Page 2 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

“I said, I don’t think I’ll make it to town.”

“You—” The phone goes dead just as my car does. “Well, shit.”

Whiskey gives a sympathetic meow.

“I know, I know.” I sigh. “Even though you were the one who wanted to go the scenic route, we should have stayed on the Interstate until I had eyes on a real town.”

He flicks his tail in annoyance and puts his paws on the window, pressing his nose to the foggy glass to get a better glimpse of the view. It is pretty here. Everything is so lush and green. If you have to be stranded somewhere, there are worse—uglier—places.

The first drops of water on the windshield make me jump.

“It’s raining,” I say. “Of course, it’s raining.”

The drops on the windshield grow heavier. And they’re coming down faster.

“Okay.” I rub my temples. “It’s no big deal. It’s just one more stop on the road to my better life.”

I open the door and step out into the drizzle. From the backseat of my car, I grab a sweatshirt and put up the hood. It doesn’t do much, being a cotton blend and all. But it’s better than nothing. I gingerly step through the mud and pop the hood of my car.

Streams of smoke billow from the edge, the scent of burnt rubber stings my nose.

“Right.” I slam the hood shut and reopen my car door. “I guess that means we’re walking.”

Whiskey yowls.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe and dry.” Even if I have to make him a rain poncho out of the plastic bags he’d rather chew up and vomit later. “But we can’t stay here forever.”

I just hope this town isn’t far away.

After spending a few minutes creating Whiskey’s rain poncho, tucking him into my sweatshirt, and grabbing a few necessities, I start walking down the path. We’re walking—and growing increasingly drenched—for all of five minutes before the crack of twigs in the brush gives us paws.

Whiskey’s head pops up next to mine. The back of my neck tingles.

We both hold our breaths. There’s another crunch. Another snap.

“It’s probably just the rain.” My teeth chatter, and I tell myself it’s from being cold. “Please let it be the rain.”

There’s more crunching. More snapping. It’s growing faster. Growing closer.

“Please don’t be a bear.” I clench my eyes shut for a moment. “Please be a goat.”

Our chances have to be better with a goat than a bear. Or a mountain lion. I know they have those here.

The crunching and snapping comes to a stop. “You lost?”

I open my eyes and find the source deep voice. My jaw falls open.

A tall bearded man with broad shoulders is staring at me with a pair of amber-colored eyes.

No, he’s not staring. He’s scowling. Oh God. What if he’s a serial killer?

My heart skips a beat. And not just from fear. There’s a twinge between my thighs.

I straighten, making myself half an inch taller. “I’m not lost. I’m just… out for a walk.”

“With a cat?”

I’d glance down at Whiskey, but that’s impossible. He’s popped up so far in my hoodie now, we’re basically standing cheek to cheek.

---