Page 1 of Stranded with the Mountain Man

Chapter

One

DEENA

Rain batters my windshield as I navigate the winding mountain road, each curve more treacherous than the last.My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, and the GPS signal flickers in and out like my patience.

"Turn left in two hundred feet," the robotic voice instructs before cutting to static.

Left? There's nothing but dense forest and a sheer drop to my left.I slow the car to a crawl, wiping condensation from the inside of my window with my sleeve.The weathered wooden sign I use as a road marker appears in my headlights, nearly consumed by overgrowth with the words "Lavender Hill" barely visible.

"Finally," I mutter, turning onto what can only loosely be called a driveway.

My compact rental car protests as I navigate the rutted path, branches scraping the sides like fingernails on a chalkboard.After twelve years in Atlanta's manicured botanical gardens, these untamed mountains feel like another planet.One that's currently trying to swallow my vehicle.

Three more bone-jarring minutes and my great-aunt Millie's once-charming cottage appears, though it's now a sad shadow of the place where I spent my summers.The white paint has surrendered to a murky gray, shutters hang at dejected angles, and the porch sags like it's exhausted from standing so long.

"Oh, Millie," I whisper, grief tightening my throat."What happened here?"

I park and make a dash through the downpour, suitcase held over my head in a futile attempt to stay dry.The key sticks in the lock before surrendering with a reluctant click.

Inside, the air is heavy with must and memories.I flick the light switch--nothing.Perfect.

My phone flashlight reveals what daylight would have made gentler, peeling wallpaper, water stains mapping the ceiling like continents, furniture draped in sheets like ghosts of a happier past.The place is exactly as the estate lawyer described, "in need of significant repair."

That's lawyer-speak for "total disaster."

I find the electrical panel and reset the breaker.Lights flicker on, illuminating my temporary inheritance in all its dilapidated glory.Six months. That's how long I have to renovate this place before I need to decide whether to sell or somehow make it work as my permanent home.Six months away from my carefully cultivated life in Atlanta.

Six months in Serenity Hollow, the town I fled twelve years ago with scientific textbooks and broken dreams as my only luggage.

A steady drip leads me to the kitchen, where a pot catches water from a ceiling leak.Beside it sits another pot. And another.I count seven makeshift water catchers spread across the room.

"That's promising," I mutter, opening the fridge to find it empty except for baking soda and what might have once been jam.

My stomach rumbles in protest.After a six-hour drive from Atlanta, I'd hoped to at least make a sandwich before tackling this catastrophe.I rummage through my purse and find an organic, locally sourced, and completely unsatisfying granola bar.

Thunder rattles the windows as I explore the rest of the house, cataloging each issue like I would specimens in the lab.

Bathroom: functional but sporting black mold in artful patterns.

Bedroom: musty but salvageable.

Living room: home to what appears to be a family of mice.

"You guys are cute," I tell my new roommates, "but this is still an eviction notice."

My great-aunt's bedroom remains untouched since her passing three months ago.I can't bring myself to enter yet.I sigh. That's tomorrow's emotional hurdle.Instead, I settle into the guest room where I always stayed during those childhood summers.

The twin bed still has the lavender quilt Millie made me, though it's now faded from purple to a gentle gray.I run my fingers over the stitching, remembering her hands guiding mine as she taught me to sew.

"Plants are easier," I'd told her."They don't mind if you mess up."

She'd laughed. "Nothing worth making is ever perfect, Dee-Dee."

Dee-Dee. No one's called me that since I left.

My phone buzzes with a text from Dr. Hammond, my department head at the Atlanta Botanical Research Center.

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