Page 1 of Searching for the Mountain Man

1

ELISIA

Could a reporter be considered an ambulance chaser?

That was my overriding thought as I pulled into the Rosewood Ridge downtown area. I gaped at the courthouse, which looked fairly normal aside from the piles of furniture and boxes on the front lawn. Past that were some offices with boarded-up windows, but nobody seemed to be around.

It was Sunday morning. Maybe the downtown area was always deserted on Sundays. In small towns like this one, church was important. No matter what was going on, even tornado recovery, people would take Sundays off to rest.

I considered giving up and going straight to the retreat center, where I’d booked a room for the night. But something told me to keep going. I could even come back and shoot some footage of downtown.

In the meantime, there was a neighborhood that was hit hard by the tornado that swept through Rosewood Ridge early Friday morning. The problem was, I had no clue about the layout of this town, and the articles I’d read online hadn’t given any street names, so I couldn’t even enter it into my GPS.

“Whoa,” I said as I zoomed right past a demolished sign.

It wasn’t just a street sign. This was a full brick wall that held a sign naming the subdivision. It read Suga, which I assumed was just part of the name, considering the right side of the sign was dangling like a broken appendage.

“I have to go back.”

I was alone in the car, so I was talking to myself again. I tended to do that when I was in intimidating situations. And showing up in a town to turn a disaster into a news package for my demo reel was definitely a new situation.

“Shit,” I said when a mile and a half had passed with nowhere to turn around. Just land and some wooded areas. And the road was too narrow for a U-turn.

I passed a driveway, but something told me not to pull onto a stranger’s property in a town like this. Small towns weren’t usually as charming as those depicted in cable TV Christmas movies. Some guy could come running out with a rifle pointed at me.

Finally, I spotted a sign for a market, but it had to be the smallest grocery store on Earth. It didn’t look any bigger than the place where I got my taxes done in a strip mall back home.

I flipped on my left turn signal and took a deep breath. I just had to double back a couple of miles and I’d be at my destination.

I’d already pressed on the gas and was going full speed ahead when a truck came barreling over the hill just in front of me. I froze, not sure whether to slam on the brakes or press the gas pedal all the way to the floor.

Either way, I was toast.

There was no way to avoid this gigantic truck headed toward my two-door coupe. I gripped the steering wheel and braced myself for impact.

2

ROB

Ididn’t have time for a car accident. Not today, not with everything else going on. But as my pickup slammed into what had to be the smallest car I’d ever seen, my concerns shifted.

I’d hit the brakes the second I’d seen the silver obstacle in my lane. But there wasn’t enough time to slow down much. I’d simply seen it far too late.

With a crunch of metal that had to have been heard for miles, my truck hit the vehicle, pushing it off to the other side of the road. In the seconds before our cars made contact, I got a brief look at the driver. It was enough of a glimpse to see a woman with her hair in a ponytail, eyes wide with fear. If she was seriously injured—or worse—in this accident, that face would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.

Once both vehicles stopped moving, a long, ominous silence filled the air. I, for one, was frozen, still in shock over what had just happened.

And then my combat training kicked in. I hopped out of the car and ran to her driver’s-side door. Cars caught fire after accidents. It was unlikely to happen, but I couldn’t be too careful.

I had to get her out of there either way. As I tugged on the door, it opened easily. With so much adrenaline pumping through my body, it took me a second to realize she was stepping out. The door was moving toward me, revealing a long, shapely, bare leg.

“Motherfucker,” a feminine voice cried out.

I took a few more steps back, just in case she was coming out punching, but her focus wasn’t on me. She turned and stared at her car. It looked far better on this side than the other. But my full attention was on her. In fact, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

She was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Downright sexy. She had curves for days, and she wore a tank top and shorts that did little to conceal her figure. In fact, those breasts strained the fabric of the tank top so much, I wondered why the seams hadn’t burst yet.

“Are you okay?” I somehow managed to force out.

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