Page 1 of Stranded with the Mountain Man

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ELLA

Mrs. Bracegirdle had called the fire department again.

How did I know? At five in the morning, my bedroom looked like a nightclub. Red lights were flashing, pulling me out of a deep, deep sleep.

“Damn it,” I said, taking a deep breath and letting it out again.

But then I did what I always did when I saw the fire engine outside. I crept to the closest window and peeked out. Sure enough, the super hot fireman was walking from the truck to the house.

I didn’t know his name, but I’d seen him just steps from my front lawn no fewer than four times in the past month. I’d even briefly met him when he’d come to fetch my roommate and best friend, Amber, so her now-boyfriend could tell her he loved her.

That was only two weeks ago. Our eyes had met, and I was sure we’d made a connection. But he’d climbed back in that fire truck and driven off without even speaking to me.

I stepped away from the window and looked around my room. This was ridiculous. I was a grown-ass woman. Insteadof spying on some hot firefighter, I could just go out there and introduce myself.

I worked for the local newspaper. Maybe I could make a story out of it. Maybe it would be one of the few pitches my boss didn’t dismiss or hand over to the only full-time reporter on staff—a guy who didn’t even care about the job anymore. He was just checking off days until retirement.

I headed over to my closet in the dark and pulled open the bifold doors. With the red lights streaming through the window, I could make out enough of my wardrobe to find something decent to wear—a skin-tight sweater and a pair of jeans. Then I shuffled to the bathroom and emerged a few minutes later, fully dressed and wearing a light touch of mascara and eyeliner. He’d buy that I was up at five a.m. and dressed, right?

I tried not to think about how obvious I was being as I headed out of the house, careful not to wake my roommate, who wouldn’t see the lights through her sleep mask.

Mrs. Bracegirdle’s front door was open, so I stepped in, my heart racing. What would I say when he saw me? What should I say?

“Hi.”

That came from another guy in a firefighter uniform. He was standing in the living room, arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you this woman’s daughter?” he asked.

I looked over at Mrs. Bracegirdle. She was in her seventies, and I was twenty-three, so she’d be my grandmother if we were related. We weren’t.

I shook my head. “I’m the next-door neighbor.” That should answer his question. It didn’t explain why I was here, though. “I saw the lights. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

The hunky firefighter was on his knees in front of Mrs. Bracegirdle, who was seated on the couch, head back, eyes closed. It looked like he had a blood pressure cuff on her arm.I wasn’t an expert on things like that, but I’d watched those emergency shows on TV. Okay, so maybe I’d binged a bunch of them since first spotting the hunky fireman.

“We’re checking,” the other firefighter said. “Do you know who her next of kin is? Emergency contact?”

My eyes widened. Oh shit, this was serious. I’d assumed she was faking so she could see some “eye candy,” as she called the firemen.

I pointed toward the kitchen. “There’s a bunch of pictures on her fridge of her grandkids. Maybe there’s a number over there. I’ll go look.”

I’d been in the house at least a couple of minutes and my hunky firefighter hadn’t even glanced in my direction. This wasn’t going well at all.

But right now, I was more worried about making sure Mrs. Bracegirdle was okay. She was nosy and more than a little opinionated, but I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. She had kids and grandkids. They’d be devastated.

“Found it!” I shouted.

I came out of the kitchen holding a pink address book. It was old school—the kind my grandma had growing up. It was full of numbers and addresses. The key was to figure out which one of these was her relatives.

I went straight to the first letter of Mrs. Bracegirdle’s last name and tried to find someone I remembered her discussing. “Kayleigh!” I blurted, holding it up. “Kayleigh’s my age. That’s her granddaughter. She’s hoping to have her come at Thanksgiving.”

As I said all that, the fireman kept his back toward me. Couldn’t he hear me talking back here? No, his focus was one hundred percent on the patient, as it should be.

“Do you want me to call her?” I asked the other firefighter, who now stepped closer to Mrs. Bracegirdle and was fiddling with what looked like a two-way radio.

“Yes, please,” he said. “We’re calling for an ambulance, but it can help to have someone here who’s related.”

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