Page 5 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

three

Tessa

Eveninthiscrisis,I can't help but notice how his movements are purposeful and assured, like he's done this a hundred times before. He probably has.

"Do you always carry all this with you?" I ask, gesturing to the small battery-powered lantern he's just set up, casting a warm glow across the rough stone walls.

"Always be prepared," he answers without looking up, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the confined space. "Unlike some people."

I wince at the barb, but I can't exactly argue. My lightweight day pack with a single water bottle, granola bars, and my phone doesn't exactly scream wilderness preparedness.

"I thought it was just going to be a short hike," I say, wrapping my arms around myself as the temperature seems to drop. Outside, thunder cracks so loudly I can feel it reverberate through my chest. I hope my car hasn't been washed away or squashed by a tree.

Corbin glances up at me, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "Storm's going to last through the night. Maybe longer."

The reality of our situation settles over me like a heavy blanket. I'm trapped in a cave with a stranger—a gruff, mountain-dwelling stranger with shoulders broad enough to block the entrance and hands that look like they could snap tree branches without effort.

Yet, somehow, I don't feel afraid. Intimidated, yes. Aware of him in a way that makes my skin prickle with something I’m not sure what to call. He’s attractive in the dirty mountain man sort of way. He’s so manly compared to any guy I’ve been close to and much older.

"I'm sorry for inconveniencing you," I offer, trying to make myself useful by organizing the small space where we'll apparently be spending the night.

"You should be," he says, but the bite in his voice has lessened. "What made you think hiking alone was a good idea? Especially with that weather system moving in."

I push a strand of damp hair behind my ear. "I needed to get away. From everything. The city, my job, my ex..." I stop myself, not wanting to dump my life story on this man who clearly values solitude. "I just wanted some adventure, I guess."

"Adventure," he repeats the word like it's a concept he finds amusing. "Most adventures in these mountains end badly for city folk."

"I'm learning that," I admit, attempting a smile. "But I found you, so maybe my luck isn't all bad."

Surprise flashes in his eyes before he returns to his task of laying out a small tarp on the cave floor. I notice he's creating a barrier against the cold stone, and my estimation of his survival skills rises further.

"Make yourself useful," he grunts, handing me a thin but surprisingly warm-looking thermal blanket. "Fold this out. There's only one, so we'll have to share."

My breath catches at the casual way he mentions sharing such close quarters, though his tone suggests it's purely practical. Of course, it is. We're strangers in a survival situation. What did I expect?

I busy myself with the blanket, trying not to think about how we'll arrange ourselves later. The cave, while larger than I'd initially thought, isn't exactly spacious. We'll be sleeping close. Very close.

Rain hammers against the mouth of the cave, driven sideways by fierce winds.

The afternoon stretches into the evening with no sign of the storm letting up. Rain hammers against the mountainside in relentless sheets, turning the world outside our cave into a blur of gray. I've never heard rain this loud before. It drowns out even the crackling of our small fire at times.

"It's not usually this bad," Corbin says, noticing my gaze fixed on the cave entrance. "Summer storms here are intense but brief. This one's different."

"How can you tell?" I ask, genuinely curious. Everything about this man fascinates me—the way he moves with quiet confidence, how he reads the wilderness like I might read a spreadsheet.

He tilts his head, listening. "The rhythm of it. The pressure. The way the wind's holding instead of gusting." His eyes meet mine. "You learn to sense these things when your life depends on it."

A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the temperature. The cave is actually quite warm now, thanks to Corbin's careful tending of our small fire.

"Tell me about your cabin," I say, partly to distract myself from these feelings, partly because I genuinely want to know more about his life.

He describes it with unexpected detail—a two-room structure built with his own two hands, solar panels for minimal electricity, a rainwater collection system, and a wood stove for heating and cooking. He’s put off getting internet or telephone access, taking seclusion to the extreme. The way he talks about it reveals a pride I haven't heard in his voice before.

"It sounds wonderful," I say when he finishes. "Peaceful."

"It is." He studies me with those intense dark eyes. "Most people wouldn't think so. They'd see what's missing—no microwave, television, or constant noise."

"I see what's there instead," I reply softly. "Space to think. Freedom from expectations. Connection to something real."

---