Page 2 of Rugged Mountain Man
Maybe it really was abandoned.
Please let this be the lucky break I need,I silently pleaded.
An anxious knot formed in my chest as I approached the cabin. I knocked firmly three times.
Silence.
Okay, not necessarily a good or bad sign yet. Too early to tell.
Gripping the icy-cold door knob, I gave it a twist.
Unlocked.
But the door wouldn’t budge.
Bracing my shoulder against the wood, I shoved with all my weight. The door creaked and gave way, lurching open. I lost my balance and pitched forward, stumbling into the cabin.
Musty, stale air wafted over me. I coughed and waved a hand in front of my face. A thin layer of dust coated the floor. Plastic sheets covered a couch by the dark fireplace.
I didn’t see a light switch, so the cabin probably didn’t have any power or running water, but I could work with that.
Venturing inside, I took stock of my surroundings.
In the small kitchen area, I found an ancient tin of coffee grounds, two cracked brown mugs, and a few cans of Spam and beans, several years past their expiration date.
Tucked into the back of the cabin was a bedroom. Just like the couch, a twin mattress had been covered with plastic. Moths fluttered in the closet where two flannel shirts and a heavy Carhartt jacket had been forgotten long ago. Men’s sizes, extra large.
I discovered a small shed attached to the back porch. Various tools and animal traps were suspended on hooks, covering the walls. This must have been a hunting cabin.
Finally satisfied that I was completely alone, I allowed myself to take a deep breath. I would be okay here. Secluded. Isolated.
Dropping my backpack on the kitchen table, I set to work cleaning up the place. The plastic coverings were stripped away, and I wiped up the dust with an old rag from the counter. It didn’t sparkle, but at least it didn’t make me sneeze either.
As the sun slipped below the horizon, I built a fire in the fireplace, using a box of matches from the mantel. At last, the flames crackled to life. I sat back, hugging my knees to my chest.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I whispered to the empty cabin.
Moving in with Brock should have been exciting. One step closer to getting married and starting the family that we had always talked about. Growing up in the foster system, a family was all I’d ever wanted. I watched other kids get adopted, but no one ever came to take me home.
High school was lonely. I was too quiet and shy to make friends. When I developed a crush on the quarterback of the football team—rich, popular, and good-looking—it became the running joke for the whole school. The plus-sized, plain-faced girl had no chance with a guy like him.
When I got into college, I didn’t date, didn’t even think about developing another crush. Love was for other people, not me.
Until Brock came along. All smooth charm and sweet-talking charisma.
Suddenly, I wasn’t alone anymore. For the first time in my life, I was asked out on a date. I pinched myself so many times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming that a bruise formed on the inside of my elbow.
Brock said everything I wanted to hear. Talking about a home, a family, and a place to belong. I soaked it up like the bone-dry sponge that I was, absorbing it into my starved little heart.
But moving in with him had…changed things.
Suddenly, he was drinking more than he usually did. And when he was drunk, he was soangry. Spewing vile things with disgust about my face, my body, about how hard it was to love me sometimes.
In the morning, he would apologize, kissing me sweetly. It seemed like nothing more than a fever dream. Had I imagined it? Was I exaggerating? Maybe it wasn’t really that bad…
I reached up and gingerly probed the bruise that arched across my cheekbone, just beneath my left eye. Still tender, although the swelling had gone down.
Last week, I burned dinner. Brock didn’t care that it was an accident.
