Roughing It

6. Blakely

CHAPTER SIX

blakely

To say I’m surprised by the cabin is an understatement. Set in a clearing surrounded by a mix of aspen, pine, and spruce trees, it melts perfectly into the scenery. It’s rustic and charming, with a covered porch and swing.

But it’s also small. Really, really small. Kirk said one bed, one bath, but I imagined a layout similar to an apartment. The reality is very different.

It’s one room —not one bedroom, just one room. The kitchen, living space, bed, and even the large clawfoot shower/tub combo are out in the open. It’s a gorgeous bath, deep and long, perfect for soaking. It even has space for two. But with only a shower curtain for modesty, I can’t help but think of how exposed I’ll be while using it. The only place with a door is the water closet housing the toilet and sink.

A flash of a too-small trailer, the width hardly more than my wingspan, with dingy smoke-stained walls zips through my mind.

“I’d give you a tour, but…” Hudson’s gravelly voice pulls me back to the present.

Snapping on an overly bright smile, I clear my throat. At least the ceilings are high—and charming with their exposed beams. “It’s lovely. I didn’t think it would be so… cozy.”

He chokes on a raspy chuckle like it’s an unused muscle. “Cozy. That’s one way to describe it.” He drops his single duffle bag onto the bed and pulls out clothes, placing them into the two-drawer dresser against one wall.

“So, what’s this cabin for?”

“You asked me that on the ride up.”

“And you didn’t answer me, so I’m asking again. If this is some sort of sex-torture cabin, it needs an update. You’ve gone way too homey on the vibe.” This earns me a lop-sided, almost grin from him. “Really, what do you guys do with this cabin if you don’t live here?”

“We rent it out.”

“You have clients renting out a secluded sex-torture cabin?”

“No, we have clients renting a regular cabin.” His irritation is clear, but a tiny part of me enjoys irking him way too much.

As I explore the open room, I pick up a gorgeous quilt lying on the back of the couch. “If no one lives here, why do you have such nice things? This quilt is heirloom quality.”

He huffs through his nose but doesn’t answer. I can imagine him pawing the ground in exasperation like a gloriously frustrated bull.

Because I can’t help myself, I ask, “Are you bringing my bags in?”

He stops mid-fold—one eyebrow cocked, mouth agape—then shakes his head.

“Was that a no head shake or an I’m-disgusted-with-you-but-will-bring-your-luggage-in head shake?”

This time, he snorts. Progress.

“So, what’s the game plan? ”

Sighing, Hudson turns his back to me. “Unpack and sleep.”

That’s a more short-sighted plan than I expect, but at least he answers me. “Unpack and sleep. Sure. You know what would make unpacking easier? If you’d bring in my bags.” I flutter my lashes at him.

He bites off each word. “Tell you what, Princess?—”

“Blakely,” I snap back.

“Tell you what, Spitfire.” I don’t correct him this time. Don’t ask me why. “I’ll bring them to the porch, but not an inch further.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why? What does it hurt to bring them in?”

“It doesn’t hurt me a damn bit, but it’s already more than I’d do for anyone else, and I swore to your boss?—”

“Manager.”

“—I wouldn’t give you any special treatment.”

“That’s so dumb.”

“And bringing them in would be special treatment. Like I said, if you?—”

I wave. “Yeah, yeah, if you can’t carry it, you can’t bring it.”

He stands there looking at me, all cocksure and sexy. His broad shoulders fixed, his stance obstinate. If Hudson Brooks thinks he can out stubborn me, he’s in for a shock. Without saying anything else, I stomp out to the Jeep. His smug smirk falls away when I stride back minutes later, clutching a sleep shirt, shorts, and a small bag with my toothbrush and other toiletries. But no suitcase.

“You left them in the Jeep?” he asks, disbelief in his voice.

“Yep.”

“I give it two hours.”

“I’ll leave them out there the entire thirty days. If you decide to bring them in, I’ll gratefully accept them and unpack, but otherwise, those suitcases are staying out there. ”

“It’s dangerous here at night; you can’t be running to the Jeep at all hours for your shit.”

“Then. Bring. Them. In.”

Hudson’s jaw tenses, and his jaw tics. “Do what you want.”

