Page 5 of Rugged Mountain Man
“I don’t know you, Mr. Big Scary Mountain Man. You came out of nowhere in the middle of the night to this rundown shack and bribed me with chocolate. I have to defend myself somehow when this turns into some grisly slasher horror film.”
I raised my eyebrows with amusement. I was twice her size. I could easily disarm her if I really wanted to. But that wasn’t the point. If she didn’t feel safe with me, I wouldn’t give her reasons to make that fear worse. Especially since it seemed someone else had already caused more than enough damage to her safety.
“Does that mean we’re locked in this stand-off until sunrise then?” I countered.
KitKat opened her mouth then closed it again with a huff of frustration. I could practically see the wheels spinning in her head.
“You toast the bread and cheese,” she said. “I’ll keep my weapon.”
“Are you bossing me around in my own cabin, KitKat?”
Her bravado quailed, just for a moment. Her knuckles went white on the fire poker. She clutched that damn thing like her life depended on it.
I didn’t know if she had the guts to swing, but I wasn’t about to find out. I’ve learned from personal experience that a scared animal was unpredictable and capable of anything when it was cornered, desperate to survive.
“Whoever he was,” I said, my voice pitched low. “I’m not him. I won’t raise a hand to you.”
“He told me the same thing,” she replied. “They’re just empty words. It’s easy to break a promise.”
I clenched my teeth, stifling a growl of frustration because that’s not how promises were supposed to work. Slowly, I moved away from the kitchen table and out the back door. Using a pen light from my coat pocket, I found a stick in the yard, stripped it of twigs, and returned to the cabin.
KitKat and I regarded each other warily as I approached the fireplace, closing the distance between us. She skittered back, staying out of reach. I knelt by the fire, slotted a piece of bread on the end of my stick, and rotated it slowly over the flames to get it evenly browned.
Neither of us spoke. KitKat lingered on her feet, and she showed no interest in sitting down or relaxing. At least not while I was around.
When the bread was finished, I touched the crust gingerly to make sure it wasn’t too hot. Then I offered it to her.
KitKat took it, sinking her teeth into the bread with a pleased sound.
“Good?” I asked.
She nodded, brushing crumbs away from the corner of her mouth.
“Would you like to sit down?” I suggested.
She shook her head.
Well, okay then. At least she was eating. I would take that as a win.
“Why did you come up here anyway?” KitKat asked after a moment, gulping down the last of her bread.
I shrugged, turning the cheese above the flames.
“It’s my cabin. If I want to camp out for a few days, I can do that.”
She grumbled and looked away. Guilt stabbed between my ribs for being prickly. This is what happens when you don’t spend much time around people—you forget how to socialize like a decent human being.
“It’s my ex-wife’s birthday this week,” I said. “I visit the cabin when I don’t…want to remember. Birthdays, wedding anniversaries, holidays, you name it.”
“Does it help?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” I replied, offering the toasted cheese to her. “Although not very much, if I’m honest. I loved her, but she didn’t love me in return. Some people can bounce back from that. I never did.”
KitKat reached out and plucked the toasted cheese from the stick with a contemplative look on her face. She was quiet for nearly a full minute before she spoke again.
“Mika.”
I paused as I selected another slice of bread from the loaf, turning to look at her.
