Page 3 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

"Don't move!" I shout, already plotting the safest approach. "I'm coming up!"

Finding handholds in the slick earth, I make my way carefully up the slope, testing each step before committing my weight. When I'm about five feet from her, I get my first clear look at her face—younger than I expected, mid-twenties maybe, with wide hazel eyes rimmed red from crying or rain or both. Despite her obvious terror, there's something striking about her features, a natural beauty that seems oddly out of place against the raw violence of the storm.

"Give me your hand," I command, extending my arm toward her.

She stretches toward me, her fingers trembling. "I can't. I'll fall!"

"You need to trust me," I say, my voice firm but not harsh. "The tree won't hold if the ground gives way. We need to move. Now."

Something in my tone must convince her. She takes a deep breath, visibly steeling herself, and in one quick movement, releases the tree trunk and grabs my outstretched hand.

Her fingers are ice cold and slippery with rain, but I maintain a firm grip, pulling her toward me. For a heart-stopping moment, her foot slides through the mud, and she pitches forward with a cry of alarm. I brace myself, catching her full weight against my chest, one arm wrapping instinctively around her waist to stabilize her.

"I've got you," I say, suddenly aware of how small she feels against me, how fragile despite the curvy build I can feel beneath her soaked clothing. "Just hold on."

She nods against my shoulder, her body trembling.

Together, we make our way down the treacherous slope, my hand never leaving her waist, guiding her to place her feet where the ground is most stable. When we finally reach level ground, she stumbles, her legs apparently giving out from cold and fear. I steady her, keeping my arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she manages through chattering teeth. "I thought—I didn't know if—"

"What are you doing out here in this?" I cut her off, unable to keep the disapproval from my voice despite the circumstances.

"The storm," she says, hugging herself for warmth, "wasn't supposed to hit until tonight. I checked the forecast. I was already heading back when the rain started, and the trail vanished."

Lightning flashes again, followed almost immediately by a deafening crack of thunder. She flinches, instinctively moving closer to me.

"We need shelter," I say, making a quick decision. “I have a place. It's not far. Can you walk?"

She nods. "Yes. Please. Lead the way."

I set off at a pace that acknowledges both the urgency of our situation and her obvious exhaustion. The wind has picked up, driving the rain sideways, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. I find myself repeatedly looking back to ensure she's still behind me, although I can feel her clinging to the back of my coat like a baby elephant.

"I'm Tessa, by the way," she calls over the howling wind after several minutes of silent hiking.

I hesitate before responding. How long have I gone without speaking my name aloud to another person? "Corbin.”

"Thank you for saving me, Corbin," she says. Her innocent smile catches me off guard.

We push forward through the worsening storm, crossing a small stream that's already swollen with rainwater. When Tessa struggles with the slippery rocks, I extend my hand without comment. She takes it gratefully, her fingers curling around mine with surprising strength.

The cave entrance appears ahead, partially hidden behind a stand of firs that bend and sway in the violent wind. Not my cabin—that's another hour's hike north—but a shelter I've used before, stocked with basics for emergencies like this one.

"In here," I direct, pushing aside the branches to reveal the opening.

She ducks inside without hesitation, relief evident in every line of her body. I follow, immediately moving to the small cache of supplies I maintain. The beam of my flashlight reveals her fully for the first time, and I'm struck by the incongruity of her presence in my wilderness refuge.

She stands shivering in the center of the cave, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her blonde hair is darkened by rain and clings to her face and neck. Water drips from her clothing, forming a small puddle at her feet. Despite her bedraggled appearance, she makes me feel strange feelings that I haven’t felt in a long time.

"You're freezing," I observe, already arranging kindling for a fire. "Need to get dry."

"I'm okay," she says unconvincingly, teeth still chattering. "Just need to warm up a bit."

I strike a match, carefully nurturing the small flame until it catches the dry wood I've stored here. As firelight fills the cave, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls, I turn to assess our situation more thoroughly.

The cave is small—perhaps fifteen feet deep and eight feet wide at its mouth—and feels decidedly cramped with two people inside. Tessa moves closer to the growing fire, holding her hands out toward the warmth.

"Thank you," she says again, her eyes meeting mine across the flames. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't found me."

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