Page 4 of Snowed in with the Mountain Man

She tries again. The car makes a clicking sound, then dies.

"No, no, no," she mutters, pounding the steering wheel. "Not now!"

I know that sound. Battery's dead, probably from the cold. Could jump it, but that's just delaying the inevitable. That car won't make it up the mountain tonight.

"I can take you," I hear myself say. "My truck can handle it."

She looks at me. Measuring, assessing. I know what she sees. Tall, bearded, rough-edged. Fifteen years her senior at least. A stranger offering a ride up a mountain as a blizzard rolls in.

"I don't have much choice, do I?" she finally says.

"You could stay in town. Darkmore Lodge has rooms."

"I can't afford that. Not after this—" she gestures toward her purchases. "And everything I own is in my car."

I nod. "We'll transfer your stuff to my truck. Lock your car. I'll have my brother tow it to the garage tomorrow."

"Your brother?"

"Search and rescue. Apprenticing at the town garage on the side." I start unloading her groceries, trying not to notice the box of fancy tea, the organic vegetables. City tastes.

"Thank you," she says, helping me transfer her bags. "I don't know what I would've done."

The gratitude in her voice makes something twist inside me. I grunt in response, not trusting myself to speak.

My truck starts with a rumble, heat blasting from the vents. She climbs in, looking small against the worn leather seat. This close, in the confined space, her scent is even stronger. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as my body reacts.Down, boy.Been so long since I've been with a woman that my cock's forgotten its manners.

"Nice truck," she offers as we pull away from the shop.

"Never let me down."

"Unlike my traitor Chrysler," she sighs.

The snow falls harder now, the windshield wipers barely keeping up. Visibility shrinks with each passing minute. I drive slowly, carefully, knowing every curve of this road like my own palm.

"Have you lived here long?" she asks, breaking the silence.

"All my life. Except four years of college."

"What did you study?"

"Business. Forestry minor."

She waits for more, but I don't elaborate. Don't tell her how I fled back to these mountains after graduation, how cities made me feel like I couldn't breathe. Don't mention that I took over the store when my father's heart gave out eight years ago, or that I haven't regretted it once.

"I worked in marketing," she volunteers. "Digital stuff. Until they laid everyone off three weeks ago."

That explains it. Not just a vacation, then. She's running from something, or toward something. Both, maybe.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Best thing that ever happened to me," she says with forced brightness. "Otherwise I'd never have had the guts to do this."

I nod, respecting the lie. We all tell ourselves what we need to hear during hard times.

The truck's tires slip slightly as we begin the steeper ascent. Snow blankets everything now, transforming the familiar landscape into something alien and treacherous. The road to Max's cabin is barely visible.

"Is it much farther?" she asks, tension threading her voice.

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