Page 1 of Her Mountain Man Outlaw
1
SOPHIA
I watchas the fire dwindles, the last log glowing faintly before crumbling to ash. The smoldering remains make my throat tighten with anxiety. That was the last of the firewood, and the temperature in my shoebox apartment is plummeting fast. I’ve been relying on the wood burner all week. The electric heating is broken, and my landlord is taking his sweet time getting it fixed…but I’m not sure I could bring myself to use it even if it worked. Not after last month’s bill wiped out my bank account.
The joys of being unemployed.
Losing my job at the bookstore blindsided me. I loved working there—being surrounded by books, organizing displays and shelves, recommending my favorite fantasy novels to customers. But the owner shut up shop last month and sold the premises, leaving me broke just in time for Christmas.
Happy holidays to me.
Since then, I’ve spent all my time trawling job sites, walking around Cherry Hollow with my unimpressive no-college-degree resume. But so far, no dice. Things are getting pretty desperate. I’m down to my last hundred dollars, and if I don’t find a job before my rent’s due next month, I’m screwed. Or at least, more screwed than I already am.
“Nope,” I say aloud to myself, rubbing my hands together for warmth. “Positive thoughts, Sophia. There’s still time to turn things around.”
I’m trying my best to stay upbeat. Letting myself spiral isn’t going to keep me warm.
Shivering, I grab my thick coat off the hook in the living room and shrug it on, hugging myself tight for warmth. But the cold claws through the layers of clothing, gripping me in an icy embrace. I can’t get warm. My teeth chatter, goosebumps erupting all over my body. I need more firewood.
I’ll have even less chance of finding a job if I freeze to death first.
It’s already after eight as I descend the steep staircase down from my apartment and step outside. The streets of Cherry Hollow are quiet, tiny snowflakes drifting lazily to the ground. Christmas lights twinkle in the darkness, glowing from every house and store, and I can’t help smiling as I get into my car. This town sure loves the holidays. The second Halloween ends, it turns into the North Pole out here.
The smile slides straight off my face when I turn on my car and see the gas gauge. It’s stuck at zero, the needle refusing to budge. I’ve been driving as little as possible since I lost my job, relying on the last of the gas fumes at the bottom of my tank. I just hope it will be enough to get me to Ivan’s cabin and back. If I fill up now, I won’t be able to afford his firewood.
Crossing my fingers and hoping for the best—which is basically how I get through everything in life at the moment—I drive out of town and head up the mountain path. My engine sputters a little as the road gets steeper, and I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. But I make it to Ivan’s cabin in the woods, pulling up outside.
My stomach twinges with nerves as I walk to his front door. Ivan’s always kind of grumpy, and I doubt he’ll appreciate meshowing up so late. I didn’t expect to have to disturb him after eight on a Sunday; I really thought the firewood would last me until tomorrow at least.
I knock on the door, the mountain air sending an icy chill through me. Ivan opens the door with his usual scowl, and I smile at him apologetically.
“Hey, Ivan. I’m so sorry to bother you this late, but?—”
“All out.”
I blink at him. “Sorry?”
“All out of firewood.”
Shoot.
My heart sinks, desperation welling up inside me as I ask, “Do you know where I can find some? It’s kind of urgent. Or maybe I could just grab a tree branch from somewhere in the forest?”
Ivan’s already shaking his head. “No good. Real firewood takes months to dry.” He gestures toward the mountain road. “There’s another guy who sells it. Lives about a mile that way. Has a stand near his cabin—you just take what you need and put cash in the box.”
Relief washes over me. I thank Ivan and hurry back to my car. I turn the key, grimacing when the engine falters. But it quickly rumbles to life, and I continue up the mountain road, driving in the direction Ivan indicated. Snow is falling faster now, fat flakes tumbling down outside, but I fight to stay calm, eyes focused on the road ahead.
“Nearly there,” I mutter, the groan of the engine drowning out my words.
Ivan said it was only a mile away, but it feels so much longer. When my headlights finally catch a large wooden stand at the side of the road, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and pull to a stop. The stand is stacked with bundles of firewood, aflat wooden roof protruding outward to protect them from the elements.
I brace myself before ducking out of the car and into the freezing November night. The snow is falling so thick I can barely see as I grab a bundle of firewood, slipping a five-dollar bill into the cash box. Then I toss the wood onto the backseat and jump in the front, the interior light flickering on. My hands are numb and red, but it doesn’t matter. I got what I came for; now, I can finally go home and cozy up by the fire.
I turn the key in the ignition. Nothing happens. I turn it again, but the engine just cranks and sputters at me.
“Come on…”
I try again. And again. But the engine refuses to start, and I finally give up, banging my head back against the headrest with a groan of frustration. I’m stuck. The weather outside is turning into a full-blown snowstorm. Without gas, I can’t even turn the heating on in my car. I grab my phone from my pocket, unsurprised to see there’s not a single bar of cell service.
