Page 4 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

I don't respond immediately, busying myself with spreading the waterproof tarp I keep stored here. The truth—that she likely wouldn't have survived the night alone on the mountain in this storm—seems unnecessarily harsh to vocalize.

"You're welcome," I say finally, surprising myself with the gentleness in my tone. "Storm's not letting up anytime soon. We'll need to wait it out."

She glances toward the cave entrance, where rain continues to pour in sheets, lightning periodically illuminating the darkened forest beyond. "So we're... stuck here? Together?"

The uncertainty in her voice draws my attention. Our eyes meet across the small fire, and for a moment, I feel a different kind of storm brewing, this one internal and unexpected. She's beautiful in a way I'd forgotten to notice in women—natural and alive, despite her obvious city origin.

"Looks that way," I manage, tearing my gaze away to add another stick to the fire. "Hope you don't mind roughing it."

"Actually, this is kind of amazing. A real adventure. Though I'm sorry to intrude on your solitude."

The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. Most people don't understand why anyone would choose to live away from the comforts and connections of civilization. They see isolation as punishment rather than freedom.

"It's fine," I say, surprised to find I mean it. "Better than you getting washed down the mountain."

Her laugh is sudden and bright, lighting up her face. "When you put it that way..."

I notice she's still shivering despite the fire's growing warmth. Her clothes cling to her body, dripping onto the stone floor. Without comment, I reach into my pack and pull out my spare flannel shirt—clean and, most importantly, dry.

"Here," I offer, extending it toward her. "You need to get out of those wet clothes."

She hesitates, glancing around the small cave. There's no privacy to be found in this space, a fact that suddenly seems significant in a way it never has before.

"I'll turn around," I add, already moving to face the wall.

"Thank you," she says softly, and I hear the rustle of wet fabric as she changes.

I fix my gaze on the cave wall, acutely aware of her presence behind me, the sounds of movement, the scent that doesn't belong to the forest—something citrusy and distinctly feminine—that somehow cuts through the smell of rain and earth. The storm rages outside, rain pounding against the earth, wind howling through the trees, but here in this small space, time seems suspended.

"Okay," she says after what feels like an eternity. "I'm decent."

I turn to find her standing closer than I expected, draped in my flannel shirt that falls to mid-thigh. She's laid her wet clothes near the fire to dry, her legs bare below the shirt's hem. Her hair is loose now, falling in damp waves around her shoulders. The sight stirs something in me that I thought had long since gone dormant.

"Better?" I ask, my voice rougher than intended. I try not to think of how beautiful and soft her bare legs look and how much I’d love to have my face between her thighs.

She nods, hugging herself in the oversized shirt. "Much. Thank you."

We settle on opposite sides of the fire, the small space forcing a proximity that feels both uncomfortable and strangely right. The storm shows no signs of abating, the thunder growing more distant but the rain continuing its steady assault.

"So," she ventures after several minutes of silence, "Do you live out here? In the mountains, I mean? I’m assuming you don’t live in this cave."

I nod once. "Cabin. A few miles north."

"By yourself?" There's no judgment in her tone, just curiosity.

"Just me." I settle back against the cave wall, watching the play of firelight across her features. "Prefer it that way."

"I get that," she says, surprising me. "Sometimes people are..." She trails off, searching for the right word.

"Exhausting," I supply.

Her eyes meet mine, a flash of recognition in them. "Exactly."

Outside, the storm continues its fury, but inside this small cave, something shifts, a current of understanding passing between us. Her presence, which should feel like an intrusion into my carefully constructed solitude, instead creates a strange sense of connection I hadn't realized I was missing.

The night stretches ahead of us, long hours of confinement in this small space with this unexpected woman who somehow managed to get stranded on my mountain. As she smiles tentatively across the fire, something inside me responds, a rusty door creaking open after years of disuse.

This is going to be a complicated storm to weather.

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