Page 2 of S'more Mountain Man

But someone had to live out here. A house, a cabin, a ranger station—anything. I'd walk a little ways, find help, and be back before the chocolate melted completely into goo. Not that I still wouldn’t eat it.

I grabbed my phone from the cup holder. The screen mockingly displayed "No Service" beneath a battery icon that was already at sixty percent. At least the flashlight would work if I needed it. I locked the car, because apparently I was worried about wilderness thieves with a specific interest in astronomy equipment and diabetes-inducing amounts of sugar.

The road curved ahead, disappearing into shadow. My sandals slapped against the packed dirt with each step, the sound embarrassingly loud in the forest quiet. A mosquito whined near my ear, and I swatted at it with more force than necessary, nearly losing my balance in the process.

Within minutes, I'd revised my "just around the bend" theory. There was no bend. Just more trees—towering conifers that could have been standing since the pioneers crossed these mountains—and a road that seemed to narrow with each step.

"Hello?" My voice cracked slightly. "Anyone? I have a flat tire and enough s'mores supplies to feed a small country!"

A squirrel chittered at me from a branch overhead, its tail twitching with what looked like disdain. A bead of sweat trickled between my breasts, and I wished for the thousandth time I'd worn something other than a tank top and yoga pants. My romance novel heroes would never be caught dead in the woods without proper gear. Then again, those broad-shouldered, flannel-wearing wounded mountain men of my favorite books always seemed to know exactly where they were going.

I kept walking, certain my car was just behind me. The road had to lead somewhere. That was literally the point of roads. They connected things. Basic civil engineering.

Except when I turned to check my progress, the road looked identical in both directions. Trees crowded close on either side, their trunks as wide as my car. The dirt beneath my feet was soft from years of pine needle accumulation, muffling my steps. My car had vanished as thoroughly as if the forest had swallowed it.

"Don't panic." My voice sounded thin in the vast quiet. "You came from that way." I pointed with wavering conviction at what I was reasonably sure was the right direction. The trees offered no confirmation.

A raindrop splattered on my bare shoulder, surprisingly warm.

"No. Rain was not part of the deal." I tilted my head back. The sky had darkened to the color of old pewter while I'd been focused on the ground. Another drop hit my forehead with sniper-like precision.

I needed to get back to my car. I turned and started walking fast, my sandals protesting against the pace. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. No cheerful blue Kia appeared to rescue me from my own stupidity.

The sick, hollow feeling in my stomach confirmed what my brain refused to accept.

I was lost. Lost in the actual woods like some cautionary tale they'd tell future camp counselors:Remember that science teacher who went looking for help? They found her three weeks later, surviving on marshmallows and conducting lengthy philosophical discussions with pinecones.

The rain shifted from scattered drops to a steady patter. Unlike the cool spring rains back home, this summer downpour felt almost as warm as bathwater, doing nothing to cut the humidity. Water droplets clung to my eyelashes, blurring my vision. My tank top became a second skin, and my carefully straightened hair began its transformation into what my students called my "mad scientist" look.

I stumbled off the road, seeking shelter under the thicker canopy. The undergrowth caught at my pants, leaving wet streaks across the fabric. My left wedge found a root hidden beneath the pine needles, and I windmilled my arms to keep from falling.

A gap in the vegetation caught my eye—not quite a trail, but a deer path where countless hooves had worn down the forest floor. Path meant animals. Animals meant water. Water meant civilization. It was basic wilderness logic, according to every survival show I'd half-watched while grading papers.

I pushed through the gap, shoving aside branches heavy with moisture. They retaliated by dumping their collected rainwater down my neck and arms. Ferns brushed against my legs, leaving their green scent on my skin. The path twisted between massive trunks, each turn looking exactly like the last.

"Stupid woods. Stupid car. Stupid shoes." I paused to catch my breath, one palm pressed against the rough bark of a pine. Sap stuck to my fingers, tacky and impossible to wipe off. The path had disappeared, or I'd lost it, or it had never been a real path at all.

Something skittered across a fallen log nearby—possibly a lizard, but my brain helpfully supplied "giant venomous tarantula" instead. I yelped and jumped back, only to lose my footing on the slick ground.

Thunder crashed directly overhead, the sound so loud I felt it in my chest. The rain went from steady to biblical in seconds. Water ran into my eyes, down my neck, pooling in my unfortunate choice of footwear. I tried to run, though the concept of direction had become meaningless. Branches whipped at my face and arms. Roots appeared from nowhere to catch my feet. The ground turned to pudding beneath my useless sandals.

The root that finally took me down was a masterpiece of natural engineering—thick as my wrist and perfectly positioned.

I hit the ground hard, palms skidding through mud and pine needles. My right knee found the only rock in a ten-foot radius. Pain shot up my leg as mud oozed between my fingers. I stayed there on all fours, rain hammering my back, mud seeping through the knees of my favorite yoga pants, fighting the burn behind my eyes.

"This is not happening." But it was. I was lost in the Montana wilderness, soaked through, covered in mud and tree sap, with no phone signal and no idea which direction led to civilization. Or my car. Or anywhere that wasn't here. The camp would start without me. Mandy would think I'd flaked. Those kids wouldn't learn about constellations or make s'mores or—

A branch snapped behind me. The sound was different from the rain and wind—deliberate.

I froze, still on my hands and knees like I was searching for contact lenses in the mud. Another snap, closer. My mind cycled through every possible woodland danger: bears, mountain lions, wolves, serial killers who specifically targeted nerdy science teachers with poor navigation skills.

Slowly, I turned my head.

A man stood ten feet away, and my brain short-circuited trying to process what I was seeing. He was massive—well over six feet—with shoulders that blocked out what little gray light filtered through the trees. Rain ran in rivulets down his bare chest, following the lines of muscle that belonged on an anatomy textbook page labeledExamples of Perfection. His hair, darkened by water to the color of wet bark, hung past his collar—if he'd been wearing a shirt to have a collar. A full beard covered the lower half of his face, dripping steadily. But it was the axe in his hand that really commanded attention. Not a hatchet or camping tool, but an honest-to-god axe with a worn wooden handle and a blade that caught what little light remained.

Green eyes, pale as winter sage, studied me with an expression I couldn't read.

We stared at each other. Me, on all fours in the mud like I was bowing to the forest gods. Him, standing there shirtless with an axe like some kind of wilderness fever dream that would either save me or end very badly. My heart pounded in my chest, and not entirely from fear.

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