Page 4 of Charming Mountain Man

“Just—be careful,” I grumble, frustration easing slightly. “And stay on the damn trail.”

She smiles again, softer this time, and something shifts inside me, dangerous and unexpected. “Goodnight, Garrett. Thanks for caring.”

I turn away, muttering under my breath, already irritated with myself for how much her words affect me. As I make my way back toward town, her parting words echo in my mind, unsettling me in ways I never anticipated.

I don’t want to care about Callie Bennett, yet as I retreat down the familiar trail, I realize it’s already too late.

Chapter Three

Callie

Three days into my solo camping adventure, I’ve mastered setting up camp, starting fires, and navigating the winding trails. I lean against a mossy boulder, sipping hot coffee from my tin mug, watching the morning sunlight filter through the canopy of towering pine trees. The air is crisp and carries that perfect blend of damp earth and fresh greenery. Something is empowering about knowing I’m doing this entirely on my own.

My thoughts drift involuntarily to Garrett Pierce. I smile into my coffee, remembering his annoyed scowl and gruff warnings. Despite—or maybe because of—his stubborn skepticism, I feel a childish sense of pride at proving him wrong. So far, I’ve managed beautifully. And the memory of his ruggedly handsome face, dark eyes narrowed in disapproval, somehow makes my success even sweeter.

I put down the mug, stretching my arms overhead, savoring the ache of muscles pleasantly worked from hiking. Determined to explore further, I grab my daypack and set off along the trail, energized and confident.

The morning passes in a blissful blur of towering pines and wildflower-dappled clearings. The soft crunch of my boots on pine needles mixes with distant bird songs, creating a soundtrack of peaceful solitude. The sky above is clear, and the sun is warm but not uncomfortably hot.

After several hours, I pause at the top of a rise, taking in the stunning vista of rolling hills blanketed by dense forest. It’s breathtaking, peaceful, and exactly the freedom I’ve been craving. But a sudden, brisk wind tugs at my ponytail, sending shivers down my spine.

I glance upward, surprise flickering through me. The once clear sky has darkened ominously, clouds rolling in with alarming speed.

“Uh-oh,” I mutter, anxiety twisting slightly in my gut. I’ve studied the maps and checked weather reports meticulously, but storms in these mountains have their own agenda.

Picking up my pace, I hurry back along the trail, mentally reassuring myself that camp isn’t too far away. The first distant rumble of thunder quickens my steps, and worry pricks my skin.

Rain falls suddenly, fierce and cold, quickly soaking through my jacket and plastering my hair to my face. The trail blurs beneath my feet, water pooling in slick patches, turning dirt to treacherous mud. Thunder crashes closer now, startlingly loud, making me flinch despite myself.

Another booming clap overhead startles me into a hurried misstep. My foot slides on the muddy trail, twisting sharply. Pain shoots up my ankle, wrenching a gasp from my lungs as I stumble sideways, barely managing to catch myself against a tree trunk.

“Oh, crap,” I hiss through gritted teeth, gingerly testing my weight on the injured ankle. Pain sparks sharply, confirming what I already suspect—it’s sprained. Frustration and annoyance bubble up inside me, mixed with a stubborn refusal to panic.

“I’m okay,” I murmur aloud, reassuring myself. Determined, I limp along the trail, squinting through sheets of rain, heart sinking as I realize I’ve wandered off the main path.

A flicker of panic ignites, but I swiftly push it back, gripping a branch for support and forcing myself to think logically. Shelter is my immediate priority. My tent and supplies are too far to risk in this weather.

Through blurred vision, I spot an overhanging rock formation not too far ahead, partially shielded by dense foliage. Gritting my teeth, I hobble toward it, ankle throbbing in protest.

Reaching the shelter, I collapse gratefully onto the ground beneath the rock, chest heaving, clothes soaked and muddy. My ankle pulses painfully, swollen and tender to the touch, confirming my fears.

“Well, Callie,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my shivering body. “Looks like you’ve officially earned yourself some trouble.”

I’m unsure how long I’ve been sitting there, wrapped in stubborn optimism and waiting out the storm, when a sound reaches me—a faint call echoing through the storm. My heart leaps with hope, straining to listen harder.

“Callie?”

I recognize that voice immediately—rough, deep, and unmistakably annoyed. Relief washes over me, so strong I almost laugh out loud.

“Garrett!” I call back, my voice barely carrying over the wind and rain. “Over here!”

A flashlight beam cuts through the darkness, bouncing closer. Garrett Pierce emerges from the rain-soaked shadows like some rugged guardian angel, his expression a tense mix of irritation and relief.

“Found you,” he growls, stepping under the shelter, shaking water from his hair.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away from me,” I tease weakly, forcing a smile despite the dull ache radiating from my ankle.

He scowls, crouching down beside me, scrutinizing me. “What happened?”

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