Page 5 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

She glanced up, a small smile curving her lips. "Animals usually do. I'm more nervous around people, honestly."

Something about the simple admission, the hint of vulnerability in it, made me look at her more closely. Beyond the fancy clothes and polished manners, there was something in her eyes—a wariness that echoed my own.

For a moment, just a fraction of a second, I felt a dangerous pull. A recognition. A possibility I hadn't allowed myself to consider in a very long time. Fuck my damn luck.

I shut it down immediately, turning away to rummage through a drawer. "You should eat something. I've got..." I surveyed the sparse options. "Canned soup. Some bread that's probably still good."

"That sounds perfect, actually." She straightened, still giving Scout gentle scratches behind the ear. "Can I help?"

"No." The word came out too sharp, a knife's edge of rejection.

I heard her soft intake of breath, felt her withdraw emotionally if not physically. Good. Better that way. Better for both of us.

"I'll just...sit then, shall I?" She moved to the couch, perching on the edge like she might need to flee at any moment.

I focused on the mechanical process of preparing the easiest of meals, my back to her, trying to ignore the weight of her presence. Scout, the disloyal companion, had followed her to the couch and now lay at her feet as if he'd known her for years.

The silence stretched between us, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the steady drum of rain on the roof. In that silence, I could feel her questions gathering, curiosity about the scars, the medals, the isolation. The same questions everyone had. The ones I never answered.

Let her wonder. By tomorrow, the rain would stop, the roads would clear, and I'd drive her to town. She'd get her car towed, find a hotel or make her way to wherever she’d been heading, and become nothing more than an awkward memory. Another brief encounter with the outside world that left me more certain than ever that solitude was the only peace I'd ever find.

I glanced over my shoulder, catching her staring at the burn scars visible at my neck. Her gaze dropped immediately, color flooding her cheeks. But in that brief moment of eye contact, I saw not pity but something else entirely.

Understanding.

A chill crawled up my spine that had nothing to do with the rain outside. No. She didn't understand. No one did. No one could.

And I'd make damn sure it stayed that way.

What the hell was I thinking, bringing her here? I should have driven her straight to town, straight to the hospital, despite the conditions. I was barely holding it together on a good day, and today was anything but good. The hardware store trip hadbeen necessary—the fence around my property needed repairs before summer—but venturing into Ashwood always left me raw, exposed. The stares, the whispers, the forced smiles of people who didn't know what to say to the scarred recluse who'd once been the pride of their little town.

Add a thunderstorm to that mix, and I was already walking a knife edge before I ever spotted her car.

Now here she was, this outsider with her delicate features and perceptive eyes, bringing chaos into the one place I'd managed to carve out some semblance of peace. I felt trapped in my own home, sweat beading on my forehead as I fought to maintain control.

I'd get rid of her as soon as possible. First light, I'd take her to town, regardless of road conditions. The cut on her head wasn't serious. She'd be fine.

But even as I resolved this, I knew I wouldn't actually throw her out into the storm tonight. Not with the thunder still rolling over the mountains, the rain still lashing against the windows. Not with her head injury, the lingering shock in her system.

One night. I could manage one night of unwanted company. I'd survived worse. Much worse.

I set a bowl of soup on the coffee table in front of her, along with a chunk of bread that, thankfully, showed no signs of mold.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at me with those wide eyes of hers that made me want to stare into them like she was some Medusa.

I nodded stiffly and retreated to the far side of the room, creating as much distance between us as the cabin allowed. One night, and then she'd be gone. One night, and my sanctuary would be mine alone again.

I just had to make it through the next twelve hours without completely falling apart.

Chapter Three

Brynn

Morning arrived with reluctance, gray light seeping through unfamiliar curtains. For several disorienting moments, I stared at the rough-hewn ceiling beams, piecing together the previous day's events—the crash, the rescue, the taciturn mountain man who'd given me his bed while he presumably slept on the couch.

Mack.

I sat up gingerly, assessing the damage. My body felt like I'd gone three rounds with a prizefighter, but nothing seemed permanently damaged. The cut on my forehead had scabbed over, tender but no longer bleeding. A dull headache pulsed behind my eyes, but even that was manageable.

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