Page 2 of Brewing with the Mountain Man
Not threatening, exactly, but not friendly either. The dog wags its tail, tongue lolling, completely undermining whatever intimidation factor this guy might be going for.
"Didn't know I needed permits," he says finally. His voice is deep and rough, like he doesn't use it much. “It’s public land.”
"Public land with protected species and regulated foraging." I move closer, hand resting casually near my citation book—not on my weapon, because that would be escalating and he hasn't done anything threatening. Yet. "Truffles require special permits. I'm going to need to see your identification."
Something flickers across his face. Not quite anger, more like resignation mixed with irritation. He glances down at his dog, then back at me, and I swear I see him calculate his options.
"Don't have ID on me," he says.
"Then I'll need your name and?—"
He turns and starts walking away before I can finish…jar in hand, dog at his heels, moving deeper into the forest like I'm not even here.
Oh,hell no.
"Sir! Sir, I'm not—stop!" I break into a jog, crashing through underbrush that he seems to glide over like he's part of the landscape. "I’m a federal law officer! I'm ordering you to stop!"
He doesn't stop. If anything, he speeds up, those long legs eating up ground while I'm dodging branches and trying not to trip over exposed roots. His dog gallops along beside him like this is the best game ever.
"You're making this worse!" I shout, vaulting over a fallen log that barely slows him down. My braid whips behind me, and I'm starting to understand why my academy instructors were so insistent on cardio. "I just want to talk!"
He veers left, following some invisible trail that I can barely detect. I'm keeping pace, barely, my lungs starting to burn.
This is insane. I'm chasing a giant through the Montana wilderness like something out of a fairy tale, except instead of eating children he's stealing fancy mushrooms.
A branch catches my shoulder, spinning me slightly off balance. I recover, push harder, and?—
The light changes.
It's subtle at first, that weird greenish quality the air gets before a storm. Then the temperature drops so fast I can feel it through my uniform, and the wind howls through the trees. It goes from still to actively hostile in the space of seconds.
I know these mountains. I've seen what they can do when they're angry.
"Shit." I stop running, turning to orient myself. Where's my truck? I came from the northeast, so if I head—the wind gusts hard enough to make me stagger, and when I look up, the sky has gone from blue to the color of fresh bruises.
This is bad. Spectacularly bad.
I've been so focused on the chase that I didn't notice the warning signs. Didn't check my weather radio in the last hour. Didn't do any of the things I'm supposed to do because I was toobusy trying to prove I could handle a simple enforcement action without backup.
My dad's voice echoes in my head:Pride's not a strategy, Sadie-girl. It's just a faster way to fail.
The first drops of rain hit like ice.
I spin back toward where I last saw my suspect, already knowing he's long gone. I need to get to shelter, need to?—
But he's standing right there.
I actually yelp, stumbling backward. He's just...ten feet away, watching me with those deep brown eyes while his dog snuffles against his leg. The wind whips his hair, and there's something almost primal about the way he stands—utterly unfazed by the storm building around us, like he's one of the huge pines towering above.
"You need to come with me," he says, and it's not a request. "Now."
"I'm fine." My teeth are already starting to chatter, and the rain is picking up, fat drops that promise worse to come. "I can make it back to my?—"
"You're six miles from your vehicle, and this storm is going to hit hard in about five minutes." He takes a step closer, and I resist the urge to back up. "You can cite me after we don't die. Let's go."
Lightning cracks across the sky, close enough that the thunder follows almost immediately. The dog whines and presses closer to the man's leg.
He's right. I hate that he's right, but he is. I can't see twenty feet in front of me anymore, the temperature is plummeting, and I have no idea where I am.
