Page 2 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

I followed her down a paved corridor that led to a row of cabins. In this part of the compound, the cabins were laid out across the road from each other, but across the way, I could see more secluded ones far off, probably for those people who needed extra privacy. When we got to the fourth cabin, it looked like a duplex in Queens but had more shrubbery around it.

She slid the key card in and then handed it to me. “Good night, and I will see you tomorrow.”

Grateful, I thanked her and entered the cabin. It was dark, but I dragged my suitcase beyond the living room and to the bedroom past a bathroom.

Dropping the case at the foot of the bed, I sank to it and, after a moment, flopped back. I was beyond tired. My back was stiff, and my neck ached, not only from driving but also from looking behind me at every moment.

I heaved myself up and began to undress. I put on my short PJs, checked the windows and doors, and frowned as I double-checked the lock on the door.

“Why is there a set of men’s boots here?” I asked myself. “Did the person who stayed here forget his boots?”

I’ll let Ms. Laura know tomorrow.

Even as tired as I was, I set the kettle on, knowing I needed something hot if I had any chance of getting any sleep tonight. I glanced around to find all available exits. I’d learned early on to have an escape plan in case things went south, and my grab bag had all my essentials: money, pepper spray, a shank, and a taser.

Leaning on the table with my backside to the door, I heard the crunch of a truck’s tires but didn’t make much of it—until I heard the door click behind me.

I spun on my feet to see the hulk of a man there, his head covered with a large hat. He sighed and then dropped a ring of keys on the table near the door. “Listen, girl. I know Frank sent you, but I don’t need female companionship tonight. I’ll drive you to where you want to go, but you can’t stay here.”

What the hell did he mean by that?

Did he…did he think I was a prostitute?

I had never been so insulted in my life.

“What?” I gaped. “Who the hell are you and why are you in my cabin?”

His head jerked back before he plucked the hat off his head and slapped the main light on. This man was tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing an open button-down shirt. The tight T-shirt under it showed bulging muscles of his chest and arms, a narrow waist, and firm thighs covered in faded blue jeans. But it was his piercing blue eyes that nailed me to the floor.

“Excuse me? Your cabin? I was here before you,” he said stiffly, the thick blond-brown beard on his chin moving with his words. “And I don’t appreciate these games.”

“Games? What games?” I shot back.

“Pretending to not know who I am or where you are,” he said haughtily, the drawl almost condescending. “It’s unbecoming.”

Unbecoming. Who the hell did this prick think he was? His tone sounded like he was some bigwig with a hundred lackeys slaving for him. I hated him already.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, telling me I am unbecoming,” I bristled. “Miss Bennet assigned me this cabin. From my point of view, you’re the one who is unbecoming. How the hell did you get in here anyway?”

He held up a keycard and twiddled it between two fingers. “There must be some mistake. A double booking or something, but I was in here first.”

Biting back a cutting remark, I turned to the whistling kettle and moved away to make my tea. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was,” he replied calmly. “If you’re not some escort Frank sent, who are you?”

Dipping the teabags into the scalding water, I asked, “Isn’t it common courtesy to introduce yourself first before you ask someone else?”

I could feel his hot gaze boring into the back of my neck. “My name is Warrick Donovan.”

Jerking, the tea sloshed over my hand, and I hissed. Yanking my hand away, I spun the faucet on and dunked my hand under the cold spray. “What?”

“I said my name is?—”

“I know what you said,” I breathed out while keeping my scalded hand under the spray. “I heard you. I’m Zara Harrington. Looks like I am your new?—”

“PA,” Warrick said gruffly while raking a hand through his clipped dark blond hair. “Needless to say, this is not how I had imagined us meeting.”

“No, it’s not,” I replied, my gut spinning cartwheels. “I?—”

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