Page 5 of Mountain Man Crush
“I get that you like to do the whole hermit thing, but when someone saves your life, you should at least say thank you,” I tease, trying to ease the tension.
His head swings in my direction. “Saving my life? I think you’re being a little dramatic, don’t you?”
I roll my eyes as a long breath leaves my lips. “No, you would’ve frozen to death. It’s literally below freezing and we’re in a snowstorm.”
He waves his hand through the air. “I’ve lived on top of this mountain for years. I know what a snowstorm is. I know what to do if I get trapped out in it. I’ve been living off the land since before you moved here. I hunt my own meat. I grow my own fruits and vegetables. You don’t think I know how to stay alive?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich, coming from a woman who won’t even chop her own wood.”
My nose wrinkles. “How do you know I don’t chop my own wood?”
“Well, I’ve never once seen you do it. Oh, and I’ve seen Mr. Potter bringing loads of wood to your house in that noisy-ass truck he drives.”
I scoff. “That’s beside the point,” I argue.
“How is that beside the point? I think if we were stuck out in a snowstorm, I wouldn’t be the one who’d die first.”
I make a quick turn into his driveway. “You’re home. Thanks for the great conversation,” I say, almost punching the button to open the trunk.
“Thanks for the ride,” he says, climbing out quickly and slamming the door.
I keep my eye on the rearview mirror, watching for when the trunk closes. It finally does and I shift into reverse as I watch him lug his gas cans up onto the porch. The windows rattle when he walks into the house and slams the door.
I let out a long sigh. God, he’s infuriating. What happened to a simple thank you and polite conversation? You’d think with the way he was acting that I’d tried to kill him. All I wanted to do was help him get out of this storm.
Ugh, this storm. This stupid storm. If it wasn’t for the weather, I would’ve spent my entire day inside and never would’ve spoken to this infuriating man. Feeling stupid and guilty at the same time, I quickly write my cell phone number onto a piece of paper. Opening the door, I rush up his porch and knock on his front door.
Moments later, he’s pulling it open. His hat is gone, showing his long dark hair. His coat and shirt are gone too and it’s easy to see how much exercise he gets by chopping all that wood. His pecs are big and hard, and his stomach is like a washboard with that V between his hips. I bite my cheek to get myself to focus.
“Here’s my number. If something comes up and you need anything, call me. I’ve got plenty of water, I have two bundles of firewood, and plenty of food. Don’t be too proud to ask for help.” I stuff the piece of paper into his hand and turn to leave. I climb behind the wheel of the car and shift into reverse again, this time actually backing out and making my way home.
Chapter Four
JACK
You’d think this piece of paper in my palm is some alien object by the way I’m studying it. I look up in time to see her run back to her car. She climbs into the driver’s seat and shifts into reverse. She hits the gas a little too hard in her need to escape me, and her tires spin in the snow. They finally catch some traction and take her backward. She slams on the brakes then shifts into drive. Moments later, she’s headed back up the mountain.
The freezing air blows over my bare chest and I turn around and go inside, shutting the door behind me. I toss the piece of paper onto the coffee table and head into the kitchen where I make a hot pot of coffee to warm me. As it brews, I can’t help but think about her and her persistence. Why was it such a big deal to leave me in my truck? The second the snow let up, I would’ve walked to the garage or even the gas station. I would’ve been able to get the belt I need, and I’d have my truck home right now rather than leaving it sitting on the side of the road for anyone to hit or break into.
I take my coffee to the living room and I sit on the couch. A shiver rushes through me and I lean forward and toss a couple more pieces of wood onto the fire. Sitting back, I take a sip of coffee and grab my book off the end table. I open it to where I left off and start reading. I read the first few paragraphs, but my mind keeps wandering back to that car.
As annoyed as I was by her, I must admit that was the most interesting conversation I’ve had in a really long time. It doesn’t hurt that she’s nice to look at. Her green eyes burned hotter every time I challenged her. Her messy, blonde hair was pulled through the hole in the top of her hat, and the tip of her nose was pink. Either from cold or anger, but I like to think because of me. Her plump lips were glossy and shining, and when I’d say something she didn’t like, they would twitch almost like she was about to snarl. She was short, only standing up to my shoulders, and she was thin. With her coat on, I couldn’t see much of her figure, but, in my head, she’s got the perfect hourglass body.
I feel my body come alive and I close my book and groan with annoyance. She’s not even here and she’s still annoying me. I close my eyes and try to move past it. I’m home alone just like I like. Why am I still thinking of her? I force myself to focus on my breathing. I listen to the sounds around me, the wind howling, the fire crackling. I feel my heart rate begin to slow and my breathing even out. I open my eyes and feel much calmer. I resume reading and drinking my coffee.
I take a break a few hours later, going to the kitchen to prepare some dinner. I open the fridge and find the fish I thawed yesterday. I remove it and cover it in breadcrumbs before tossing it into the oven with some fries. While it cooks, I go for a shower, wanting to wash this day off of me.
I take a long, hot shower and finally feel like I’ve gotten my body temperature back up. I tug on a pair of sweatpants and check on my food. I finally sit down to eat and I pour a glass of bourbon to warm my blood even further. Dinner is good and cooked perfectly. When I finish, I clean up my mess in the kitchen.
Washing dishes keeps my hands busy, but it leaves my mind free to roam. Of course, it goes back to my annoying neighbor. I think over every minute we spent together today and try to figure her out. We’ve never spoken to one another before today even though we’ve seen one another in passing. What made her want to pick me up? It’s dangerous to ask random men to get in her car and she doesn’t strike me as the type who likes to live on the edge. I’ve never seen a man at her place so I wouldn’t think she’s overly comfortable with men. What made her stop? Would she have stopped for any car, or did she only stop because she knew the truck from driving past it every day?
I consider myself to be very mindful and a deep thinker. I love puzzles and trying to piece things together. Even when I go into town, I like to sit and people watch, listen in to their conversations and try to figure out why they do the things they do. Most people are easy, driven by power, money, or sex, but my annoying little neighbor is tougher to crack. She’s living alone up on a mountain, so power and money don’t fit. She seemed more angry at me than attracted to me, so sex doesn’t fit either.
I let out a sigh and shake my head, asking myself why it even matters. She’s inserted herself into my life and now I’m just trying to work around the room she’s taking up in my head. Once I figure her out, I’ll tire of her just like I have with everyone else in town.
I finish cleaning up the kitchen and I turn off the light, heading back into the living room. Before taking my place back on the couch, I pull back the curtain and gaze outside. It’s damn near a complete whiteout. The ground is no longer visible. The snow is clinging to the trees, making the branches sag. It’s coming down so hard that I can’t even see across the street to the other side of the forest. Being close to the window causes a chill to race up my spine and I decide to throw a few more logs on the fire, making sure it will have enough to burn all night. There’s nothing worse than waking up to a freezing house in the middle of winter because the fire burned out.
I grab a few logs beside the woodburning stove and throw them in. There’s only a few more pieces left and I’m not sure how fast I’ll go through it. Mentally cursing myself for wasting so much time today, I pull on my boots and my coat to grab enough wood that I’ll have enough for the night.
I exit my back door; the icy wind is so sharp it cuts right through me. Snow is blowing into my eyes and sticking to my beard as I make my way down the back porch and to the side of the house where I stack up the wood I split. I pull back the tarp and grab as many pieces as I can hold. I take them back into the house and go for another load just to be safe. I carry the second load into the house, then go back out to secure the tarp, not wanting my wood to get wet. Wet wood doesn’t burn.
