Page 2 of Mountain Man's Longing
Just then, a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and throat. This stranger doesn’t miss a beat. He continues steady and unhurried, as if this squall is just another day at the park instead of the chaos currently unraveling my perfectly planned trip. The lantern light catches briefly on broad shoulders and a dark beard, and my stomach’s empty cavern fills with butterflies doing a tango.
Requiring rescue from a ginormous mountain man isn’t how tonight’s supposed to go. I was supposed to check in, get settled, maybe try out the pottery wheel in the screened-in back porch of the rental while I practice what I’ll say to my father when I finally meet him.
The chance to get my hands dirty with some clay is one of the main reasons I chose this place to begin with. Nowhere in my vision of tonight was the image of me, soaked to the bone, watching a stranger barrel toward me through the rain and feeling as if something fundamental just shifted in my chest.
He’s halfway to me now, and I’m gripping my key fob hard enough to imprint the Range Rover logo into my palm. My pulse pounds in my ears, competing with the rain and the sound of his boots squelching through mud.
I couldn’t turn and run even if I wanted to. Plus, it would be futile. There’s not a doubt in my mind this mountain of a man would hunt me down like a bear tracking the scent of honey back to a beehive.
But somehow, I know in my soul he’s safe. That he’d never hurt me. I can’t explain how I know, but the certainty settles deep in my bones. Though, at the moment, I feel as if I’m standing at the edge of a cliff and he’s the gravity pulling me over.
Chapter two
Graham
Usually, my good ear picks up the rumble of a truck up the dirt road and alerts me to a visitor. Tonight, it’s headlights cutting through the pitch black outside like twin blades, slicing through the rain toward the rental cabin, that catch my attention. I snap shut my laptop and move to the window. The invoices can wait. And old habits die hard.
Assess the potential threat. Determine how many. Note what they drive.
Single occupant as far as I can tell. Range Rover. No apparent peril.
Not that I let down my guard. Not yet. It may have be four years ago now since the IED stole the hearing in my left ear and a career I loved, but some instincts never fade.
My gaze narrows on the black SUV as it parks. I forgot the rental cabin was booked for this week. It rarely is, being so remote up here on the mountain. The reminder email must have slipped through the cracks.
I’ve been busy with the nonstop orders flooding in ever sinceArchitectural Digestfeatured that Park Avenue penthouse inJuly. My hand-crafted walnut dining table took up half the damn cover photo. Now, every wealthy urbanite wants a piece of “rustic Vermont authenticity.” Ironic as hell, considering most of them wouldn’t last a day up here.
The guest climbs out, but in the storm, I can’t make out much from this distance, except for the fact it’s a woman. And she’s getting soaked. A minute passes, then another, as she fumbles with something at the front door.
Shit. The lock.
A branch came down hours ago. Right across the power line feeding the smaller cabin. I saw it from my workshop and made a mental note to deal with it in the morning. Now, there’s a woman stuck in the downpour. Locked out there alone.
My jaw clenches. I take pride in my work. Always have. But the past few months have made it hard to squeeze in regular maintenance around here.
My best friend, Eric, told me he’d stop by to help out, but this time of year, he’s as busy as I am with all the leaf peepers wanting guided hikes before the colors fade and winter sets in.
Thunder rolls overhead. With a sigh, I pull on my boots and grab my rain jacket. Offering up my place is the last thing in the world I want to do, but I have no choice. It’s not safe to head back down the mountain now. She can stay here tonight, and I’ll sleep in the rental. Break in if I have to. It won’t be the first time I’ve spent a night without heat or power. Hell, a dark cabin with four walls and a roof beats half the places I slept during three tours in godforsaken spots around the globe. At least here, nobody’s shooting at me.
I snag the umbrella beside the door and step out into the storm. Rain pelts my face like cold needles, and I’m halfway down the steps when I realize the guest isn’t near her vehicle anymore. Nope, the small, curvy brunette is stumbling straight toward me through the muck.
Lightning cracks overhead, and for one perfect second, the world goes white.
Christ.
Even soaked to the bone with dark hair plastered to her head, the woman’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in years. Maybe ever. The flash illuminates her delicate features, an elegant neck.
The way her wet clothes cling to her generous curves makes my mouth go dry. She was moving toward me slowly, with determination, despite the storm trying to knock her sideways. Brave as hell. Until the lightning stopped her in her tracks.
“Y’okay?” I call out, raising my voice over the wild storm as I approach, positioning my body to shield her from the worst of it.
She swipes a hand across her face as her gaze seems to take in how close I am, holding the umbrella over her. Blocking the whipping wind.
When those eyes finally lift to mine, it’s like a punch to the gut.
She’s young. Way too young for a man like me.
“The lock won’t work.”