I push past him, beelining for the water closet, desperate for space from his handsome, frustrating, won’t-bring-in-a-lady’s-suitcase face.

When I step out with my teeth brushed and no makeup, Hudson’s green eyes take me in.

“You look different.”

My hand flies to my cheek. He’s seeing Blake Lee. Her nose is wider, less of an adorable button, her face rounder, less sculpted, and her eyes smaller. What does he think of her?

Is he like everyone else? Overlooking her until she’s forced to transform into Blakely, a supernova who demands your attention?

I brush my hair forward, using it as a shield. “So, one bed. Is this where those gentleman genes finally kick in, and you offer it to me?”

Hudson’s full lips flatten into a hard line, then he takes two steps, eating up the space between us. With a surprisingly tender touch, he pulls the soft scrunchie from my wrist and gathers my hair into a low ponytail, pulling it away from my face.

“Why’d you hide? I said different, not bad.”

My cheeks warm, and I look away, only giving him a hmph in reply.

He grips my chin, tilting my head back. He inches closer. Closer. And just when I expect him to zag, he zigs.

“If you think I’m giving you the bed, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The certainty in his words sparks annoyance. And desire. Damn him.

I square my shoulders. “Oh, I’m taking the bed.”

“Over my six-foot body, Spitfire.”

“We’ll have to settle this the hard way.”

“As if there’s any other option?” His smirk transforms into a full-on grin, and I melt a little. Double damn him!

Swallowing, I give him a saucy smile. “On three?”

“One, two, three. Shoot!”

DAY ONE

Hudson’s lips brush against my stomach, his gaze on me as he whispers into my navel. “What do you want me to do, little Spitfire?”

I wake with a start, the deep rumble of a man’s voice in my ears and an unfamiliar ceiling over my head.

“Morning, Princess. Sleep well?”

Hudson.

The cabin.

“It’s Blakely, you bear.” I groan and flop to my side on the couch, pulling the blanket over my head.

“Not a morning person?”

“You try sleeping on the first sofa ever made and see how you feel.” The ache in my back has me gritting my teeth. I am not spending twenty-nine more nights on this couch. That much is damn sure. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Five fifteen.”

I sit up, the blanket pooling around my waist. “Five fifteen! In the morning?”

“Of course, in the morning. The day waits for no one. Haul your suitcases in from the Jeep since you refused to do it last night. Then you and I are going on a hike.”

“My luggage is fine where it is, but let’s focus on the real mystery. Why are you waking me up at five fifteen in the stupid morning? Won’t the hike still be there at eleven? ”

“Of course, the hike will still be there. The land isn’t going anywhere; what kind of question is that?”

“Ugh, you are seriously rude. I mean, why so early? What does it matter if we go now or later?”

“If we’re out as the sun rises, we’ll see more animals. Plus, it’ll…” He pauses as if searching for the right words. “Make for compelling imagery.”

“Oh, so it’s prettier now? Why didn’t you say that?” I eye my taciturn roommate, turning away when he catches me.

“Get your stuff and get dressed. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?”

“That a problem?”

“Yes, I can’t be ready that quick!”

“Sure you can. Brush your teeth, slip on some layers and hiking boots, and you’re good to go.”

“What about hair and makeup? You don’t understand.”

“Hair’s easy; pull it up in a ponytail. And you don’t need makeup. You’re beautiful as is.”

Something wild flutters in my chest. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Hudson’s ears turn pink. “No.”

“So you don’t think I’m beautiful?”

At my frown, he stammers. “No, yes. Fuck.” His hands run over his face. “I mean, you look better without all that crap. I told you last night.”

“No, last night you said different. Which definitely doesn’t mean better.”

“Just get your shit and get ready. You’ve got nine minutes, Spitfire.”

Spitfire. A shiver courses through me as the lingering memory of my dream creeps to the forefront of my mind. When Hudson lumbers into the kitchen, mere feet away from the couch, banging around cabinets, I’m pulled back to reality.

With a sigh, I make the quick trip to the Jeep and rummage around. Despite Hudson’s semi-compliment about not needing makeup, if I’m going to be on camera, I have to at least do the key points. Slim my cheeks and nose and plump my lips. If I can dress in three minutes, that leaves six minutes but zero to do anything to my hair.

