Page 6 of Stranded with the Mountain Man

"You don't understand how this industry works. Reliability is everything. If I miss tomorrow's call—"

"Then you explain that you were caught in the worst April storm this region has seen in a decade. Anyone reasonable would understand."

"Reasonable isn't exactly how I'd describe Victoria Harrington," I mutter.

We fall back into silence, the only sounds the clink of spoons against bowls and the increasing howl of wind outside. After dinner, Jace refuses my offer to help clean up, so I check my emails one last time before the connection finally fails completely.

Standing at the window, watching the hypnotic swirl of snow in the porch light, I feel strangely disconnected from my normal life. Like I've stepped through a portal into some alternatereality where deadlines and client calls don't exist—only this cabin, this storm, and this irritatingly capable man who moves through his space with such quiet confidence.

I jump when Jace appears beside me at the window, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. He smells like wood smoke and something uniquely male.

"It'll be worse before it gets better," he says, nodding toward the whiteout conditions.

I'm not sure if he's talking about the storm or our situation. Either way, I find myself acutely aware of his proximity. When he turns to look at me, something electric passes between us—a brief moment where I forget to breathe.

"I'll be in my workshop downstairs if you need anything," he says, his voice lower than before. "Bathroom's stocked with extra toiletries. Help yourself."

Just like that, the moment breaks. He steps away, and I'm left with the unsettling feeling that I'm out of my depth in ways that have nothing to do with the snowstorm.

Later, tucked into the surprisingly comfortable bed in his guest room, I stare at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of him working below. The rhythmic scrape of sandpaper on wood filters up through the floorboards—strangely soothing despite my circumstances.

I should be exhausted, but sleep eludes me. Every time I close my eyes, I see Jace's hands crafting something beautiful from raw materials, and I wonder what those hands would feel like on my skin. The thought makes me flush with heat despite the chill seeping in around the windows.

This is ridiculous. He's not even my type. Too rugged, too isolated, too... real.

The workshop sounds continue, steady and sure, like his hands, like his eyes when they meet mine.

It's going to be a very long night.

four

Jace

Iwakebeforedawn,habit more than necessity. The usual mountain silence is replaced by the soft howl of wind around the cabin's corners. The storm hasn't let up. If anything, it intensified overnight.

My workshop had been a refuge last night—somewhere to escape the unsettling presence of a woman in my space. Not that Elisa was demanding or intrusive. Just the opposite. She'd folded herself into my home with surprising grace, despite her obvious frustration. But having her here feels like an invasion anyway—of the solitude I've carefully constructed over the past five years.

Five years since I walked away from my Toronto engineering firm, the corner office with its view of nothing but other buildings, the endless meetings about optimizing designs for mass production rather than purpose. I'd been designing water filtration systems for disaster zones before corporate interestsshifted to more profitable ventures. The day they reassigned me to luxury plumbing fixtures was the day I knew I was done.

I remember the bewildered expressions when I handed in my resignation. "You're going where to do what?" My boss couldn't comprehend walking away from a six-figure salary to build rescue equipment in the mountains.

Some mornings, like this one, I wonder if he had a point.

I pull on wool socks and heavy flannel pants, not bothering with a shirt yet. I check my phone. No signal, which isn't surprising. What is surprising is the blank screen on my smart home panel. The power's out.

Perfect.

The main room is still warm enough from last night's banked fire. I kneel at the hearth, adding kindling to the coals that have survived the night. At least the chimney's drawing well, despite the wind. The flames catch quickly, hungry for fuel.

"Is the power out?"

I turn to find Elisa standing in the doorway of the guest room, wrapped in what appears to be every blanket I own. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, tangled from sleep, and her eyes are still heavy-lidded. Something tightens in my chest at the sight.

"Since sometime overnight," I reply, adding larger logs to the growing fire. "Generator should have kicked in automatically."

"But it didn't."

"Apparently not."

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