, going on a hike in the mountains with a group of strangers had been my first attempt in a long time, and look how that turned out.”

Beau glanced back at me and I could see exactly what he was thinking.

What the hell were you talking about last night? She’d be perfect for this life, asshole.

Beau hadn’t spent a week with her, though. He didn’t know about her travelling soul. And there was solitude and there was living on a mountain away from all civilization with a man who avoided people like a contagious disease. From what Birdie had said while we were at my cabin, she understood the difference, and the way I lived my life wasn’t for her.

An hour later we were coming over the ridge to the homestead.

“See just over there,” Beau was saying. “You can see the roof.”

“Oh, yes, I see it.”

My gut tightened. For some ridiculous reason, I wanted her to see my place. I wanted her to like it…no, love it.

Idiot.

It wasn’t like she’d see the home my grandfather built my grandmother, the place where my father then Beau and I had been raised, and fall in love with it.

Fall in love with me.

But, God, I wanted that. So damn much.

Birdie

I walked into Hank’s house and did a slow turn. It was gorgeous.

A lot of rustic wooden furniture, but all the solid pieces had the smooth edges of time and use. These pieces had been made, used, and loved by the Smith family. More than one generation. The house was two levels. A spacious living area with a huge open fire made of stone was at one end. There were two couches, one worn, sage green velvet and the other, a faded chintz fabric. Both had quilts across the backs that were obviously handmade by someone who had a talent for sewing. The kitchen was off that and it was a decent size. There was also a large family dining table that could seat ten people. The door that was open off the kitchen, from what I could see, led to what looked like a mudroom. I assumed the back door was out there as well and possibly a bathroom.

I’d imagined myself living in places like this when I was a kid. Even without the fire lit, the place exuded warmth.

This was a home.

The kind of place you put down roots and never walked away from.

“You want to see upstairs?” Hank asked.

I spun toward him. I hadn’t even noticed he’d come in from outside, too busy marveling over his beautiful home. I looked beyond him. “Where’s Beau?”

“He carried on to his place. It’s only a couple of miles that way.” He pointed toward one of the living room windows, out to the forest beyond. “Eaglewood’s a two-hour drive on a shitty road. Better if we take you back in the morning.” Hank pushed his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to the stairs. “You want to see the rest?” he asked again.

We were alone. For the whole night. “I’d love to.”

He headed for the stairs. “I’ve got electric here now. Put up a wind turbine last summer. So, got an electric stove, lights, water heater.”

“It’s amazing. Your home…Hank, it’s beautiful.”

“My pops built it for my grandmother after they married.”

I smiled. “He must have loved her very much.”

Hank’s eyes were locked on me. “He worshiped the ground she walked on.”

His words were low and guttural, and I felt them all the way down to my toes. Then he headed up the stairs and I followed. He led me into a bedroom. There were big windows on two sides and a double bed with an amazing bedframe made of logs that still had their natural shape but had been sanded and varnished. I walked to the window and took in the spectacular view. It was late afternoon and the sun was dropping low in the sky. In the distance beyond a group of pines I could see another roof peaking from between them.

“Is that Beau’s house?”

Hank moved up beside me and dipped his chin. “We’ve been building it for the last few years.”

“I bet it’s as lovely as this house,” I said.

His head swiveled to me on his thick neck and his eyes were bright when he said, “It’s pretty close.”

I dragged in a deep breath at the look on his face, the way he was looking at me, the way it affected me, and turned to look back out the window. “The view from here, it’s magical. Is that all your land?”

“Mine and Beau’s.”

God, this place was stunning, quiet, peaceful. “I can see why you love it here so much.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “You have a beautiful home, a lifestyle that a lot of people would kill for.” I smiled at him. “You know what you want and where you belong, Hank. Not everyone gets that in their life. I envy you.” I’d never felt that, not once. Even when my mom was alive. With the apartments we lived in, the constant moving, I never once had that sense of home, of security, of belonging.

He stared at me for several long seconds, the air getting thicker the longer we stood there.

“Is this your room?” I said into the tense silence.

He shook his head. “Spare room. Mine’s down at the end of the hall. There’s another one next door and a bathroom beside that. I got a septic tank here, so the shower, bath, and toilet’s inside.”

“A shower?” I’d kill for a hot shower.

“Water’s already on, so you can go ahead and use it whenever you want.”

He showed me the rest of the house. He didn’t go into his room, just shoved the door open and said, “My room.” His bed was huge, with the same amazing rustic log frame and gorgeous quilts. There were windows on two sides in there as well, a large dresser beside the door, and several faded rag rugs on the floor.

We headed back downstairs, and I grabbed my meager possessions. “I might just grab that shower now, if that’s okay?”

“Of course. You can use anything of mine if you want clean clothes. Just grab something out of my drawers.” He moved to the fire and set about lighting it, his back to me.

I stood at the foot of the stairs, my heart beating faster, my body hot and aching from just being in the same room as him, and forced myself to ask, “Which room should I put my bag in?”

He went still, in that way he always did, but didn’t turn to look at me. “Choice is yours, Birdie.”

The choice was mine.

I rushed upstairs. I’d been determined to spend another night with him, and I wanted to still, but as much as my body and my heart were screaming at me to take my bag to Hank’s room, my head was shouting her opposition just as loud.

I was in love with him—there was no denying it. If I slept with him, let him make love to me, I didn’t know if I would ever recover.

I quickly showered, and on my way back, since I was still undecided about what I should do, I dropped my bag inside the door of the spare room closest to the stairs. When I came down, the fire was blazing, and Hank had made an omelet for supper. While we ate, I asked him questions about his life growing up there.

I had no idea what time it was. We’d been talking a long time, and it was dark outside. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. The fire had warmed the large house easily, and after the walk there today, I was feeling it.

I didn’t want to go to sleep, though—not yet. This was our last night together.

Hank went upstairs to use the bathroom. He was up there a little while, and when he came back down he seemed different, quieter.

He picked up the plates. “I’m calling it a night. We’ll leave first thing,” he said, then he stomped up the stairs and vanished.

I stared after him, my heart racing again.

He’d obviously seen my bag in the spare room. He was disappointed. I sat there for several minutes, trying to decide what to do.

In the end, my heart—my body—was screaming louder than my head.

If I didn’t go to him tonight, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.