Okay, if I leave my hair alone and only contour my nose, I can always use a filter for any pictures to slim my cheeks, but that doesn’t solve the issue of a video or live. Ugh, I need a physics degree to figure this out.

“Eight minutes.” Hudson’s warning snaps me to action. I scramble, my arms full, as I sprint to the small bathroom. A delicious aroma hits my nose as I throw on clothes and do a half-assed speed job on my makeup.

Coffee.

Thank goodness. At least one thing about this morning is coming up Blakely.

Eight minutes later—seriously, what’s up with this man’s internal timer—Hudson knocks on the bathroom door.

“Time to go.”

I barely have time to check the charge and signal on my phone before he thrusts a tumbler of coffee and one of the pastries from The Bee and The Bean into my hands.

At my unasked question, he shrugs. “The pale blue bag gives it away, and it’s the only thing besides what you slept in last night and are wearing now you bothered to bring in. I figured Clairy must’ve loaded you up. You seem like the type who needs carbs and caffeine to be tolerable.”

What. A. Jerk.

I snatch the coffee and croissant and stomp past him. This better be the best sunrise in the history of sunrises .

Together, we set off, me doing my best to keep pace with Hudson’s longer stride. The coffee is delicious, and the day-old croissant tastes as buttery and chewy as the one from yesterday. This isn’t terrible. It’s still dark out and a little chilly, but not unpleasantly so. I can totally hike.

It’s clear after way too much silence, Hudson isn’t going to strike up a conversation, so I do what I do best. I talk.

“What are you?”

He pauses and cants his head to the side. “What?”

“Rancher, cowboy, lumberjack?”

“Do you see a Stetson? Or any cows or horses? And lumberjack? Why on earth would you think… No. I’m not a lumberjack.” He mumbles something about ridiculous city women as he shakes his head and walks away.

“So, if you aren’t any of those, what are you?”

“Not sure there’s a term. I guess outdoorsman?”

Outdoorsman. I test the word on my tongue and weigh it against the man who stomps ahead of me. The surety in his steps, the way he smells like a forest in the fall—yeah outdoorsman suits him.

In my live, I called Hudson a meal, but even that isn’t enough. He’s a buffet. Everything about him aside from the adorable freckles—Seriously. So. Fucking. Cute—says rawr daddy. The sunkissed skin, the messy hair hidden beneath a ball cap, the faint wrinkles on his brow and around his piney eyes. The impudent tilt of his lips when he smirks, the work-honed body…

Yeah, I’m not going down that road before the sun’s up.

Another ten minutes of hiking—all uphill, I swear—and the first twinge of pain starts in my feet. I swallow around the discomfort and speed up to catch Hudson. It’s less of a hike and more of a power walk.

“Do we have a particular destination in mind? ”

A grunt is my answer. Loquacious he isn’t.

“Some cliff, a clearing?” No answer. “You must have something in mind.” Nada. “The air here is so crisp; it’s almost too clean, you know?” Zilch.

My feet scream for me to stop, and I swear the path gets steeper. “I have a surprisingly strong signal up here. I worried it would be a massive dead spot.”

Silence. The power of this man’s selective hearing is astounding. I chatter mindlessly, doing anything to keep my mind off the steadily growing ache in my boots, the way my toes throb, and my heels slip. It’s still too dark to see much, so I can’t even enjoy the scenery. The only noises are my prattling and heavy breathing.

No animals. No sunrise.

Each step transforms into needles pressing into my soles. I bought highly recommended socks and boots. I did the research. What the hell is happening?

It’s been hours. Okay, that’s not technically true, but my feet burn like they’re being roasted over blazing coals. Quality hiking boots, my ass.

“Hudson, how much further? We’ve been walking forever. Where are we even going?” I’m being whiney, but my feet are killing me. And I’m betting we aren’t making a loop, which means doubling at least this distance to get back to the cabin.

I shudder.

“We still have a ways to go.”

“A ways? What does that mean in regular measurements? And why haven’t we seen a single animal? You said we had to come this early because the animals would be active.”

