Page 109 of Mountain Men Heroes
Medicine didn’t start and stop with blue pills and white lab coats in her opinion, but that wouldn’t pay the massive student loans and building debts.
“Woman, my apologies.”
She rubbed a flat palm over her forehead. “Last I checked, yes, I’m a woman,” she whipped out, tired and cold.
“I meant it as no insult.”
“Right. I’m getting used to that.”
“Show me who has insulted you and I’ll show them how to treat a lady.”
Really? Her brows pinched together so much she feared the deep groove between them would crease into a permanent scowl with how many times these people had her questioning her sanity. He dipped his chin and cast a hooded gaze over her that left Ivy tempted to ask how he planned on becoming her knight in shining armor. In a slow glide of her gaze, Ivy took in the man before her.
He towered over her five-five frame, fists flexed at his sides like a warrior ready to swing his sword. In stark contrast to the warmth that came from Damon, this man was stone cold. A solid wall of muscle, she’d give him that, and damn near matched Damon. She was oddly grateful they were not alone. While he didn’t give off a killer vibe, the sense of danger he emitted had her wondering if he snuffed people for a living and enjoyed every second of the process. Probably even liked digging the graves too, judging by the way his muscles rippled with every movement beneath the black and blue plaid shirt. No coat.
“Reaper,” Damon called from directly behind her as he wrapped her in his arms. For the moment she didn’t fight it. The hard edge to the white-haired man sent up a red flare, and the knot in her stomach warned of danger.
“Savage.” Razor-sharp and crisp, he sliced out Damon’s name with a chilled, even tone. Then again, nothing this man did probably came remotely close to warm and fuzzy.
“Why don’t you join the rest in the bar while I get Ivy settled?”
After years in an orphanage and guest to a few foster parents who thought kids were better off silent, Ivy knew when to seal her lips and not argue.
“If that is what the lady wants.”
Her eyes darted to Damon then returned to Reaper. What did that mean?
Tension, as though a colored past lay between them, stretched in a long silence, but she had to hand it to them—it seemed they were trying to work on being less of an enemy and more friends. At least that was what she picked up from the way no one was duking it out. There was something definitely between the two, though, and she was a rabbit caught in the middle.
“It is. The lady would like a shower, dry clothes, and food. And coffee. Lots of coffee.” And a plane ride back to Fairbanks, but she didn’t add that part. “All in that order.”
People made a wide berth around their spot on the sidewalk. Reaper stood as though he considered his options. Impossibly gray eyes flicked between them for a second and then something crossed his expression as though he saw a clearer picture. Man, she wished he would share whatever light bulb moment he had.
“I see now. Savage. It’s good seeing you again as always.” As if a ghost, the oddly sexy stranger melded with the crowd and disappeared.
Silver dots twinkled across her vision as a veil of darkness threatened to take over all her senses. White snow turned fuzzy and her knees turned to noodles.
“It’s the whiskey. You don’t seem like the drinking type. It must be getting to you. When is the last time you ate, sweetheart?”
“I’m gonna kill my sister.”
Steel bands wrapped around her middle, and she was staring into the sexiest set of amber eyes before she could protest. With little effort, he had his other arm beneath her legs.
“Wouldn’t want you to pass out in the street half naked.”
She pinned him with a hard look as his rigid body flexed under her touch. She ignored the flare of heat in his eyes and looped her arms around his neck.
“Come here, I’ve got you.”
“Bad for business, right,” she clattered out, but her words drowned in the joyous cheers and merriment of the whole town pushing through the doors of the Savage Fire, Damon’s bar and what seemed like the go-to spot for a night out. Her sister spent the better part of the last year working in the bar as a second job to help her pay for med school. Countless phone calls and late-night girl talk began and ended here. So much so that she felt she knew the place—and its owner—without even stepping a foot past the wide wooden double doors.
Guilt rushed her head-on.
As they entered Damon’s bar, she noticed several tables clustered in the center of the bar and the scent of thick smoke mixed with alcohol wafted over her.
Garland wound around the entire place with tiny white lights, and she couldn’t hold back the smile at such a burly man worrying over holiday decorations.
Opposite the door, a group of girls with pulled back hair and too little clothing for the dead of winter pounded double shooters with red peppers sticking out of the tops. She whipped her head around and the room tipped sideways while her body hit reverse. Her buzz waned and an annoying throb started up between her eyes.