Page 3 of Found By the Mountain Man

I’m in a strange bed, in a strange cabin, with a strange man with a gun guarding me.

I don’t know how the hell I manage to get myself into these situations, but it’s time to get the hell out of here.

I slide over to the side of the bed and pause when I see what’s on the bedside table. A sandwich. White bread with thick pieces of ham and cheese with mayonnaise oozing out the side.

My stomach growls, and my mouth salivates. I haven’t eaten since my supplies ran out in the woods. And those supplies consisted of one apple and some berries that I saw a deer eating and figured must be safe.

There’s a glass of chocolate milk next to the sandwich, which almost makes me whimper. Chocolate milk and a ham and cheese sandwich. There is no way I’m leaving before consuming those.

I take a huge bite of sandwich, and as soon as the food hits my taste buds, all decorum goes out the window. I stuff the food into my mouth, not able to chew fast enough. With the sandwich still in my mouth, I gulp down the chocolate milk. In my hurry, some of it dribbles out the corner of my mouth. I wipe it with the back of my hand as I glance up at the man.

His eyes are open, and he’s staring straight at me.

3

RHYS

The woman gulps down the sandwich like it’s the first food she’s had in days.

When she sees me watching, panic flares in her eyes and she scrambles out of bed. But her legs are weak, and she stumbles before finding the wall to prop her up.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Wow. My girl has a mouth on her like a soldier.

“I’m Rhys Winters.”

Her eyes dart to the gun. It can’t be a good look, but I always keep my gun by my side. It’s a habit from the military.

I lift my hands off the rifle in a placating gesture.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I want to help you.”

She eyes me suspiciously while keeping her back up against the wall. She looks like a caged animal, and a flare of anger goes through me as I wonder what’s got her so scared.

“What’s your name?”

Her eyes narrow. “Who got me dressed?”

Her clothes were sodden when I got her back to my place, and she was in and out of consciousness. I couldn’t put her to bed in wet things, and she wasn’t with it enough to dress herself.

“I did.”

Her eyebrows knit together even further if that’s possible.

“Your clothes were wet; I didn’t want you to catch a fever. I put the t-shirt on before I took off your…” I look away. I may have had a shitty childhood, but I was brought up to respect a lady.

“…underthings.”

The memory of her pale white skin flashes into my mind. I held her up with one arm while I pulled her soaking dress off, trying not to peek at her bra and panties as I slid my t-shirt over her head. Then fumbling underneath the t-shirt to pull her wet things off. I had a hard-on by the time I finished, but I’m not going to tell her that.

She harrumphs, which I take as a sign she’s accepted the explanation.

“I found you in the woods during a heavy rainfall. You looked lost. But if you’ve got somewhere you need to be, you can leave anytime.”

She doesn’t detect the hitch in my voice. If she walks out the door right now, I’ll follow her and find out how to make her mine. I don’t want her to go, but I need to give her the option.

She looks away and wraps her arms around her middle. The t-shirt rides up her thighs, and I fight every urge not to stare.

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