He stops, his aggravation with me clear. “Maybe if you stopped complaining, we’d see something. No animal will come within fifty feet of us with the way you’ve been squawking.”

“Why didn’ t you tell me to stop talking earlier?”

“I thought you had enough common sense to figure it out when I stopped answering your questions.”

“Listen up, asshat, my feet hurt! I’m sorry I’m not used to traipsing through the mud and muck on a daily basis. Some of us live in actual civilization.”

“Isn’t the whole point of your little wilderness excursion to experience life in the outdoors?” Hudson’s lips twist. “Where’s your camera now, Princess? Don’t want your fans to see the real you? A spoiled brat.”

I suck in a sharp gasp at his words and fight back the prickle of tears. He’s not the first one to call me spoiled, and I’m acting awful right now, but it’s worse coming from him for some reason. Plus, my feet hurt, and it’s barely six, and I’ve only had one cup of coffee, and that stupid couch was uncomfortable.

God, I really am a spoiled brat.

But he doesn’t get to be mean about it.

Anger combusts, scorching away any lingering tears. “Don’t call me Princess. How many times do I have to say it? You are the most insufferable, arrogant prick I’ve ever met. I’m going to the cabin. Fuck you, fuck these boots, fuck the wildlife, and fuck the fucking sunrise!”

Holding my head high, I spin and walk—limp—away from him, not caring if he follows or not. Five steps. Then ten. My heart clenches when I don’t hear him. Okay, I care a little. I really thought he’d follow me. Which is silly. He can’t stand me; he’s made that abundantly clear.

A solid, warm hand on my lower back startles me. “Dammit, Spitfire. Sit. Let me check your feet.” He guides me to a nearby stump. When I stubbornly stand, he growls, “Sit.”

Lower lip trembling, I plop onto the stump with the grace of a cow on ice. My entire body aches. Hudson’s movements are no-nonsense, quick and efficient as he pulls off my boots and socks, then lifts my feet. But they still knock loose the hibernating butterflies in my stomach.

“Shit, you’ve already got blisters forming.”

The urge to smooth out the crease between his brows rides me hard, but I keep my hands firmly in my lap.

Like I’m made of glass, Hudson carefully slips my socks and boots back on, then helps me to my feet. “Let’s get you back. A better guide would’ve checked your gear before we set out. I’m sorry.” He hooks one arm around my waist and arranges one of mine around his back, supporting my weight.

Surprise has me freezing up. Even in the short amount of time we’ve spent together, I know he’s not the kind of man prone to apologizing. The heat of his body against mine stirs up a yearning, the need for touch and love, for someone to care for me and about me. I fight to keep from resting my head in the crook of his arm.

“Don’t look so shocked. I made a mistake. It’s only right I own up to it.” He smirks. “Besides, if checking your gear and getting you properly outfitted keeps you from complaining about your feet for the entire month, it’s worth it.”

And there he is.

When we finally arrive at the cabin, I can hardly move. The sun has fully risen now, but any potential appeal is lost to me. Even with Hudson’s sturdy frame supporting me, my feet sting like someone branded them.

I kick off the hiking boots from hell, drop to the floor, and gingerly peel off my socks. My heels and toes are red and raw. And worst of all, my pedicure is completely ruined.

Hudson studies me and then, without a word, sinks to the floor and carefully takes one foot in his large, calloused hand.

“What are you— ohhhh .” I fight off a moan when his strong fingers press into the pressure points of my arch.

I study his handsome, serious face as he works his way to my ankles and then my calves. He’s close enough for me to count every single adorable freckle. If I had a lifetime, would I run out of patterns to trace?

Who is this man? His mood is indeterminable. One minute, he’s scolding me; the next, he’s being nice.

“Thank you.”

He grunts in reply and drops my foot, my words breaking the spell between us. “Show me what you packed.”

The idea of going out to the Jeep and lugging in my suitcases sends phantom pains slicing through the nerves in my feet. Biting my lip, I go to rise from the floor, but Hudson’s heavy hand on my shoulder halts my momentum.

“Sit. I’ll be right back.” A few painful throbs from my feet later, he returns, slinging down my suitcases and squatting in front of me. “Open ‘em up.”

