axe lay against a beam with more wood scattered on the ground. She’d been spot-on with her lumberjack comparison. He even wore a padded flannel shirt.
“Hey.” He gave her a cautious smile. “You’re early.”
Only fifteen minutes early. She walked toward the fenced dog run. “I gave myself extra time in case I got lost. Your dogs are adorable. What are their names?”
Darren stood facing her on the other side of the fence. “Mickey and Clara.”
“Hi, guys.” Bree stuck her fingers through the fence, and both dogs jostled to lick her hand in greeting. “Do they stay outside?”
“When I’m working. They have access to part of the garage so they can get out of the weather.”
She nodded. “You have a nice home.”
He looked surprised by her compliment. “Thanks. It’s a prefab, but I’ve added a few things. The deck is one of them. I need to gather some gear, and then we can go. What size shoe do you wear?
“Seven and a half. Why?”
“I have a pair of waders that might fit you. Come in and try them on.”
“Weighters?” Bree followed him through the open garage door into a spotless space without a single vehicle parked inside. The walls had shelves filled with all sorts of outdoor gear—fishing poles, snowshoes. She pointed to a big metal safe. “What’s that?”
“Waders? They’re pull-on overall boots to wade into the water.”
“No, that big green thing in the corner.”
“Gun cabinet.”
She felt her eyes widen at the size of the thing. “You have a lot of guns.”
He laughed. “I have firearms for both work and recreation. So, yeah. I have a few.”
Her stomach tightened. She didn’t know men with guns. Philip’s anger over her residency had unsettled her big-time. It was the reason she finally broke it off with him. What would a big guy like Darren turn into when he was mad? Stella’s assurance that he was safe shriveled to nothing in the presence of that green cabinet.
She spotted a deer head mounted on the opposite wall and wrinkled her nose. “So, you hunt, too.”
“Yup.” His eyes challenged her to make something of it. “I like to fill my freezer.”
“Oh.” Of course, he killed his own food. Who was she to raise an eyebrow? She ate meat with no thought to where it came from. Just like the morels.
“Have you ever tried venison?” His voice sounded softer now. More coaxing.
“No.” She heard the whine of the dogs. They were inside the other garage bay that had been fenced off and poked their noses through the wire.
“It’s good.”
“Hmm. Maybe.” She wrinkled her nose.
Darren laughed. “There are no maybes about it.”
Bree ambled over to the dogs and gave them each a pat over the low fence, noticing their inside space looked pretty comfy. They had their own couch, water bowls and a basket of chew toys. This man took good care of his pets.
“Here, try these on. You’ll stay warmer in these.” He held out a pair of tan overalls with boots. Waders.
“So, you go into the water to catch these things?”
“You can net from shore, but that’s not nearly as fun.”
Bree was here to have fun, no matter how cold the thought of getting into a river at the end of April. She took the waders, found a chair to sit on and slipped off her sneakers. She’d never expected to do this sort of thing, so she hadn’t brought any kind of boots with her up north. They’d already been shipped out to Seattle. Not that she owned a pair of real hiking boots. Maybe she’d buy a pair. She had a feeling trekking off the beaten path with Darren might be rough in spots.
She shoved one foot in, then the other, and stood.
“Walk a little. How do they feel?”
She galumphed her way around. “Big.”
“I’ve got heavy socks upstairs. Come on.”
She slipped out of the waders and followed him in her stocking feet, leaving her sneakers on the floor. She wanted a peek at the inside of his house. That said a lot about a man, didn’t it? Too bad she hadn’t paid attention to Philip’s showy high-rise apartment.
Stepping onto the main floor, she was far from enlightened other than another deer head mounted over the fireplace and some fish on another wall. Darren’s house had an open floor plan with a living room, a dining area and a kitchen with stainless steel appliances. Pretty but plain in neutral shades. The opposite wall was floor-to-ceiling windows.
Stepping closer to the windows, she peered outside. Woods surrounded most of Darren’s property, but there was an open field to the left that went on for days. Rolling hills beyond completed the idyllic view.
“I’ll be right back.” Darren disappeared down a short hallway into what must have been his bedroom.
Bree barely heard him. She walked around, touching the stone fireplace and scoping out the upstairs loft with a wrought iron railing facing those windows. What a perfect spot to practice her cello with such an inspiring view. Too bad the music room at Bay Willows faced the little post office instead of the lake.
“Here, that should do it, and your feet will stay warm.”
She took the thick woolen socks from him. “Thank you. You have a beautiful view.”
He narrowed his gaze as if questioning her sincerity. “I think so.”
Maybe his ex-fiancée hadn’t thought so. Maybe the plain walls other than dead animals didn’t appeal. The waders Bree had tried on had to have been Raleigh’s. They were too small for Darren. Somehow Bree couldn’t picture Stella’s tall, model-like granddaughter trussed up in rubber waders. Bree couldn’t imagine her here, either, amid the multiple shades of tan and lack of artwork. The lack of flair.
He gave her an odd look as if considering her for something. “Follow me.”
Bree’s stomach flipped. “Where?”
But he was already in the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a pot.
“What’s that?”
He lifted the lid and plunged a fork inside. “Venison stew. Wanna try it?”
Bree wrinkled her nose. “Cold?”
He chuckled. “Not quite. I had it for dinner tonight.”
She hesitated, not sure she wanted to venture quite that far, but then squared her shoulders. This outing was about trying new things. She stepped forward, waders and socks in hand.
Darren held the fork for her, cupping his hand underneath. “Go ahead.”
She stalled, looking into his eyes. “You made this?”
He laughed. A low, soft rumble that sounded incredibly masculine. “Don’t worry. I can cook.”
Bree took in the forkful offered and chewed. The venison was still warm and surprisingly tasty. She glanced at Darren again.
He watched her closely. “Well?”
“Good.” Her voice came out sounding strangely hoarse.
It was then that Bree saw her attraction reflected back from Darren’s blue eyes. He had to feel it, too—this strange stirring of the senses. For a moment, the only thing she heard was the increased beat of her pulse pounding like crazy.
He stepped back and set the fork in the sink with a clatter. “Ready?”
Bree