Page 2 of Her Mountain Man Rescuer

I wrap my arms around myself, trying not to panic. How could I have let this happen? Why did I have to take that stupid picture?

Oh, God, what am I going to do?

Lila will be wondering where I am soon. She’ll be worried. I try to call her again, but nothing happens. I text her. It doesn’t go through. I try everything, holding my phone up in every direction, walking this way and that, careful not to stray too far from where I fell. It’s no use.

The sun has fully set now, sinking behind the mountains. The jagged peaks cut off all the light as fast as someone flicking off alight switch, and everything turns inky. I debate turning on my flashlight, but I’m scared to drain my phone’s battery.

“HELP!” I cry again. “HELP ME!”

But the forest is silent, and I collapse onto a tree trunk with a sigh, taking the weight off my aching knees. I could be in Denver right now, sipping an iced caramel macchiato and eating a Big Mac. Instead, I’m stranded on the edge of a forest with no food, no water, and no cell service.

“I hate the damn mountains,” I mutter to myself.

Then I suck in a breath and cry for help again.

2

WESTON

Night is fallingas I head back to my cabin, hauling the last sack of wood over my shoulder. The storm last night left toppled trees all over the place, and I’ve spent all day chopping them up and carrying the pieces home. I’ll keep some of them and sell the rest as firewood or chippings. I don’t need the money—not with the income I get from my rental cabins—but the physical activity keeps me occupied. Stops me thinking too much.

As I walk, I spy the warm glow of windows up ahead, illuminating the gloom of the forest. It’s one of my rental cabins, shrouded deep in the trees. Shadows are moving around inside as I stride past the white truck parked out front. I can’t remember who’s staying in this one right now. I never meet the guests if I can help it, but no doubt they’re skiers, hikers, or honeymooners.

The cabins are pretty hands-off. There are six total, all dotted around Cherry Mountain. My brother Dane and I own three each—our parents left us in charge of them when they retired to Florida a few years back. We get people in to clean the cabins, but otherwise, there’s not much to do besides email guests the code to the key box outside. If there’s a problem, my own cabin isn’t far, but things are typically pretty quiet, and that’s justhow I like it. It leaves me free to spend my time roaming the woods and mountains. After the confines of the Navy, I enjoy the freedom.

I leave the rental cabin far behind me, following the familiar path toward home. I don’t need sunlight to get me there. Cherry Mountain is where I grew up, and I know every inch of this forest—every tree, creek and waterfall. I could navigate these woods with my eyes closed, but turns out I don’t need to. The rising moon is full and bright overhead, and its light filters through the canopies, turning everything silver.

I’m only about a mile away from my cabin when I stop in my tracks. My ears prick up. I swear I heard something. A cry, a keening sound off in the distance.

A wounded animal?

I breathe as quietly as possible, waiting to hear it again so I can pinpoint where it’s coming from. But the forest is silent. All I can hear is the blood pulsing in my ears…

There!

Adrenaline shoots through me when I hear the noise again. That’s no animal. Someone is screaming for help. I race toward the sound, dodging the thick tree trunks and leaping over a bubbling creek.

“HELP!”

The sound is louder now. A woman’s voice, hoarse and broken, as though she’s been screaming for a long time. I run faster.

“Stay where you are!” I shout. “I’m coming!”

The voice regains strength. “HELP! I’M OVER HERE!”

I follow the sound to the very edge of the forest, bursting out of the trees. A rocky slope rises up away from me, and at the bottom sits a girl with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering. The moonlight illuminates her pretty heart-shaped face, and I almost stumble backward. She’s beautiful. Her deepblue eyes blink up at me, red rosebud lips parting slightly. Her hair brushes her shoulders like a sheet of black silk, and as she gingerly pushes herself up to her feet, my gaze flickers to her thick curves. Every inch of her is plump and thick as hell, and my head spins as I take her in, my nerves buzzing to life.

“Fuck.” When I see the scratches all over the girl’s hands, I come back to my senses with a jolt of concern. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I fell,” the girl says, pointing at the slope behind her.

Her words alarm me. The slope isn’t all that steep, but it’s rocky and the edge is pretty damn high up. If it had been any steeper, this girl probably wouldn’t be here to tell me about it.

“Where are you hurt?” I ask.

She grimaces. “My wrist. And my knees ache like crazy, too.”

I reach into my back pocket and pull out a flashlight, shining it over her wrist. “Can you move it?”

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