Page 11 of Running to the Mountain Man

My belly full and my body clean, I sleep like a baby in this bed.

I don’t know anything about high thread count sheets, but I am guessing that’s what these are. It’s the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in.

Slam!

My eyes fly open as I sit up straight in bed, my arms over my face in an automatic defense posture as the bedroom door leaps off its hinges and crashes to the floor.

A man is shouting at me like an angry grizzly bear. “Who the fuck are you?!”

I’m so disoriented, I couldn’t even say my name if I wanted to.

How long was I asleep?

Longer than I should have slept; that much is clear now.

I got caught squatting, and not by some kindly person in the woods.

Daring to open my eyes, I make out the shape of a man.

The phrase “brick shithouse” comes to mind.

As my eyes focus, another phrase comes to mind, along the lines of “buck naked and brandishing the scariest-looking knife ever forged.”

The severe, stoic face might be scarier than the knife in his massive hands.

I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

And then, the thick organ between his legs compounds my inability to speak. That thing is as alien to me as anything, and I’m in shock. It’s just…there. And it’s…not what I expected.

I’ve never even seen a picture of a man’s penis before, so I never knew what to expect.

Based on the altered history books and the Bible lessons about the Garden of Eden, I half expected to see a fig leaf down there instead of this… monstrosity.

This very fascinating monstrosity.

“Well? Answer the question!”

Is it me, or did the shouting lessen by a decibel or two that time? And did that scary face get slightly less scary?

I pull the blankets up to my chin and bat my lashes. “Please don’t stab me!” I finally squeak.

His heavy brows draw together.

“I’m going to ask slowly and nicely this time,” he says with an edge of annoyance. “Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

“That wasn’t any nicer,” I point out before I can think twice about it. What the hell did I say that for?

The man tilts his head and grunts. It’s a strangely alluring sound. I don’t understand why I like it, but it causes a stir in my tummy nonetheless.

“Keep talking,” he says with an even, non-shouting tone that I very much prefer.

My body relaxes slightly. “I’m Goldie. And I…” I have to think fast. “I rented this cabin, but I must have had the date written down wrong. I’ll go now.”

I make a move to get out of bed, but that shiny knife in his hand is pointed at me in a way that I’m guessing means I shouldn’t move.

“Try again, blondie.”

I huff. “What do you mean?”

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