Page 5 of Curves for the Mountain Man

Adrenaline floods me as I drag myself to my knees, grabbing the woman and hoisting her over my shoulder with a loud grunt. She chokes and struggles, a great gulp of cold water escaping her lungs. Summoning the Ranger’s relentless drive to survive, I rise to my feet.

This woman must live. Fortunately, I know these woods thoroughly. I’ve scouted the falls countless times. Balancing over boulders and between tangled brush, I climb towards a clandestine cave behind the water. I found it a few years ago, likely the only human—perhaps apart from Native Americans—aware of it.

The powerful curtains of the cascade engulf us to the right, the air cool and breezy nearest its edge, as I squint my way into the tall, wide, cavern. Our only illumination is the muted sunlight threading through the translucence of the water. I retreat as far back as we can, away from the dampness of the falls, hunching as the ceiling drops towards the inner wall. Piles of white deer bones glow in one corner. A large predator hunkers down here—likely a mountain lion. I prop the woman seated against a boulder, straining to catch my breath.

Pushing her forward, I slap her back hard a couple of times to stimulate her lungs. The rough handling brings her forward onto her hands, spluttering and hacking to clear her lungs.

“Cough it all out,” I order.

She complies, her whole body trembling until she sits back against the boulder, her head lolling to the side.

The ambient temperature of the cave warms me after the river’s icy depths. In the shimmering sunlight penetrating the cascades, I note her symmetrical, oval face, generous, pale lips, and big, innocent eyes framed by thick, long lashes and well-kept, light brown eyebrows.

“We’ve got to get you out of your wet clothes.” She raises her hands, making the motions, but her fingers don’t work. So, I unceremoniously strip off her sopping black sweatshirt, matching jogging pants, and socks, leaning her back against the boulder in a lacy pale pink camisole and matching panties.

Her eyes widen, horror glazing over as I efficiently undress to my boxer briefs, my teeth chattering. Without hesitation, I sit cross-legged, pulling her into my arms to straddle my lap. I don’t know any better way to deliver my heat to her while simultaneously shielding her body from the cave’s stone-cold floor.

“Fuck!” Her icy skin freezes my warming flesh as I press her curvy frame firmly against mine. My mind races. She’s so fucking cold. I could end up hypothermic, too.

Survival mode kicks in, and I develop a game plan as the howling wind announces the blizzard, blowing in fast and hard. At least, it should buy us a reprieve from pursuit by the man with the rifle. Relief washes over me as her teeth begin to chatter again, and she shivers uncontrollably in my arms, great tremors gripping her.

I whisper comforting words in her ear to calm her, rocking her in my arms until she relaxes, snuggling tightly against me. My heart leaps into my throat as I nuzzle against her neck, smelling faint traces of a floral scent. Lilacs and roses.

My grandparents had a towering bush next to their rose garden that exploded in purple blooms every spring. I hadcompletely forgotten the memory until this moment. Nostalgia codifies what I feel with this woman in my lap, my arms jealously encircling her. The sense I’ve come home.What the fuck does it mean?

“You’re safe with me,” I murmur next to her ear.

She jerkily nods, threading her fingers into my hair and beard and resting her cheek against my chest as her breathing slows. My heart expands at the weak gesture despite internal remonstrances not to feel what I’m feeling for this woman.

Chapter

Three

GINGER

Circulation returns to my fingers and toes as I warm, pressed firmly against my rescuer. Images flash through my head, and I grip the man fiercely, my heart thudding in my ears and my temples. “Please,” I whisper, digging my nails into his shoulders and neck. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Shh,” he murmurs, holding me firmly in his thick, muscular arms with my breasts pressed tightly to his hard core. I straddle him, drawing warmth from his chest, stomach, and crotch. It’s a dangerously intimate position … one I can’t imagine being in with a total stranger. Yet, I cling to him mindlessly, drawing every degree I can from his angular, muscular frame, my teeth violently chattering as I rest my chin on his shoulder.

He smells masculine and foresty, his burnished gold beard and untamed long hair smoldering in the beams of sunlight that pierce the waterfall. He’s an angel. He’s perfection with piercing blue eyes that burn into my soul as his body restores my life.

“Try not to move too much. You’ve got to take it easy on your cardiovascular system.” He scolds.

“C-c-cardiovascular system?” Are you a d-d-doctor?” I stammer.

He grunts, looking away. I interpret the sound as a “no” and his body language as dismissive. In a heartbeat, the man transforms from an angel to a grump. But I clutch him anyway, siphoning healing warmth from his core.

The longer we sit and the warmer I get, the less I care about anything. Exhaustion overwhelms me in waves as I nod off, jerking my head up each time it falls towards his chest.

“Quit fighting it,” he grumbles.

“Fighting what?”

“Sleep. You need it.”

Damn, my angel’s bossy…

I awaken with a start,disoriented and frantic. My head bobbing around before my eyes meet my rescuer’s, and I remember everything. Panic seizes my chest as I breathe hard, my hands gripping his shoulders and back. They must’ve drifted there as I slept. In silent shock, I register the thick, lumpy scars beneath my palms and fingers.

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