Page 7 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

"The mountain doesn't care about comfort," I remind her, but my voice has lost its edge. I can't seem to summon the gruffness that's become my armor over the years.

"So you've mentioned." Her smile is gentle and teasing. “You seem quite good at finding comfort even here."

I shrug, uncomfortable with her observation. "Necessity teaches you things."

"What else has it taught you?" she asks, leaning forward slightly. The movement causes her scent to reach me—something floral mingled with the earthiness of our surroundings. It’s an intoxicating combination.

"To see what's really important," I answer honestly. "To distinguish between wants and needs."

"And what do you need, Corbin?" Her question hangs in the air between us, loaded with meaning I'm not sure she intended.

I look away, tending to the fire to give my hands something to do. "Shelter. Food. Water." I pause, then meet her eyes again. "Solitude."

"Is that a need or a habit?" she challenges, her head tilting slightly.

No one has questioned my choices in years. I've built walls around my life, around my heart, brick by brick, day by day. Now, this young woman walks in and sees right through them as if they're made of glass instead of stone.

"Both," I admit finally. "It started as one and became the other."

The fire crackles in the silence that follows. Outside, the wind picks up again, sending a chill through our tiny shelter. Tessa shivers visibly, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Come here," I say before I can think better of it. "Next to the wall. It's warmer."

She moves without hesitation, settling beside me where the stone wall offers some protection from the drafts. Our shoulders touch, and even that brief contact sends warmth through me that has nothing to do with body heat.

"Better?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.

She nods, but another shiver contradicts her. Without thinking, I lift my arm, offering her shelter against my side. She accepts immediately, curling against me as if we've done this a hundred times before. Her head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel her heartbeat, quick and steady.

"Much better," she murmurs.

We sit like that, wrapped together in a wool survival blanket, for what feels like hours but might only be minutes. Time behaves strangely in the mountains and is even stranger in this cave with her. The fire burns low, and the darkness presses in around us, making our small circle of warmth feel like the only real place in the world.

"Tell me something about yourself," she says suddenly. "Something no one else knows."

I consider deflecting, changing the subject, but something about the darkness and her warmth against me loosens my tongue. "I write," I admit. "Not just notes in journals. Poems. Stories sometimes."

I feel her smile against my shoulder. "About what?"

"The mountains. The changing seasons. The way light falls through trees in early morning." I pause, embarrassed by my own sentimentality. "Lonely things, I suppose."

"That doesn't surprise me," she says softly. "You see the world so clearly. Of course you'd want to capture it somehow."

Her understanding loosens something tight in my chest. "Your turn," I say. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

She's quiet for a moment, thinking. "I'm afraid," she finally says.

"Of the storm?"

"No." She shifts slightly, looking up at me. In the dimming firelight, her eyes are dark pools. "Of going back to a life that doesn't feel like mine anymore. Of pretending to be someone I'm not."

I understand that fear better than she knows. It's what drove me to the mountains fifteen years ago. The suffocation of expectations, the mask that grew heavier each day until I couldn't breathe beneath it.

"You don't have to go back to the same life," I tell her. "You can choose differently."

"Is that what you did?"

I nod, my chin brushing against her hair. "It wasn't easy. People don't understand walking away from what they consider success."

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