GROWLY, protective Lincoln was quickly becoming my new favorite thing. Our group was behaving, and so far, I hadn’t heard any other comments about me being a woman. Still, Lincoln glared at their backs all afternoon as we hiked through the trails.
I knew it was likely his training or sense of honor that made him react that way, but I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement when I thought about it.
I was never the woman that a man felt protective toward. I was the friend. Little sister. Less sexy girl-next-door and more spinster-librarian.
Considering my sturdy Schnee boots and brown field pants, it was no wonder. I was literally wearing men’s boots because they didn’t even come in women’s sizes. Sure, I loved lacy bras just like the next girl, but out in the mountains, it was always a matter of being practical.
Setting my pack on the ground, I put both hands behind my hips and stretched backward. It felt good knowing the day was behind us. We’d had a solid day of hiking, stopping along the river to cast into the current.
I’d spent most of my time tying and retying flies that got caught in trees, broken lines, or tweaking their arm placements to get a better cast.
Being outdoors, I could breathe. I was meant to do this; I knew it in my bones. All I had to do was be focused, find amazing places to fish, and build trust with people. I did not need distractions in my life right now.
Certainly not distractions that looked like Lincoln Scott.
The group worked on setting up their tents for the night—our stay at the more comfortable lodge wouldn’t be until tomorrow. They made a semicircle with their tents. Brandon, another guide who worked for Finn
and Lincoln, helped them with the stakes and poles. He’d set his tent up with them, claiming he’d keep them in line, but I knew better. He’d be hungover tomorrow too. I was sure of it.
I’d chosen a spot where I could keep an eye on our group, but far enough away to give them more privacy. They got to have their guys’ weekend, and I could sleep without being bothered by late-night, booze-fest campfires.
Unpacking my gear, I saw Lincoln setting up his tent not too far from mine.
“Not hanging with the boys tonight?” I called. “Not tonight. The view is better up here.”
Oh, shit. Did he smirk? Was he talking about me? No fucking way.
Warmth crept into my cheeks, and I tried to tell myself that Lincoln was definitely talking about the actual view. The mountains of Montana were remarkable. While a lot of the state remained large flats, in the mountains, they rose up to bluffs, waterfalls, and pine forests. The air was clean, and you could see for miles. Hidden streams and pools would be covered with pink and yellow wildflowers this time of year.
“Once we’re all set up, we can take everyone down to get cleaned up.” “Yes, boss.” He smiled as I went into my tent to change.
The creek was about a quarter-mile hike east of camp, not super close, but it was worth it. Finn said on a hike last June, he’d found it. The rocky path gave way to a small, pebbled pool of freshwater, so clear you could see to the bottom. The pool itself was encircled by pine trees on all sides, giving it a private and secluded feel. On one side was a bluff, dropping down into the deepest parts of the pool. Despite the heat, the water was brisk, and as I dipped my hands down into it and sipped, it was cool and crisp.
“All right folks, let’s hang out here for a while, take a swim, clean up a little, and then we’ll head back to camp for the night.”
Before I could even get my speech out, one of the guys was running up the bluff across from me, clambering to get to the top. With a “WHOO!” he cannonballed off the bluff and landed with a splash into the deep pool.
That started a ripple effect of guys dropping the gear and pulling off their shirts to run into the water. Within minutes, a game of chicken had started—one of the guys on bottom claiming that the other should lay off the bratwurst and beer.
I laughed. Men were always boys at heart.
Lincoln stood to my right. I tried not to look at him as he reached behind his back to grab the collar of his tight gray T-shirt and pull it over his head.
Even covered in a shirt and backpack, I knew he looked good, but damn. Seeing Lincoln without a shirt made my stomach whoosh and I felt a warm trickle of wetness between my legs. His arms were tan and sculpted
—smooth with only a light dusting of dark hair. His chest wasn’t smooth, but rather had a thin layer of dark hair that trailed down his tight abs.
Below his belly button, the hair continued and I imagined licking that exact spot, right below his hip. Panting, I dipped my hand back into the pool and touched the cool water to my face and neck.
Sneaking another peek, I saw dark tattoos that wound themselves around his upper back and biceps, trailing down one arm. Without getting too close, I couldn’t tell why some looked broken or incomplete. Then, as my eyes trailed up, I saw pale pink scars marring his torso and arm, breaking into the designs of his tattoos.
Injuries.
It somehow made him hotter, knowing he’d fought for his country, was masculine and strong, but still vulnerable and human.
I let myself stare, pretending to inventory my backpack as I watched him talking with Brandon and another guest. As he gestured with one of his hands, a tattoo down his right forearm caught my eye.
