Page 3 of Sheltered By the Mountain Man

Breathing hard, I take stock of my body. Pain lances my right thigh and my temple throbs. I must have hit my head at some point. My left ankle is already swelling in my boot.

Nitro slides down the embankment and runs to my side. He circles me, licking my face.

Above, the clouds are a nasty, greenish gray. The storm is going to hit any moment. Meanwhile, I'm flat on my back, injured, and isolated except for a dog who is just fine. I'm the one who needs help, and there's no one around.

“Perfect.”

Chapter Two

Bella

Deep breath, Bella. Yougot this.

As a motivational speech, it's terrible, but I can't think with my stomach churning like it's in a washing machine. I swallow hard and adjust my backpack for the fifth time. How does anyone find these things comfortable?

Blowing out a frustrated sigh, I shuffle up to the rest of the group meeting at the trailhead. There must be a dozen people. The only one I recognize is Mr. Russo because he's one of the regular customers at Layered Love, the bakery my friend, Harmony, owns. The rest look like seasoned hikers. Several older couples are in a tight group swapping trail stories, and a gangly teen is looking through maps from the display stand.

I shift from one foot to the other and wrap my arms around my waist. The movement makes my new boots squeak, and the thinblonde in hot pink Spandex ahead of me gives me an odd look over her shoulder.

Nothing to see here. Just a librarian out for a hike.

What am I doing?

I don't belong with this group of people who look like they stepped out of a hiking catalog. Outdoors is not my thing. I've lived in White Falls my whole life and never hiked. Harmony actually giggled when I told her about this plan. Even she knows this is a bad idea. I bite my lip. My old sedan is parked in the gravel lot nearby. I could be back home in half an hour.

Except it took everything I had to show up. If I leave now, I’ll never try again. And something has to change.Ihave to change.

I stare at the thick clouds in the sky and try to pull myself together. This is for me.

A few days ago, my last single friend got engaged. I’m happy for her, of course. But it made me realize how different I am. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve been shy my whole life and sort of faded into the background. It’s an excellent trait for a librarian. Not so much for my social life.

When I saw the posting for this hike on the social board at the library, it seemed the perfect way to try something new. I’m done being overlooked. Boring Bella Brown, who no one ever notices, will soon be a distant memory.NewBella goes on adventures and challenges herself. She hikes and... does other adventurous things. She’s talkative, and brave, andmemorable. Ugh. And talks to herself in third person.

Hitching my backpack higher, I set my shoulders and get ready. I've got this.

A sharp burst of radio static crackles behind me, making me jump.

“—convict. With the pending storm, state troopers are setting up roadblocks to the south. Residents are requested—”

Uh…did that just say convict?

I turn to see a man striding up the gravel toward our group. Tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair, and wearing a black fleece that does nothing to hide his muscled chest. He turns the radio down and strides right through our group like the alpha of the pack. The gangly teen with the maps follows, a load of them in his arms. He trips on his own foot and pitches forward, dropping half of the pamphlets.

I squat down to help pick them up.

“Thanks,” he says, cheeks flushing a dark red. He sweeps a lock of brown hair off his forehead. The name “Dillon” is embroidered on the black fleece hanging on his frame. “I'm glad Bishop didn't see that.”

“Bishop?”

“You don't know him?” He asks a little too loudly, nodding toward the powerfully built man standing at the front of the trailhead talking to Mr. Russo.

The Spandex blonde gives me another dark look, and this time I realize there are two of them. She has a matching friend. They’re Spandex twins.

“He runs the Hollow Point Mountain Rescue team. He's only like the mostbadassman on the planet. The dude roped down to rescue a hiker who'd fallen off the north precipice, then carried him three miles to the nearest rescue station during a storm.” Dillon's eyes glaze a little as he talks, like he’s imagining what such feats of herculean strength must be like. He shuffles the maps in his hands, then mumbles, “Bethenever drops them in the dirt.”

“You're right,” I whisper. “It’s probably mud.” Dillon shoots me a grateful smile.

“Did that radio alert say ‘convict’?” If there is a killer running around these woods, I’m going home. I’ve seen horror movies. The hikers always die first.

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