Page 6 of Owned By the Mountain Man

“Do you ever think about finding a new one?” His question pulls me from my musings.

Rough as it all was, I survived. It’s the one thing I have to remember. It’s over now. I’m not a scared girl anymore. “Like what?”

“You could…I don’t know, go on dates or something.” His voice has a funny note. It’s weird. I’ve only spent a couple of weeks around him and I’ve already learned what his tone sounds like when something is troubling him.

“You mean like one of those dating apps?” I’ve never entertained the idea of doing that. I’ve always been fine alone. More than fine. But I have to admit, having Nash hold my hand while he lays next to me is kind of nice. Actually, everything about Nash is kind of nice.

“Those are cesspits filled with perverts and married men,” he scoffs.

It’s not like I can join a professional organization for thieves. I’ve made most of my money in the art world because I’m reclusive. No one knows who I am, and I prefer it that way. “Then who would I date?”

“You should sleep.” Just like that, he lets go of my hand and turns over.

My hand tingles from where his was, and I don’t even know what I said that was wrong. All I did was ask a question. This is why I don’t people. They’re too confusing to figure out.

* * *

The next morning,the smell of coffee wakes me from the first restful sleep I’ve had in months. Maybe years.

I struggle to sit up, temporarily confused about where I am. Then last night comes back to me, the memories of Nash pinning me to the floor, calling the sheriff, then holding my hand.

It’s the last one that has me smiling, but I quickly shake it off. I’m being silly. I can’t afford to get caught up in anything. I have to get out of here at the first sign that it’s safe enough to make my escape.

Standing, I right my clothes, but I’m still attached to one of the bed posters. It’s keeping me just far enough from the window that I can’t tell if the snow has stopped. I open the drawer for the nightstand and search it, looking for a sharp object that will free me from my confines.

“You won’t find anything,” Nash’s voice is so quiet that I jump, momentarily surprised. What is it about this man’s cabin that makes me let my guard down? Normally, I’m always on alert. But there’s something about being with Nash that makes me relax. Like I have someone to watch my back. It’s a foolish thought, and one that will lead to my downfall if I’m not careful.

Turning toward him, I paste a smile on my face. “I was looking for a breath mint.”

“Sure you were.” He’s leaning against the doorframe, holding two steaming cups of coffee. Both of which have puns about French bulldogs. He passes me the one that reads “bottoms up” with a picture of a dog butt. His reads “Frenchie dad”.

“Cool cups,” I tell him.

He looks good today in his blue jeans and faded plaid button up. He’s rolled up the sleeves, revealing thick, hairy forearms. Those arms cradle his dogs close and last night, they were around me as he pinned me to the floor. The thought causes a wave of longing to go through my body. I want to be pinned against his body again, only with the bed underneath us and Nash panting over me. “Which one are you holding?”

“Frenchie dad,” he answers easily. “Feel the bottom of the mug. Those ridges are numbers. Tells me which cup I’m holding. Trace does that for me.”

I feel an irrational stab at the thought of a woman helping him. “Does Trace help you with a lot of things?”

“Sometimes.”

My stomach lurches because it’s empty. Probably. It has nothing to do with him letting another woman stay here in his cabin. “Is she pretty?”

He looks like he has a secret he’s not telling me. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, but obviously, you’re still capable of finding people attractive,” I answer, my cheeks flushing. When he was lying against me on the carpet, his body definitely responded.

“I find one person in particular very attractive,” he answers with a hint of a grin on his face. Is he teasing me about Trace? Why should I even care? Why does the thought of him flirting with some other woman eat me up inside with a crazy possessive feeling?

I shouldn’t ask, but clearly, I’m a glutton for punishment. “What do you find attractive about her?”

“She smells like vanilla and her voice has this soothing, musical quality when she talks. She’s sassy too.”

I set my cup down on the nightstand. Call me petty, but I don’t want to stand here and listen to him describe another woman. It makes something in my chest hurt and I don’t like that. “So, are you going to unchain me long enough for me to use the bathroom?”

“Reckon I could,” he says and downs the rest of his coffee in one quick swallow. He smacks his lips together when he’s done. “But if you’re thinking of new escape routes, you’ll be disappointed. Ain’t no windows in the bathroom.”

I actually hadn’t gotten to that point, though I admit I don’t want to stay quite as much now that I know he likes somebody. He held my hand last night and he spoke nicely to me. Obviously, this is another reason I don’t get involved with people. I don’t understand them.

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