Page 8 of Curves for the Mountain Man

“Afraid of them? No, they’re a part of who you are. What you’ve been through.”

He nods, a strange look in his eyes. “Most people don’t want to go near them. They don’t want a reminder of the unpleasant, ugly parts of life.”

“Is that why, do you think?” I ask, our eyes searing into each other. “I think they don’t want to be confronted with the sacrifices that have been made on their behalf.”

“You may be right, but not in my case. I don’t know who the fuck I made this sacrifice for, to be honest. Not good people, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story I’m not at liberty to tell. Suffice it to say, at the intersection of power, politics, and money, the unspeakable can happen.”

Questions race through my head. “Did this happen in the military? Or doing something else?”

“Black ops. Military contracting. Where things go from black and white to the murkiest gray.”

“I understand,” I say, pursing my lips.

“If anybody else on the face of this Earth said that to me, apart from someone I served with, I’d know they were bullshitting me. But clearly, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” I say quietly. “My dad’s involved in stuff like that. His favorite saying is, ‘That’s on a need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know.’”

He nods.

Our eyes lock, and time stands still.

Suddenly, Roscoe rasps, “I better get on building that fire. Are you okay now?”

My insides quiver, but I take a deep, cleansing breath, remembering how he calmed me. “Yes, thank you.”

He nods, grim determination written in his eyes.

“Can I help?” I ask, trying not to sound clingy but desperate to stay near him.

“I need you to stay warm, Ginger. I’ll be back before you know it. Remember to use the breathing that I showed you if you need it.”

I nod, trying to smile as he exits the cave. I wrap my arms around my shins, resting my chest on my knees to conserve body heat. Despite my best efforts, flittering thoughts invade my mind.

What if my rescuer doesn’t come back? Or he gets hurt, lost, or killed?

Improbable imaginings flood my chest and stomach with black dread. My pulse accelerates, leaving me light-headed. My survival is tied to a virtual stranger…

After a moment’s panic, I breathe deeply, soaking in the gratitude of my rescue. Mere hours ago, death was my only hope. Now, I have Roscoe.

Chapter

Four

ROSCOE

My head spins, and my heart races as I work against time to give Ginger the best chance of survival. We have a decent shelter against the blizzard dropping fat snowflakes. But we need a fire to stay warm and ward off whatever uses this spot as a den.

The need in Ginger’s eyes animates me, transforming me from a man ready to end it all to one hellbent on survival. It’s the strangest shift in consciousness I’ve ever experienced. But knowing there’s another living, breathing human depending on me changes everything.

The cold bites my naked skin and damp boxers as I gather boughs to lay on the ground for a bed and more to pile on top of us. It takes several trips, struggling against the snowy squall, as I leave everything near the hidden passageway to the cave so that I can minimize the back and forth in case anybody’s watching.

I don’t sense anyone or anything, a heartening sign. Thanks to special forces training and hunting, I’ve honed the ability to feel the energy of those watching me, whether animal or human. I rely on this skill now to reassure myself that we’ve slipped the kidnapper’s noose. Besides, he’d have to be crazy to continue searching in this weather.

More than thoughts of the perp, however, my mind gravitates to Ginger. The forced intimacy of our meeting means I already know her with four of my five senses. The sight of her makes my breath catch in my throat, and my chest aches with an acute yearning I haven’t felt in years. And never so strong.

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