Page 9 of Owned By the Mountain Man

Nash frowns. “I haven’t fed you. Do you like soup?”

“Tomato or bust,” I tell him. It’s true. All the other flavors are gross. It has to be tomato soup for me.

He disappears and I can hear the sounds of him rummaging in the kitchen, clanging pots and pans. I glance over at Frankie and Beans. “He likes to take care of us, huh?”

I can’t help but think about how nice it would be to stay here longer. For someone that’s supposed to be his prisoner, all he’s done is show me kindness.

“You’re not special. It’s just the kind of man he is,” I remind myself out loud. I know better than anybody that eventually I’ll get on his nerves. I’ll be too much. I’ll have too many needs, and then I’ll be out the door. Not that it matters. It’s not like I can stay even if he wants me to.

Minutes later, Nash returns. “And it’s finished. Doors are reattached. Friends have been chastised, and now, we have lunch.”

He sets up a small bed table before he places a bowl of tomato soup and a saucer with a grilled cheese sandwich on it. The sandwich has been cut in two little triangles. I stare down at the food on my lap for a moment, blinking back tears. I can’t remember any time someone cared if I ate, if I was happy, or if I was warm. Yet here’s Nash, meeting my needs even though I tried to steal from him.

I dip the sandwich in the food then beam up at him. Too late, I realize he can’t see me, so I say, “This tomato soup is amazing.”

He smiles as he joins me on the bed, having carefully moved Frankie and Beans to their beds where he covered them with blankets. The room is warmer now, and he explained they’d be closer to the warmth coming from the fireplace.

He fed them earlier, one of those premium dog food brands with the tiny pieces that are perfect for little jaws. “This soup is my favorite recipe.”

He reaches for his bowl and settles against the headboard. He spoons some of the soup into his mouth, not realizing that he’s dropped it in his beard. Without thinking, I dab it away with my napkin. The way he takes care of me makes me want to take care of him in return. What would it be like to spend our days caring for each other and our nights making love?

Clearing my throat to distract myself from those thoughts, I ask softly, “Have you been blind your whole life?”

His expression falls, the happiness fading away and I wish I hadn’t brought it up. I wish I’d just kept the question to myself. “No, I was sighted until I was a teenager.”

I let out a breath and go back to my soup. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. I’ve always thought I had rotten luck but at least, I’ve never lost one of my five senses.

“You can ask me your questions,” Nash finally says after some long moments of silence. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“How did you…was it like a degenerative condition?”

“No, it was a car accident. My older brother invited me to go along with him and his friends on a hunting trip in the mountains. We had a great day, drank some beers, shot at some deer. Turns out, everyone is a terrible aim when we’re drunk. My brother—he stayed sober. Always the responsible one,” he pauses there and chuckles, but it sounds pained. “He drove us home. It had been an unusually wet spring, and there was a rockslide. The road gave out. I don’t know how far the truck plunged. Guess it was far enough.”

I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “I’m sorry.”

“I woke up in the hospital alone, the sole survivor. My dad wouldn’t come visit me. Mom flitted in and out, whenever the grief allowed her to get out of bed. Eventually, I got strong enough, and they sent me to a school for the blind. That’s how I learned to function without sight.”

I move so I can be closer to my mountain man. I put my head on his shoulder, my food forgotten. “You were so strong.”

“It didn’t feel that way at the time,” he says. “I used to spend every holiday and birthday just waiting for them. My friends at the school usually had family that would visit. No one came for me. Finally realized they wouldn’t ever so I hitchhiked my way back to their farm. You know what I found?” His voice has cracked, and he pauses to collect myself.

I don’t say anything. My heart is breaking for this man in front of me. He lost so much, and he’s still standing.

“They had adopted two teenage boys, right around the age my brother and I had been. They just…replaced me.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I never went back to school after that, and no one came looking for me.”

Suddenly, what we talked about earlier comes back to me. When I said I was forgettable, he said he was too. This must have been what he meant. “I don’t know how anyone could forget a man with a heart as big as yours. You love fiercely and fully, and you deserved better.”

He slips an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer, until my head is resting against his chest. I can hear the steady drumbeat of his heart, and I’m so thankful he didn’t die in the accident. I’m so glad he’s alive, and he’s here with me. I never believed much in fate, but now I can’t help thinking that maybe there’s a reason I became a thief. Maybe what I was looking for all this time wasn’t something to take, it was someone to run to.

“You know what I miss most since losing my sight?” He asks, his voice a rumble beneath my ear. I want to stay just like this with him forever, curled up in his arms with the fire blazing and the doggies snoring.

He continues without waiting for my answer, “The colors of the sunset, especially on a fall day. The way the sun just turns everything that beautiful shade of gold. Always took my breath away.”

I’ve never taken the time to appreciate the sunset. It always filled me with a sense of sadness, the knowledge that I had to find somewhere new to lay my head each night still haunts me. “If I could give you back your sight, so you could see just one more sunset, I would.”

He squeezes my shoulder and chuckles. “I’m a Southern boy, honey. If you’re going to give me the gift of sight for one more minute, then I want to see some bouncing titties.”

I burst out laughing at the unexpected request. “You can joke about this?”

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