Page 19 of Haunted By the Mountain Man
Mornings started with Walt's medications, his blood sugar checks, and his cheerful rambling about guests who existed only in his fractured timeline. Raven adapted to his confusion with surprising skill, playing along when he handed her laminated menus from 1993 to review for the lunch service, nodding seriously when he discussed snow conditions for slopes that hadn't operated in decades. Then we went back to my cabin where we both worked our day jobs, Raven loving the internet access as much as she did fucking like rabbits during down time. Then we’d go back to the lodge to take care of Walt for the evening.
I brought enough gear from the cabin so the room we stayed in felt almost like home. And I got to fuck her all night long as well.
"The forecast says twelve inches tonight," Walt announced on Thursday morning, staring outside. "Perfect for the weekend crowd. We should prep the rental equipment."
"I'll check the ski room," Raven said without missing a beat. "Make sure everything's tuned properly."
Walt beamed at her. "Such dedication. Shane, this one's a keeper."
My hands stilled on the insulin vial. The casual words hit deeper than they should have, carrying implications Walt hadn’tmeant. But when I looked up, Raven was watching me, gauging my reaction.
Shewasa keeper. The thought had been growing stronger every day—every time she anticipated Walt's needs before I did, every time she gasped my name in the dark.
"Just temporary help," I said, but the words felt like a lie even as I spoke them.
"Of course, of course." Walt patted my shoulder. "But temporary has a way of becoming permanent when it's meant to be."
After coming back to the lodge, we tried to make Walt’s room and where he wandered as safe as we could. Raven filmed a few segments during these hours, and helped Walt decorate for Halloween. He'd recount the lodge's glory days with such vivid detail that even I started to picture it—families laughing around the fireplace, couples dancing to live music, children building snowmen outside the dining room windows.
"The Steiners came every Christmas for fifteen years," he told us, buffing a candlestick that would never shine again. "Little Timothy practically grew up here, took his first ski lesson when he was four. Then he started bringing his own children. Such a good family."
Raven recorded everything, but not for her channel. She was preserving Walt's memories, capturing his stories with the same eagerness she showed with her content.
"Why are you recording him?" I asked night after Walt went to bed.
"Because it matters." She looked up from her laptop, where she was organizing the audio files. "Even if these memories aren’t all real, even if his timeline is scrambled—these are his truths. His life. Someone should remember them."
"You're good with him. Better than I could have hoped."
"He reminds me of Gran." Her expression softened. "But he's also just... Walt. Sweet and kind and doing his best with a mind that won't cooperate anymore."
I pulled her into my arms, needing to touch her, to hold her. She fit against me perfectly, her head tucked under my chin, her soft curves pressed against my harder angles.
"Thank you," I said. "For everything you're doing. For him. For us."
"Us." She said the word like she was testing it out. "Is that what we are?"
"Yeah." My arms tightened around her. "That's what we are."
She tilted her head back to look at me, and the vulnerability in her eyes made my chest ache. "My week’s up soon.”
"You can stay as long as you like." I didn’t want to think about her leaving. I wasn’t sure I could let her go.
"We should talk about the future."
"Not now." I kissed her, slow and deep, pouring everything I couldn't say into the touch. When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard. "Right now, I just want to enjoy having you here. Having you be mine."
"I am yours," she whispered.
"Damn right you are."
THAT EVENING, RAVENsat cross-legged on the mattress, editing footage on her laptop. She was wearing one of my t-shirts, the fabric swallowing her small frame, the hem riding up to expose her bare thighs. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot, purple streaks catching the lamplight. She looked rumpled and soft and absolutely mine.
"Come here," I said from the doorway.
She looked up, her eyes going dark when she saw the way I was looking at her. "I'm working."
"I don't care. Come. Here."
