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What the fuck? The blood drains from my face as I watch a tree fall smack dab in the middle of Sloane’s car hood.

I run toward her, not giving a rat’s ass that I’m barefoot. I yank open the truck door, feel for her pulse, and let out a sigh of relief. She’s still breathing.

My stomach turns as I think of what could’ve happened if the tree had fallen a few seconds later. She’d be dead right now.

“Sloane? Can you hear me?” I try, but she doesn’t respond.

She must’ve hit her head during the impact. I put my arms under her head and legs and carry her to my cabin.

I kick the door shut with one foot and gently lay her on the couch.

“Sloane,” I try again.

This time, she lets out a small moan. I hate that it turns me on. The girl is hurt, for fuck’s sake. The last thing I should be doing is appreciating the adorable sounds she makes and how good her curvaceous body looks spread out on my couch.

Her eyes flutter open. “Maverick? What happened?”

“You’re okay,” I say, relief flooding through me. “A tree fell on your car. Why did you run off like that anyway? You told me yourself that this weather isn’t safe.”

“Benson is going to kill me. It’s his truck,” she says, expertly ignoring my question.

“I bet he won’t be mad once he hears that tree could’ve ended you,” I say.

“My head hurts.”

I trail my fingers over her head, looking for bruises. Luckily, I can’t find any.

She snickers. “Since when are you a doctor?”

“Hey, watch it, Little Sloane. I’m trying to help you.”

Her eyebrow shoots up. “Little Sloane? Really? I thought you’d have ditched that nickname by now. I’m all grown up, you know.”

My gaze flicks to her broad hips and her breasts. She’s right. She’s all woman now. I grit my teeth. “I know, but you’ll always be Little Sloane to me.”

“Little or not, I need to get back. I have to check on my niece and get the bar ready for tomorrow,” she says, sitting up straighter.

I laugh. Is she serious?

“No way. You’re staying here tonight.”

I cut her off. “No buts. You almost got killed. That storm is only going to get worse. I’m not letting you risk your life. I’m sure Benson and his daughter are more than capable of looking after themselves.”

“But Lily is sick.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Imagine how sick she’ll feel if you die today.”

Her features darken. “That’s an awful thing to imagine.”

“Point proven. It would be horrible. So yeah, you’re not going anywhere, Little Sloane.”

“Okay, I guess.”

She leans against the couch cushions and gives me a scrutinizing look. “I have so many questions. Like, why are you back? And why didn’t my brother say anything? He knows how much I… um, appreciate you.”

“I need a drink for that conversation. Want one?”

She nods. “Sure, whatever you have is fine with me.”

I grab two whiskey glasses and a bottle from a shelf in the living room. If I remember correctly, Benson once told me how much his sister loves experimenting with quality whiskey. Whenever we were on the phone together, I always casually inquired about Sloane. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get her out of my head completely.

I pour the amber liquid into our glasses and hand her one.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab a shirt,” I say.

I was chopping wood before it started raining, and I’m still sweaty and hot from the exercise, but I can’t sit here half-dressed. I have a feeling Sloane would think that’s inappropriate, even though I’ve caught her stealing glances at my chest and abs a few times already.

I pull my shirt over my head and swear I see a flicker of disappointment cross her face, but that could be wishful thinking on my part.

“I should call my brother and let him know I’m okay,” Sloane says.

She fishes her phone out of her jeans pocket and frowns.

“I should warn you, Little Sloane. This high up the mountain, cell service is spotty at best.”

“Seems like it. I don’t have a single bar.” She shrugs. “I’ll try again later.” Sloane pulls her feet under her ass and smiles at me, her hands cradling her glass of whiskey. “So, Maverick. Spill the beans.”

I laugh. “You don’t like mysterious men, do you?”

“I do, but you’re not a mystery guy. You’re my brother’s best friend. I know you. What I don’t know is why you’re here after all these years. Not that I’m complaining,” she adds.

She’s blushing. Cute. Would she also blush when taking off her clothes?

“So?” she prompts me.

“It was time. I spent years elsewhere, only to realize that Bearclaw Ridge is where I belong. When I heard this cabin was for sale, I jumped at the chance. It still needs renovating, but the foundations are solid. Having a home base again feels great.”

She nods. “I can imagine. Didn’t you have time off?”

“I worked on an oil rig, Little Sloane. My hours were brutal, and I only had one week off every month. I spent my days off flying water planes for an ecological adventure tour company. Thrill seekers could book a weekend on a remote island and live off the land.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“I get it. You’re away from the world as you know it and spend your days living. You know, catching crabs and scraping mussels off rocks, filtering your water, sleeping in a tent with a can of bear spray next to your pillow.”

“Benson never mentioned you did that kind of work. It sounds cool.”

I grin. “Guys tend not to be big talkers.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Her rich, feminine laugh cuts straight to my heart. “What was your role on the oil rig?”

“I worked as a drilling expert.”

“Really? Interesting.”

Her gaze flicks to my sweatpants, and I choke back a laugh. I’m pretty sure she’s checking out my package. Is that what she thinks about when I mention drilling? If only working at an oil rig would be as tantalizing as sex.

“Sounds like you had a good thing going on,” she says.

“I did, but there’s only so many years a man can work on an offshore oil rig. I made a ton of money during those years, so I bought this cabin outright. It’s a great place to raise a family, don’t you think?”

A look of surprise flickers in her eyes. “Why? Do you have a secret baby I know nothing about?”

“Hey, I’m an honorable man. I wouldn’t knock someone up or keep it a secret. I’m waiting for the right woman,” I say and lock eyes with her.

“I see.” She averts her gaze and puts her empty glass on my coffee table. “So, what’s for dinner? I’m hungry as hell.”

I laugh. “You’re a cheeky woman, Little Sloane.”

“Sorry, it’s just that I’m starving.”

“First, I save you from a fallen tree, and now you want me to cook for you?” I joke.

“How about we cook together? Remember that one night when our parents were out of town, and we made authentic Italian spaghetti from scratch?”

“How could I not? You burned the damn meat. It was like eating charcoal.”

Her rich laugh fills the air again, making my body react in ways it shouldn’t—not around your best friend’s little sister.

“I was so happy that you and Benson finally included me in something that I didn’t pay any attention to the food itself.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I knew you guys were too cool to hang out with me. No twenty-year-old wants their baby sister tagging along, or, in your case, your best friend’s baby sister. When you guys finally noticed me, I was ecstatic.”

She thinks I didn’t notice her or didn’t want her in my vicinity? Wow. If anything, I loved having her around. I always hoped I could catch a glimpse of her in the kitchen or through her slightly ajar bedroom door. I vividly remember her lying on her bed, immersed in music while flipping through a magazine or leaning over the bathroom sink, trying to color her hair. And then there was the one time she almost set her room on fire and refused to talk about what had happened. It still puzzles me to this day.

I liked her so much back then that I tried to avoid spending too much time with her. Not that Benson would’ve killed me if I pursued his sister, but we did joke about it once. It was my subtle way of gauging the situation. He made it clear he was relieved I wasn’t into his sister and repeatedly told me how weird and awkward it would be if we started dating.

So yeah, I backed off. I didn’t want to risk my friendship with Benson or make things awkward between us. That, and I was too young to realize that it was a lousy reason for not giving in to your feelings. It’s only now that I’ve grown up that I realize Benson wouldn’t have been able to stop me even if he’d tried.

“Let’s see if I have everything to make some spaghetti,” I say, jumping off the couch as if it’s on fire.