Page 3 of Mountain Man Officer

“Would you like a refill?” She pointed to my empty mug.

“No, thanks.” I was all too aware of the perils of alcohol.

The waitress moved on, and I put my phone down, the food too distracting to ignore. As I dug in, I remembered what had driven me out of Nashville in the first place. My wife—soon-to-be ex-wife—and I had met at a country bar. I was fresh out of the academy and celebrating my first job. There was a live band, and everyone was dancing a country line dance. The girl next to me was pretty enough, and she latched onto me as soon as the song came to an end.

I bought her some drinks, thinking she might be an easy lay, which was true. I’d had too much, and I wasn’t thinking with the head on my shoulders. She pushed her way into my life, and a year later, we were married. All the crazy that she must have been hiding came out as soon as we tied the knot. She got paranoid, accused me of sleeping with every female officer on the force. She threw things at me, breaking windows and television screens. I got sick of it within the first few months but stuck around for too many damn years because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you get married.

She had left me three months ago with no explanation. Just when I thought I couldn’t live with her bullshit anymore, she up and disappeared. It was a relief but also a wake-up call. She took most of our savings, emptied out our bank account, and thought she left me for broke. I put in overtime at work for the past three months, saving every last penny. I canceled all our credit cards, hers and mine, and shut off everything that wasn’t essential. I was determined to save enough to make a life for myself somewhere else, somewhere she couldn’t find me. She took our brand-new Ford Bronco too, forcing me to buy an older, used truck. I didn’t want the car payments, so I paid cash for the vehicle I was driving.

For a few months, while I was squirreling money away, I continued working in Nashville. Coming home after a long day on the job to my own space where no one hollered at me was almost too good to be true. I thought I could be happy, newly freed from married life. But I wanted more than my old life, and I was sick of being reminded of her at every turn.

I put in my two weeks at the Nashville Police Department and put my house on the market. I had no idea where to go, but then I remembered Dillon and his flight from the city years ago. Now I had a new job and possibly a cabin in the mountains, if I played my cards right. The only thing that could make life better would be if I could find Angie and break it off officially. But that was a problem for another day.

I finished my steak and eggs, really more of a breakfast meal than dinner, but I didn’t care. I walked back to the hotel, unlocked the door with the plastic card, and pulled off my shirt. The air conditioner was churning loudly, so I shut it off. I pulled my shoes and socks off and sat down on the bed, glancing at myself in the mirror.

I wasn’t vain, but I was athletic and proud of my body. I might not have a six-pack, but I had a respectable four and solid biceps. The man in the mirror had more than a five-o’clock shadow. He looked tired and out of place in a corporate hotel room. At the same time, there was a calm to my reflection that I wasn’t used to seeing. It was as if I had been living within a storm for years and the clouds had just now lifted.

I pulled the phone out of my pocket. One last thing to do before taking a shower and falling asleep.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end managed to imply impatience in just one word.

“Hello. My name is Jason White,” I said, “I’m calling about the cabin for sale.”

“Yes?” More impatience.

“Is it still for sale?”

“Yes, it’s still on the market,” the guy said.

“Can I see it?” I was too tired for this. It was like pulling teeth.

“Alright. I can meet you tomorrow at noon.”

“Fine,” I said. “Text me the address.”

I hung up with that jerk and threw my phone up on the nightstand. Wondering if I would have enough energy to take a shower, I undid my belt and pulled my pants down. I was tempted to put it off for the morning, but the travel and the work had me feeling dusty. A quick rinse and I could wash off the day. I stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the spray.

2

LINDSEY

Iplaced the spider plant on the end table and stepped back to look at it. It had taken an entire day for the moving crew to transfer the contents of a one-bedroom apartment to this beautiful cabin in the mountains. The moving truck had hit a rut in the unpaved road, jarring the contents and spinning the tires. They had to get out and push, but finally the truck jerked back into motion, and my furniture arrived safe and sound.

There were three bedrooms, a kitchen/living room area, and one bathroom. I put my bed in the furthest bedroom, along with a dresser, a vanity, and a nightstand. In the living room, my sofa and love seat faced the fireplace instead of a television. If I really wanted to watch Netflix, I could use my laptop, but I didn’t want the ugliness of a big screen TV to interfere with the rustic charm.

There was an end table, coffee table, two lamps, and a China cabinet that had been given to me by my aunt. I was trying to decide how to decorate and where my two potted plants should reside. The spider plant didn’t fit on the end table. Its tendrils spilled over onto the floor. I picked it up and brought it over to the kitchen island, tucking it unobtrusively in one corner. That was better, but now there was the problem of dirt in the kitchen. Maybe the plant would be better off outside? I decided to look in the hardware store for one of those outdoor plant hangers.

I left the plant where it was and stepped out onto the porch. Outside, the sun was rising through the trees. I could see it just about to break free from the branches. A squirrel ran across the patch of dirt and sparse grass that separated my new home from the forest. It picked up an acorn, nibbled at it, and darted away. Beyond my car and the narrow road that led back to town, there was nothing out here that spoke of civilization.

I have been living in Singer’s Ridge my whole life, but I had never owned a piece of the mountains. Sure, in high school, we used to drive out to remote spots for bonfires and drinking parties, but that wasn’t the same as living in the forest. The last two days had been wonderful, waking up to the sounds of birds chirping, going to sleep to the sound of crickets humming. There was such an expanse of space, I felt like I could truly be myself.

After graduating from high school, I went to a beauty academy in a neighboring town. I got certified and found a job doing hair in Singer’s Ridge. It wasn’t a great job, money-wise, but I loved seeing my clients’ faces light up when they were pleased with their new appearance. I had worked in the same salon for almost six years, and my clients must have gotten tired of hearing me complain about my little apartment.

One of my regulars, Ms. Addy, told me about a rent-to-own cabin her cousin’s husband was offering. I signed the lease and agreed to pay rent for a full year. In exchange, I would have the sole opportunity to buy the property at the end of the term. It was perfect.

The cabin looked depressingly bleak. It needed some color, maybe a painting or a cozy Afghan rug. I grabbed my keys and hopped in the car. A quick shopping trip should give me some more decorations to play with. I could grab some groceries while I was out so I wouldn’t have to worry about food for a few weeks.

My first stop was a Walmart in the next town over, and the home décor section, where I could find just a few more pieces to round out my living room. While browsing framed mirrors, I ran into one of Singer’s Ridge’s newest residents, Macy Ford. I had seen Macy in the grocery store when she worked as a cashier years ago. She was pushing a cart with a toddler in the seat and a baby carrier in the basket.

---