Page 7 of Stubborn Mountain Man

“It’s not exactly a gourmet meal, but it’s pretty good for camping food,” she said.

I had food back at the cabin. In fact, I had a freezer full of meat that kept me from having to trek down the mountain to town more than absolutely necessary. But since she’d worked so hard to lay out this spread, I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

“Looks great,” I said, eyeing the cheese, crackers, sausage bites, and chocolate chip cookies in front of her.

“And it’s dinner with a view,” she said, gesturing behind her.

“You don’t have a view.”

“That’s okay.” She shrugged. “I’ve seen it.”

No, that was unacceptable. I surveyed the area and made an executive decision.

“Stay right there,” I said.

It took a few minutes, but I managed to move the blanket and snacks to a gigantic rock that had the perfect view. Then I came over and reached out my arms.

“Trust me?” I asked.

She nodded, and that nod went straight to my heart. She trusted me already. It meant more than I would have ever imagined.

I lifted her until she was standing on her one good foot, then scooped her up, carrying her over to the rock and settling her on it. I helped her wiggle around, enjoying every second of touching her, including the hand I had on each hip as I helped her shift until she was facing the other direction. Then I climbed up on the rock on the other side of the snacks and breathed in the fresh mountain air.

“Sunset,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d make it up here in time.”

If she hadn’t been thrown off track by the sound of my chopping, she would have made it in more than enough time. My guess was she meant after the injury, she didn’t think she’d get to see this sight, and I, for one, could relate to that. It would have been a shame to miss this.

“How about I make you dinner after this?” I asked. “Hamburger steaks, french fries… I might even have a couple of ribeyes in my freezer. Unless you think we should head down the mountain and have that ankle looked at.”

“The hospital’s too far away and too expensive,” she said. “There’s nothing they can do for it, anyway. It has to heal on its own. I’ll have it looked at when my doctor’s office opens Monday.”

She was leaving town Monday. It was Friday. Disappointment flooded me.

Why should I care? Relief was what I was supposed to be feeling right now. Normally, I would have been indifferent. Either I wanted to sleep with a woman or I didn’t. Since I didn’t, I kept my distance. It wasn’t hard to do, living way up here. But this time, my heart seemed to have sunk to my stomach.

I didn’t want her to go. Two days wouldn’t be enough. Hell, I’d be lucky to even have her more than one night. The right thing to do would be to deposit her on her parents’ doorstep tomorrow morning.

“All I have to drink is water and tequila,” Gillian said.

She gestured toward the bottle of tequila, which she’d taken from the cabinet and shoved into her backpack. It didn’t even look like she enjoyed the tequila back at the cabin, where she’d stuck it between her legs—damn, I envied that bottle—and taken only a few sips from it. At one point, she uncapped the bottle, screwed off the cap, then put it right back on, probably thinking I wasn’t paying attention.

“I’ll just take water,” I said, reaching out.

She handed over her large tumbler full of water. She’d probably planned to make this last until morning, but I had plenty of water back at the cabin, so I could refill her, no problem.

“Well, I’m not driving, so I’ll have a little more of this,” she said.

She was already unscrewing the cap, and she lifted it and tossed back far more than I would have thought. When she pulled the bottle away, though, she covered her mouth and let out a series of closed-mouth coughs before finally turning to the side and letting her full cough out.

When finally she caught her breath, Gillian shook her head and repositioned her legs so that her sore ankle was elevated a little, propped on top of her other leg. “Drinking’s not my thing, I guess.”

“I’m not sure straight shots of tequila with no chaser is a good drink to try your first time.” I thought a second and said, “Was that your first time drinking alcohol?”

What made me think that? Had she said it? I couldn’t remember. It was tough to remember anything she said since every time I looked at her, my thoughts got all scrambled.

“First time,” she said. “I’m a virgin drinker…and a virgin in general.”

She punctuated that with a laugh as she popped a block of cheese in her mouth like she hadn’t just dropped a huge verbal bomb on the conversation. I had to ask.

---