In another life, Hudson commanding me to open ‘em up while he kneels between my legs would be prime fantasy material. It is in this life, too. That’s the only explanation I have for why my answer comes out breathy. “What do you want to see?”

“Any gear you brought.”

His words have the same effect as a bucket of cold water. Right. Professional.

I rummage through my bags until there’s a decent pile next to Hudson. He wordlessly sorts through it and then disappears without saying anything. AS quick as he left, he’s back with a small first aid kit.

“Pop your feet in my lap.” I don’t move, and he frowns. “Let me take care of you.”

Those words send a flutter through me, dumping me right back into horny on main territory. Biting my lip to keep from saying something I’ll regret, like kiss it all better, Daddy, I lean back into the couch cushion as he settles my feet in his lap.

“Soak in Epsom salt tonight. It’ll help any muscle soreness from overcompensating for your feet.” Hudson’s touch is gentle as he rubs in ointment and wraps the blistered areas in moleskin. He gives each foot one last squeeze before slipping on a fresh pair of thick socks. “Your gear is good quality.”

I love how surprised he sounds. “I did my research.”

“It shows. The problem is leather boots like yours have to be broken in over days or even weeks. Again, that’s on me. If I’d checked your gear first, I’d have noticed they’re brand new out of the box.”

As he talks, he grabs the demon boots, bending them and working the soles back and forth.

“Slip on some shoes that won’t kill your feet and load up. We’re running back to town and grab you a pair of light hikers. They’ll do while we break in these sturdier ones. Ruined feet won’t do you any good out here. You also need a warmer coat, gloves, and some rain gear.”

“Wait, you’re taking me shopping?” I raise one eyebrow. “Is this a trick?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “We leave in five. Be ready, or I’ll?—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. You’ll leave without me.”

Hudson keeps up his silent treatment the entire drive to Trail Creek and back, breaking it once to get my shoe size and once more to veto the only cute rain jacket in the entire store. Apparently, it wasn’t “functional” enough for the king of the outdoors.

Back at the cabin, I once again attempt to pass the time by making small talk with him, but after my tenth unanswered question, I give up and decide to do a quick live.

I definitely don’t mention the failure of the hike. Instead, I focus on the cabin itself. My BBs love the tour of the comfy cottage—and the quick flashes I give them of an oblivious Hudson in a fitted t-shirt and dark joggers. The flood of comments and reactions pump pleasure into my brain, and by the time I wrap up, I’m fizzy with the dopamine dose. It’s almost enough to make me forget about my aching feet and the grumpy bear who won’t speak to me eighty percent of the time. And why it bothers me so much.

I rise from my makeshift command center and shuffle to the couch, stretching my stiff body. Like a weight, Hudson’s eyes drag over me, wandering my curves as I arch my back.

“See something you like?”

He freezes, his shoulders tensing. “No.”

I can’t resist teasing him. “I’m down to share the bed.”

A blush spreads to his ears. His I’m embarrassed tell.

“I’m not sleeping on this couch again. You can suck it up and share the bed with me, or you can take the couch.”

He opens and shuts his mouth before muttering, “I don’t sleep with clients.”

A tendril of disappointment curls in my heart. “Is that another of your rules?”

He nods, arms crossed over his strapping chest.

“Look, Bear, I’m sure you’re aware of how attractive you are, but you must also be aware of your awful attitude. Trust me. When I say I’m willing to share the bed with you, the only thing I intend to do is sleep.”

He grunts but doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he retreats the handful of steps to the kitchen.

“Aw, you aren’t afraid of little old me, are you?”

“That doesn’t deserve an answer.”

“What a shocker,” I say to myself before speaking up. “I’ll build a pillow wall between us, keep my cooties on my side. But seriously, please don’t make me sleep on this medieval torture device of a couch again. ”

“It’s not that bad.”

“For an hour or two at a time, you’re right. But for an entire night? No. It’s worse than bad.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

He drops a plate with a sandwich and chips in my lap. “I said fine.”

Wiggling my expertly bandaged feet, I collapse onto the couch among the contents of my unpacked luggage. I can’t ignore that Hudson Brooks is breaking more and more of his rules for me. Or the giddy way that makes me feel.