Page 6 of Daddy of the Mountain

"Silas?" My voice sounded small, tinny against the heavy wood of the place. It barely carried past the bed.

Nothing.

"Silas!" I tried again, louder this time, but it still didn’t feel loud enough. The empty room swallowed the sound whole.

No creak of boots. No scrape of furniture. No answer.

I sat up a little, propping myself on my elbows. The blanket pooled in my lap, and the chill wasted no time sinking its claws into my skin. My heart picked up speed—not panic exactly, but something close. Nervous energy.

He’d told me to stay put. Ordered it, really. But what was I supposed to do? Lie here like some damsel in distress and wait for him to come back? That wasn’t me. In the city, you couldn’t just sit still. Sitting still meant falling behind, losing your edge.

I shoved the blankets off and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The cold air bit at me immediately, sharp and unforgiving against my skin. My toes curled on instinct, searching for warmth that wasn’t there.

"Okay," I muttered under my breath, bracing myself.

The first touch of weight sent a sharp lance of pain up my leg. White-hot and insistent. I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. It wasn’t unbearable, though. Not enough to stop me. Slowly, carefully, I shifted more weight onto my good foot, testing how much this busted ankle could take. Each step was a gamble—pain arcing with every move—but I didn’t care. Lying there doing nothing? That wasn’t an option.

"One step," I said softly, like giving myself instructions would keep me grounded. "Then another."

I hobbled forward, gripping the edge of the bed until I couldn’t anymore. The room swayed slightly as I let go, but Istayed upright. Barely. My breaths came shallow now, each one measured, deliberate. I’d been through worse. A breakup, a job layoff, my car breaking down during rush hour. This was just physical pain. Manageable.

The cabin opened up in front of me as I moved, piece by piece, like a puzzle fitting itself together. Tools hung neatly on wooden racks across one wall—a heavy axe, coiled ropes, fishing lines. Everything had a place, every item purposeful. Nothing like the cluttered chaos of my apartment back home. There wasn’t a single thing out of order here, except my pack. I was glad he'd brought that with me. It meant I'd have a few changes of clothes at least.

I reached the table in the center of the room, my hand gripping the edge for balance. The wood was rough under my palm, but solid. Reliable. I leaned into it, letting some of the weight off my throbbing ankle. My eyes roamed again.

A wool coat hung near the door. Big. Definitely his. It looked heavier than anything I owned, built for weather that could kill you if you weren’t prepared. Next to it, snowshoes leaned against the wall, their frames dusted with dried mud.

I could picture him out there now, trudging through the snow, face set like stone. Checking traps, maybe. Or scouting the storm’s damage. He seemed like the type who didn’t sit still, who thrived in this wilderness that had almost killed me.

My fingers tightened on the table. The ache in my ankle pulsed harder, matching the beat of my heart. But I stood there anyway, steadying myself, taking it all in. This place was raw. Practical. Every inch of it screamed survival.

Just then, I heard something. Faint, uneven, like static whispering through the cabin. I turned my head, careful not to jolt my throbbing ankle, and spotted it in the corner—a radio. Old-school, with big dials and a scratched-up speaker. Aboveit, taped to the wall, was a scrap of paper covered in blocky handwriting.

"Snowview Rescue," it read. Below that: "Deputy Archer—Local Law" and a few other scrawls that looked like frequency numbers.

I hobbled closer, every step a test of how much pain I could bite back. The ache flared sharp and hot, but curiosity won out. I leaned on the edge of the table near the radio for support, my fingers brushing against the cold metal surface.

It was weirdly comforting, this little piece of civilization in the middle of all this rugged isolation. A lifeline buried in static and snow. If I wanted to, I could use it. Call for help. Tell someone where I was. Maybe even get a ride out of here.

I straightened up slowly, the movement making me wince. My coat hung on the back of a chair nearby, slumped and still damp from yesterday. I reached for it, fumbling through the pockets until my fingers closed around the familiar rectangle of my phone.

The screen lit up, faint but functional. One bar of service. Barely there, but enough. Silas had said I should let people know where I was. It was a good idea. My bestie, Pam, would definitely want to know what was going on.

I tapped out a message with clumsy thumbs, my hands shaking slightly from the effort of standing and the lingering adrenaline buzzing under my skin.

"Caught in a storm. Rescued by a hot mountain man. Safe but stuck. Will explain later."

Pam would freak, but she needed to know I wasn’t dead.

The reply came almost instantly. My phone buzzed hard enough to make me jump, and then her name flashed on the screen. Before I could blink, the ringtone followed, shrill and loud in the cabin’s quiet.

Of course she was calling.

"Jesus, Pam," I hissed, fumbling to answer. "Hello?"

"Ally!" Her voice hit my ear like a fire alarm. High-pitched, frantic, pure Pam energy. "Oh my God, are you okay?! What happened? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"Slow down," I said, leaning heavily on the table. My ankle throbbed harder now, but I ignored it. "I’m fine. Mostly. Just . . . stranded."

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