Page 4 of Mountain Man's Muse
At the bottom of the river valley, Josh Reimer halted his horse to watch the morning sun break over the hills. The peaks thrust out of last night’s snow, crisp against the blue sky. In moments, sunlight bathed the icy dell, raising curls of mist, straight out of a fairy tale. Eastern Oregon knew how to do late-winter mornings: pure, serene and wide open.
Of course,somepeople called it barren, boring and lonely as hell. Josh blinked as the snow glare clouded the vision in his one bad eye and reined in the wayward thought with a harshness he’d never use on Bunco. Now why had he gone and thought of his ex on such a pretty day? Probably because last night has been cold as a cast iron commode.
“Could’ve used a hot body in my bunk.” He glanced down at the cattle dog, waiting patiently beside Bunco’s front hooves. “Besides you, boy.”
Wolly wagged his red stub of a tail agreeably but kept his gaze on the three-story house at the far end of the field.
“Something up?” Josh drew his rifle from the saddle scabbard. Closing his scarred eye, he sighted down the scope, sweeping the homestead. Nothing. He had already made plans to check his neighbors’ cabin after the hard freeze, so he kept the rifle in hand as he steered Bunco down the valley, skirting the creek that burbled under the retreating ice.
With the Hunters out of town, he’d offered to keep an eye on the place—said he’d use his good eye, which always got a laugh—since that spot of strangeness last spring had left them all on edge. The unexplainable lights and noises had been the last straw for Danielle, though she’d had one foot out of the valley long before that.
“I don’t want my fifteen minute of fame to be a News of the Weird report about getting mutilated by aliens,” she’d snapped.
“Aliens only mutilate cattle, so no worries about those fifteen minutes unless you’re a cow.” As soon as the words cleared his lips, he knew he’d made a mistake.
She packed the next morning—he hadn’t tried that hard to stop her, had he?—and he signed the divorce papers, postmarked California, without another word being exchanged. Still, Danielle had lasted longer than his brother, Cole, who had ditched the valley a week after graduation.
“This place is crushing me, like it crushed Mom,” he’d said as he folded the bus tickets labeled New York into the back pocket of his jeans.
Josh had protested. “The sky goes on forever here.”
“Yeah, that’s even worse.”
Watching them leave—first his mother, then Cole, then Danielle—had torn at Josh like the spring snowmelt undermined the willows along the stream. But nothing could uproot him. As his father had said often enough before dying (another kind of leaving) some people just wouldn’t see the wonders of the valley. They would always want more, and it was best to let them go.
Josh wished he could let go of the memories as easily as they had forgotten him.
Grateful for the distraction ahead, he focused on the homestead. Vaile and Odette Hunter had built a beautiful place. The huge timbers of the cabin had been harvested seemingly without touching the surrounding old growth, and a three-story picture window flawlessly reflected the valley beyond. The house emerged like a dream from its surroundings.
Vaile had said they might have a few guests, but they had come to the mountain valley to “get away from it all.” Josh’s impression—though they hadn’t been specific—was the Hunters had left some strangeness of their own behind. Hollywood, he guessed, or some other foreign land. They were both stunning enough to be movie stars, though the exotic lilt in their accents suggested maybe their country of origin was farther off. Regardless, they were here now and obviously loved it.
Other than some coyote tracks and the harsh calls of scrub jays, the homestead was untouched, quiet. Josh circled Bunco around back, Wolly at heel. Behind the house, tall blackjack pines created a sheltered space without snow. When both Bunco and Wolly lifted their heads to focus on the porch, Josh thumbed off the rifle safety.
“Okay then, you come on out now, whatever you are.” He kept his tone steady. “I ain’t fond of surprises.”
Bears and cougars, even wolves, prowled the valleys, but Vaile Hunter didn’t keep any lunchable livestock. Still, even something as small as a porcupine could do serious damage if it set up a woodshop in the log cabin.
Josh dismounted, stepping on a circle of toadstools that sprouted out of the pine duff. A dry snake skin wound between the rounded caps, which was odd. Too cold for snakes.
He ground tied Bunco and gave Wolly the stay signal. No sense setting himself up for a dog bath if the intruder was a skunk.
He took two steps toward the porch and the door opened.
A woman.
His jaw dropped. No, not a woman. An angel. A porn star. Some baffling mix of the three. His heart slammed against his ribs, as hard as if he accidentally shot himself through the chest. Which would be embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as standing here with his jaw hanging loose, staring.
A dress of long scarves bound her from neck to foot. The shifting edges only emphasized her curves. Breasts and hips in widespread, man-hand-sized glory, with a sloping dip at the waist like a welcoming pass between summits. Against the pale veils, her hair spilled in a midnight waterfall, dark and shining.
And her eyes… Oregon was known for its greenery, but every hue was captured in her brilliant eyes.
Damn, his mouth was still hanging open. His neighbors hadn’t mentioned they’d be hosting Arabian princesses. His mind drifted to a thousand and one nights.
“Miss.” He swept the hat off his head and clutched it between his hands.
“I’m wet,” she said. “Come inside.”
His heart stopped. “Wet?” She didn’t mean…
