Page 13 of Grumped By the Mountain Man

I’ve already done that for the day with my presence.

“Please. Let me drive you. Just give me a second to put on my boots and grab my keys.”

I can tell from the look in his eye that he won’t let it go, but there’s no way I’m in the mood to get into his car. Not after his reaction.

“Sorry. I already scheduled it with the driver earlier.”

“You did?” he asks doubtfully.

“Yep. I was just checking my text messages for a status update. Willis is already en route.”

Willis isn’t en route. In fact, I have no signal. Damn, how am I going to make a taxi that I never called appear?

I'm not... I’ll just have to disappear and wait for Willis down the road where I should be able to pick up a signal again to call him.

“Willis from Thompson’s Taxis?”

“The one and only.”

“Oh.” He almost sounds disappointed.

“Aren’t your feet cold?” I ask, eyeing his bare feet on the porch. He was only half dressed in a fresh pair of jeans, and a plaid button-down he hasn’t buttoned yet. “It’s chilly out here.”

He eyes my miniskirt. “What about you? Aren’t your legs cold?”

Freezing, but tights would’ve ruined the look. A look that got me nowhere after all.

I nod.

“I’ll get you a coat and put on my boots. Be right back.”

“Thanks.” I smile weakly. Today was a disaster. All I want is to get back to the lodge, curl up in my bed, and ugly cry over a love that never was. I’d taken off those rose-colored glasses alright. Then Jaxon stomped on them.

The moment he’s out of earshot, I dart off the porch and cut through some brush. I can’t see through it, but I know the winding main road is on the other side. I’ll call Willis, walk a half-mile, then wait for him. Jaxon will just assume the taxi came by while he was still putting on his shoes. I’ll send him a text once I’m almost home.

Halfway through the forest though, something hard hits my shoulder. Then something larger socks me in the back as I step over a fallen log and nearly twist my ankle again.

What the... I look up and—

“OH!” My nose! I squeeze it, to stop the throbbing pain. Hail. Hail’s falling down the size of golf balls.

I spot a massive oak tree up ahead and figure its canopy is the best shelter as the cabin’s farther away. Or maybe I’m just being stubborn and wanting to avoid Jaxon. Either way, I book it towards the tree’s shelter.

But my boot has other ideas. One minute I’m upright, the next I’m crashing to the ground. The side of my shin grazes a jagged rock, and my ankle turns in a way it shouldn’t.

The sound of hailstones thundering down drowns out my cry.

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