Page 4 of The Silent Mountain Man

It's as wet as I am, so I do my best to dry it off a little, then unlock it. The screen comes to life, but dammit, there's no reception.

"Because of course there isn't."

I stand up and take a few steps, waving the phone around every which way because everyone knows that's how you get a signal, right?

It's no use. Reception on the mountain has always been patchy at best, and I'm not even anywhere near the small town of Thickehead.

I'm shit out of luck, that's what I am.

No car. No cellphone. No human soul around for miles.

I shiver. I'm also saturated and starting to get cold. The warm rain doesn't feel so warm anymore. I rub my wet hands up and down my wet arms but it does nothing to heat me up.

"Great. All I need now is for some crazy serial killer to show up and chop me up into pieces."

And right on cue, an old-school red pickup truck comes into view.

I shake my fist at the angry-looking sky. "I was kidding. Come on. Give me a break."

The truck gets closer. My heart starts thumping. This could be really bad. I'm all alone out here with no way of calling for help or escaping. If whoever is in that pickup is bad news, I'm done for.

The vehicle comes to a stop about thirty feet away from me.

Panic shoots through me, but what can I do? I can't run. The wreckage caused by the mudslide is behind me, and the vehicle is blocking the only way out.

I could scream, but who'd hear me?

The door opens.

A pair of black boots hits the ground.

I start open-mouth breathing, my mind racing with all sorts of nightmare scenarios.

Note to future self should I make it out of this alive: stop watching serial killer documentaries on Netflix before long road trips. My already overactive imagination doesn't need the extra help.

The person, a man, steps out from behind the door and into view. I almost choke on the rain.

He's not just any man. He's pure mountain man perfection.

The rain soaks him in a few seconds, causing his red-and-black flannel shirt to mold to his perfectly sculpted chest, broad shoulders, and big biceps. He's left the top few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a hint of hair and golden skin.

He swipes a hand through his long, wavy, and now wet dark-brown hair, causing his bicep to flex. That's when I notice his thick, veiny forearms.

"Universe, you are really testing me today," I murmur under my breath.

I can't recall when or where it started, but I have a thing for veiny forearms…as well asotherveiny appendages. It just…works for me, okay?

He starts walking toward me. "What are you doing out here?"

His deep voice cuts through the rain.

"Oh, you know, just enjoying the view."

He doesn't say anything, but he stops walking. His eyes rake over me, and it's like they have hands because I swear I canfeelhis gaze gliding over my wet skin.

His dark eyes narrow, and for a split second, I get struck by a sense of déjà vu. Not of having experienced this moment before, because, hello, I think I'd remember, but ofhim.

Which is impossible, because I'd also definitely remember if I'd ever run into this mountain of a man before.

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