Page 3 of Mountain Man Crush
I laugh. “I’ve met your wife many times and she’s always been a peach.”
He laughs. “Right, you must not have metmywife. That woman has been nothing but trouble since the day she was born.”
“Aren’t they all?” I tease.
He laughs and points his finger my way, agreeing.
My food arrives and I waste no time before digging in. I take a big bite of my burger and savor the taste. The meat is seasoned perfectly, the bacon is crispy, and the vegetables are fresh. I squeeze some ketchup onto my plate and drag two fries through it, popping them into my mouth. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a meal like this. I always cook healthier options. I make burgers sometimes, but I never fry anything, instead baking my homemade version of fries cut from freshly dug potatoes. They’re good the way I make them, but nothing beats a deep-fryer.
Chuck and I sit and talk while I eat. I confirm that I will be by in a few days to take care of his driveway, and he even asks about getting his old Chevy truck repaired this spring. I work on my truck, so I know my way around an engine. I tell him I’d be more than happy to take a look, but don’t promise I’ll be able to fix whatever is wrong with it. Smaller jobs I can do. The bigger repairs that require pulling the motor are beyond me, and I always suggest taking those vehicles to the local garage.
I finish my beer and order another while I eat. When I finish, I pay my tab and leave to get back home before the bad weather starts. Walking out of the bar, it feels like the temperature has dropped a few more degrees, or maybe I just got used to the warm air inside. Either way, I climb behind the wheel and start the truck. The old engine fires to life and roars loudly as I pull my seatbelt on. Shifting into drive, I make a big U-turn in the gravel parking lot and hit the road.
I think about stopping at the bookstore to find some new books to dig into while I wait out the storm, but I don’t want to go wasting money when I have an entire room full of books back at the cabin. I pass by the hardware store and see the owner, Mitchell, outside pulling all the snow shovels inside before closing. I honk and wave as I drive by. He looks up with a smile and waves as I pass.
I start up the mountain. It feels like I’m having to press harder on the gas just to keep moving, but the truck is slowing down. Suddenly, it makes a loud banging noise, and the engine dies out. I gently steer the truck to the side of the road until I come to a stop. I put it in park and try restarting it. It’s turning over, but not firing.
“Shit,” I mumble, pulling on my gloves and hat as I pop the hood. I climb out and lift the hood to see the engine. I check the oil; its levels are fine. I check the connection to the battery, thinking that maybe a connection is bad or corroded, but everything looks fine there too. I’m trying to think of what else I should check, but I’m already shivering with this wind beating at my back. My fingers are burning and tingling, and my eyes are watering from the constant air blowing. Feeling annoyed and cold to the bone, I leave the hood up as I climb back into the cab to warm up while I think over my options.
Once inside, I remove my gloves and blow into my hands to warm them. Without the heat on, the cab is losing warmth fast. It’s growing colder by the second. I know the truck has plenty of gas, so it can’t be something that simple. The oil was fine, the coolant was fine, the battery was fine. I’ve never had a problem with this old truck and I keep it maintained to prevent this sort of event. Whatever’s gone wrong isn’t the result of poor upkeep. I hop back out and inspect further.
After a good ten minutes of looking over the motor, I find that I’ve broken a belt. I pull the piece of rubber out of the motor and climb back in the truck to escape the winds.
I have two options. I can either hike back to the garage and hope they have this exact belt in stock, or I can call a tow truck and have my truck towed home, but that will cost an arm and a leg.
Of all the days to be stranded, it had to be this one.
Chapter Three
BETHANY
As I’m driving up the mountain, a familiar truck comes into view. It’s stalled and sitting on the edge of the road like it’s broken down. I know that truck. It belongs to the man who lives just down the mountain from me. He’s a strange guy, always alone, always quiet. I’ve never seen him in town. I’ve only ever seen him out in his yard, chopping wood as I would drive by. I’ve never talked to him and don’t know his name, but if he needs help, I can’t leave him.
What if he’s some kind of serial killer?I wonder as I pull up.Oh my, Bethany. You’ve spent too much time watching scary movies. If he was a killer, he probably would’ve already killed you by now since you live right next door.
I pull my car over in front of his and rush up to his window. I knock a couple of times and he rolls his window down. His blue eyes meet mine and it feels like they’ve cut right through me.
“Do you need help?”
He runs his hand over his dark beard. “Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. My truck broke a belt, so it’s an easy fix.”
“Are you sure? I can drop you off on my way home. It’s not a problem at all.”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Thanks again, but I’m fine.”
I don’t know what to say to this man. I don’t know him, but I know I don’t want to leave him alone on the side of the road before a big storm only to find out that he froze to death. On the other hand, he’s a grown man and I can’t exactly make him come with me.
“Are you sure?” I ask, giving him one last chance.
“I’m sure, thank you.” Without another word, he rolls up the window and I’m left standing in the cold. Shaking my head, I start back for my car, climbing behind the wheel.
I shift into drive and start moving on, looking into my rearview mirror as I go. I feel guilty. It’s freezing outside and the weather is only going to get worse. The temperature is dropping quickly and the sky is getting darker and darker. It’s only a matter of time before the snow starts falling.
With a sigh, I round the curve and he’s no longer in sight. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Wrong. I can’t stop thinking of him the whole way home. I tell myself to move on. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. I finally make it home just as the snow starts to fall.
I carry all my things into the house in several trips. I leave the firewood out on my screened-in front porch and bring all the groceries into the house, setting them on the kitchen table. A shiver runs over me and I throw another log on the fire before I finish putting my things away. The fridge is full, the cabinets are stocked, and I should have everything I need to ride out this storm. I put my dinner in the oven to help it stay warm, and keep the pie on the counter.
I walk back into the living room and start putting my coat and purse back up on the hook. That’s when my eyes fall to the window. There’s already a blanket of white snow on the ground. I growl to myself as I tug my coat back on and grab my purse. I’m seething mad. Why couldn’t he just accept the ride home, so I’d know he’s safe? Instead, I’m going back out in this weather to talk some sense into a full-grown man.
