Page 4 of Mystery Mountain Man

Unless it's black. Or brown. I can't remember which one, but you are not supposed to run from one of those.

Well, that's fucking helpful. I start to look up bear facts, but my phone refuses to connect.

Great.

I tuck it into the front of my backpack, pulling the flannel blanket tighter around me as I glance warily at the trees. I'm on edge already, and it's only the middle of the afternoon. Maybe I should go to bed now and skip the whole contemplation of trauma and dealing with my feelings part.

I've been grieving for half a year now. My friend Kiera, who I met through Pierce, gives me free therapy sessions, and I'm so grateful to her. I know that grief is a process, and it never fully goes away. Some days, I don't shed a single tear, and I can think about happy memories without it triggering a waterfall, but other days, the idea that she's gone forever punches me in the gut so hard, I'm physically winded. And then it's a full-on snot-fest of tears and sadness. Kiera assures me this is partof a healthy grieving process. She says to lean in when those moments hit and honor her memory.

I keep getting little signs that remind me of my mom, and I like to think she's trying to guide me to happiness.

"Go out. Meet people, Mimi. I'll still be here when you get back," she'd say, and I always ignored her, because I knew that one day she wouldn't be there anymore. The sharp prick of tears stings my eyes. It's all she cared about. My happiness.

Three weeks ago, I turned on the TV and tried to watch a murder documentary, but the remote wasn't working right and the only thing I could navigate to was a series we used to watch together. Low and behold, the episode I put on was the one where the main character decided to take to the great outdoors and finally mourned her father's death. It felt like a sign. I had a break between gigs and thought,okay, lead me to happiness, Mama.

So here I am. Lonelier than I've ever felt in my life and wondering if I should instead contemplate why I'm so impulsive.

The trees rustle with a burst of wind. Is it getting colder? I pull out my phone to check the weather app again, but it won't turn on at all now. Shit. I should have turned it off to save the battery. Ugh. I should not be alone in the woods without cell service.

Suddenly, the bushes to my right lean forward as if they're coming at me, and a large, hairy mass barrels down, pitching to the ground with a growl in a pile of leaves and pine needles.

I scream, jumping up from my chair, but my foot gets caught. I land heavily on my hands and knees. More growling and grunting ensues, the branches bow and dip as the creature tries to free itself. I flail around, reaching desperately for my heavy metal mug I scattered in my haste. I whip it behind me, trying to buy time as I get my leg unhooked and jump to my feet.

"Owww! Shit!"

I freeze, turning slowly to stare at the intruder, who I realize now is actually a man. The sexiest man I've ever seen in person to be accurate. And I measure pants on celebrities, so I’ve seen sexy men.

Even as he scrambles to disengage himself from the bush, I can tell he's tall. Like, really tall, with mouthwatering muscles. His fitted jeans and flannel shirt hug a chiseled body. His chin-length blond hair is pulled up in a half ponytail, and the man looks like he lifts weights for a living. I let out a little gasp when his bright blue eyes find me. They're the color of the glaciers Mama and I saw on her bucket list cruise to Alaska a few years ago, and I remember thinking it was the most beautiful color nature could make. And yet, here it is, replicated in the man standing in front of me.

He rears back a little, looking startled to see me, and I suddenly remember to close my mouth. That's when I notice his forehead and gasp.

"Holy shit! You're bleeding!"

Chapter 3

Clint

I reach up and touch my forehead gingerly, then pull back two fingers smeared with red. She got me good. Groaning, I get to my feet, nudging the metal mug she threw at me with my boot.

"Are you out here alone?" I ask, bringing my gaze to hers again, and my heart beats erratically. Her hazel eyes stare at me, and her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. I’ve never been more instantly attracted to someone in my life. She's wearing a black sparkly hoodie and black skirt with colorful rainbow socks pulled up past her knees. Her long dark hair falls in waves over her shoulders, and she has a few pink streaks peeking out at the bottom. Her curvy body makes her look like a bombshell pinup from the 1950s, and I have never imagined any other woman naked as quickly as I did the second I saw her. It's like she was custom-made for me, and I've only heard her speak a few words so far. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, and my cock hardens in my pants. I start to walk toward her, like a mothdrawn to a flame, but her eyes widen, and she takes a giant step back.

"Hold up!" The beautiful woman standing before me puts up her hand, and I freeze, realizing I've scared her.

Of course you scared her.You're a grumpy brute storming through the woods directly for her. She probably thought I was a bear. I grab the back of my neck, embarrassed by my reaction. "I-I won't hurt you."

"That's exactly what a serial killer would want me to think." The goddess before me looks genuinely distressed, and her cheeks turn pink the longer I stare at her.

"Right. I guess I would. I mean, a serial killer would," I correct when she looks at me sharply and backs up another step in alarm. "I-I'm not going to kill you." Oh, god. I suck at talking to women in general, and I'm definitely rusty in my skills to convince her I'm not a murderer.

My sister always said words were meaningless without action, so I take off my pack and toss it to the side next to the flimsy piece of shit this woman is calling a tent. Is she planning to camp in that thing? It looks like a Cracker Jack toy. Damn it. What is she doing out here? I raise both hands in surrender and lower myself to sit on the ground.

"I'm sorry I scared you. My name is Clinton … er, Clint. I've been testing some camping gadgets for my company. I lost my footing coming down the mountain over there." The woman eyes me suspiciously, and I try to keep my eyes on hers instead of roving over her sexy, curvy body like my cock is begging me to do. Her shoulders relax slightly, but she's not comfortable yet.

"Look, Mimi, is it?" I ask.

"How do you know my name?" she squeaks, her eyes terrified with a hint of something else. Something I'm definitely imagining for my own benefit.

Great. I don't think I could come off as more of a serial killer if I tried. I shrug, embarrassed. "It's embroidered on your backpack. I'm going to toss you my wallet, and you're going to take out my driver's license. Take a picture of it and one of me, and then you are going to send it to a friend."

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