Page 6 of S'more Mountain Man

I stood, gathering our empty plates. "I should check the weather."

I moved to the small ham radio setup I kept for emergencies, dialing in to the NOAA frequency. The static-laden forecast confirmed what I'd suspected. The storm was settling in for the night, part of a system moving across the mountains. Flash flood warnings for low-lying areas. Wind advisories. The works.

"Sounds serious," she said from directly behind me, causing me to start slightly. For someone usually so chatty, she moved quietly. "We're not going to get washed away, are we?"

"We're on high ground." I switched off the radio. "But the roads might be rough tomorrow."

She nodded, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "I should let Mandy know I'm okay. She's probably freaking out." A pause. "Except my phone's dead and there's no signal anyway."

"I can get a message out in the morning if needed. Emergency channels."

Relief softened her features. "Thanks. For all of this. I know I'm an inconvenience."

"You're not—" I stopped, reconsidered. "It's fine."

Another crack of thunder shook the cabin, and she jumped slightly. "Guess I'm not doing much stargazing tonight anyway."

"Clear skies tomorrow, according to the forecast. You'll make your camp."

She smiled at that, a genuine smile that reached her eyes and did something uncomfortable to my chest. "You really think we can fix my tire?"

"I've got patches, a pump. If it's not completely shredded, we can get it holding air long enough to get you where you're going."

"My hero," she said, and though her tone was light, there was something in her eyes that made me look away.

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?" she asked, perching on the edge of the couch. "Beyond tire repair and camp rescue."

"Depends on the roads. Might need to clear fallen branches."

"And the camp—Fire Mountain Youth Adventures—you know where that is?"

I nodded. "Used to be a Girl Scout camp. About an hour from here."

"You know everything about these mountains, don't you?" There was something like admiration in her voice.

"Been here five years. You learn the terrain."

"And before that? When you were fighting fires?"

I tensed. Most people didn't push once I made it clear a topic was closed. But she was watching me with genuine curiosity, not the ghoulish fascination most people had when they learned what I used to do.

"Hotshot crew out of Colorado," I said finally. "Then some time with a Montana unit."

"That sounds intense."

"It was."

She seemed to sense my reluctance to elaborate and, surprisingly, didn't push. Instead, she rose and wandered to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines.

"Quite the collection for a guy living off the grid. Jack London, Thoreau... bit on the nose, don't you think?" Her tone was teasing.

"They understood something about solitude."

"And is that what you're after? Solitude?" She glanced back at me, expression suddenly serious.

"Something like that."

She hummed noncommittally and continued her exploration, pausing at a small shelf where I kept a few personal items. A polished piece of obsidian. A worn compass that had been my grandfather's. A faded photograph in a simple wooden frame.

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