Page 1 of Caught with the Mountain Man

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SIMONE

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Please no. Shit.”

I clamped a hand over my mouth as I looked around the kitchen. Flames shot out of the pan on the stove, and I was feeling guilty for saying a bad word. What the heck was wrong with me?

Water. I needed water. No, water was bad for a grease fire. Flour was what I needed.

I pulled open the cabinets, suddenly spacing on where I put it. It took way too long for me to track it down. By then, smoke had filled the kitchen.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

The smoke detector chirped, only adding to my stress. I ripped open the top of the flour bag. I’d only lived here a few days, but I’d grabbed the basics at the grocery store when I arrived in town. Flour, sugar, bread, milk…

I tossed the flour into the pan, and sure enough, the flames lessened, then died completely. I wasn’t so lucky with the smoke, though. In fact, it seemed like it was even worse.

I coughed and looked around. I needed to open a window. And I needed to shut off that infernal alarm.

I snatched a paper plate from inside the cabinet and headed over to where the smoke detector was. Fanning it didn’t help. I’d need to go get a chair and step up on it. Most of these gadgets had a reset button, right? The one we’d had growing up did, but Dad had always taken care of that stuff.

Bang, bang, bang.

The sound barely rose above the chirp of the alarm. Someone was knocking on my door. How long had that been going on? I’d say it was the fire department, but the smoke detector wasn’t connected to anything. I only had one neighbor up here, and I hadn’t met him. I assumed it was a guy since there was a gigantic black and silver motorcycle parked in the driveway.

With a deep breath, I headed straight to the door and whipped it open, not even looking through the window to see who was out there. Only once I saw what was on the other side of that door did I rethink not checking first.

The guy standing there was big, tall, and broad-shouldered with a chiseled jaw. That jaw was clenched like he was angry about something. He looked scary, but not in a way that made me want to run. It was in a way that said if he was a murderer, I would probably be so distracted by how hot he was, he’d be able to kill me without much effort.

“Your smoke detector’s going off,” he said, as if I didn’t know.

He looked past me into the tiny cabin. From where he stood, he could see everything. The bowl of popcorn I’d had as a mid-afternoon snack while I worked. The cardigan I’d discarded on the chair when I’d headed into the kitchen to make tacos. The still-full wineglass from my pathetic attempt at drinking to unwind after what had to be the most annoying conference call in history.

“I’m aware,” I said. “Do you know how to shut it off? Because I sure as heck can’t figure it out.”

His eyes landed on me again, and I wondered if he was thinking I was out of my mind. I might be since I was almost in tears over burnt taco meat. I’d really been looking forward to my first Taco Tuesday in my new home, though.

“Sure,” he said. “May I come in?”

I nodded and stepped back, pulling the door with me. I realized my mistake too late. He could be an ax murderer going door to door up here until someone was naïve enough to invite him in. But what were the odds he’d run into someone having a smoke detector emergency? No, this guy had to be my neighbor.

I shut the door but stayed close to it, arms crossed over my chest. The early fall chill had made its way inside, but my cardigan was on the chair. And the chair was close to where he was now fiddling with the smoke detector.

“Do you have a stepladder?” he asked.

I shook my head, even though he wasn’t looking at me. He was tall enough to reach the smoke detector, but it was hardly at eye level.

“I have a chair,” I said. “I was about to pull one over to fiddle with the thing.”

Fiddle with the thing? That sounded pathetic. I was usually good with technical stuff too. It was my job. But the sad thing was, when it came to unfamiliar things like smoke detectors, I was lost.

Before I could make a move to get a chair, the hunky guy was on his way toward my dining area. He grabbed one of the old, battered chairs that I’d borrowed from my aunt and carried it over to the smoke detector.

This was a tiny cabin and open plan, so everything was smushed together. The kitchen, living room, and dining area weren’t divided off at all. The only privacy came from the one bedroom this place had, which had a smallish bathroom with a walk-in shower and no tub.

Within a few seconds of stepping onto the chair, he managed to silence the darn thing. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d never appreciated quiet as much as I did right now.

“We need to get some of this smoke out,” he said. “You don’t want it absorbing into your curtains.”

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