The tattoo had taken a lot of damage but there was no mistaking what they were—Valkyrie wings.
Is that a coincidence? Does Lincoln know that it was me who wrote to him? There’s no way those wings had anything to do with me . . . right?
Seeing the Valkyrie wings, vandalized by the effects of war on Lincoln’s muscled forearm, spread an ache through my chest. Suddenly, I needed space to be alone. I needed to breathe and get myself under control.
BY THE TIME Bud and I got back to the pool after our walk down the trail, the sun was dipping lower into the sky. We’d have to get packed up and
back to camp if we were going to make it before nightfall. I caught Brandon’s eye and tipped my chin.
“All right guys, time to pack it up,” Brandon called to the group.
As the rest balled up their shirts and slipped shoes back on, he said to me, “I’ll get these rowdy assholes back to camp if you want to take a minute to clean up. I’ll be sure no one stays behind to watch.”
Grateful, I said, “You’re the best. I’ve got my flashlight so I’m good. I won’t be long.”
He walked farther up the trail, the caboose in the douche-train, but stopped to talk to Lincoln. They both glanced in my direction, but then Brandon turned and continued up the trail and Lincoln stood where he was.
“You can go on up, I’m just going to clean up. I’ll be right behind you.” I smiled, hoping he’d leave before I threw myself at him.
“Sorry, no can do. Finn would kill me if he found out I let you wander around the woods in the dark. And before you stop me,” he lifted both hands, “it’s got nothing to do with you being a woman.”
I eyed him warily.
“Bears.” He winked.
I couldn’t help but smile back. Being able to take care of yourself and wanting someone to want to take care of you were two very different things. Feeling a rush of nervous excitement, I pulled my shirt over my head and shimmied out of my pants, revealing my black two-piece swimsuit. While it was no string bikini, it was small enough to pack and made my boobs perky and round. I was usually alone when I wore it, not ten feet
from Lincoln Scott.
When I noticed the appreciative stare it earned me, I made a note to buy one in every color.
I tentatively stepped into the cool water, sucking in a breath at the cold. “Just jump in, it’s easier that way,” he said.
“Easy for you to say, you’ve got clothes on,” I replied slowly, walking deeper.
At that, he held my gaze in challenge and pulled his shirt back off. After kicking off his shoes, he unbuttoned, unzipped, and dropped his pants, revealing tight, black boxer briefs as he held my gaze. With a mischievous grin, he ran up the side of the bluff.
At the top, he inhaled three sharp breaths before leaping off the ridge. With his splash, I was soaked and squealed as I went deeper into the pool of
water.
“Oh, FUCK!” He yelled as he broke to the surface “It’s fucking freezing!”
Laughing, I pushed a wall of water in his direction. “I told you!”
My teeth chattered as I swam in small circles. The cool water lapped at my shoulders as I watched him. Lincoln’s hard body cut through the water as he swam a lap in the deepest section of the pool. His tattooed torso shimmered with water as the rivulets ran between the muscles of his back. I felt a pulse between my legs in response.
He turned, swimming his way toward me. Despite the cool water, a warmth spread inside my body. Closer still, he dove under the water, disappearing in the fading sunlight.
Looking around, I couldn’t see Lincoln swimming underneath the water. The woods fell silent, and a wave of unease came over me. My ears prickled. With a “RAAHHH!” he burst above the surface, making me scream in response.
We both laughed, breathing heavily. A silence settled between us. My eyes drifted down his face, over his straight sharp nose, to his lips, glistening wet. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and I felt a whoosh of breath escape me.
“Jo.” His fingertips glided up my sides and moved toward my back.
“Yes, Lincoln,” I said, lifting my eyes to meet his. If he didn’t lean forward and kiss me, I was going to dissolve in this pool of water.
Lincoln’s hands settled on my hips, my legs still softly kicking in the deep water. He gently pulled my hips forward, his fingers digging tenderly into the flesh, until I was nestled against him. I felt the hard length of him between us, and a soft gasp escaped me.
“Joanna,” he said, moving his hands over my ass and shifting my legs to straddle him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and instinctively I rolled my hips forward to feel his length against my clit. A tingle of electricity radiated through me as he let out a soft groan.
“No one calls me Joanna,” I said breathlessly as my heart pounded in my chest.
“But you are my Joanna, aren’t you?” he said, his voice gravely with desire, searching my face for some answer.
My Joanna.
In that moment, I knew. All this time, Lincoln had received my letters. He’d read them and he knew because I always signed each one simply, with Joanna.
