Page 1 of Lost with the Mountain Man

one

Charlie

I’msonotbuiltfor the wilderness.

The hot August sun beats down on me through the trees. The heat is unrelenting. I can practically feel my skin burning with every step.

I pause under a tall fir tree, pulling my hat from my head and using it to fan my face. Sweat pours down my back, my blond hair is plastered to my head, and my feet are aching.

"Fuck, Charlie," I say to myself. "What the hell were you thinking?"

I know what I was thinking—the bakery needed blueberries for a very important order, and the very best blueberries were wild, grown in the mountains. This client wanted fresh organic blueberries, nothing from the grocery store, and with my boss taking over the bakery, she was desperate to please.Something Sweethad a reputation to uphold after my boss's aunt retired.

My boss, Clara, is pregnant and in no position to go hunting for wild berries. So... That's why I'm trudging through the forest. Fresh blueberries.

I wipe my forehead and look around.

The trees surrounding me are dense and tall. The air is thick with the smell of damp earth and pine needles, and the sound of a distant, babbling stream is the only thing that keeps me from feeling completely isolated.

"Great, Charlie. You're officially lost," I sigh.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I'm not exactly what you'd call anoutdoorsy person. Give me a kitchen, a recipe, and some flour, and I'm golden. But put me in the middle of the woods with nothing but a basket and a map I can't read? Not my cup of tea.

I pull out the crumpled paper map from my pocket, smoothing it out against my leg. The ink is smeared, and the lines are blurred from where the paper got wet with sweat. I squint at it, trying to make sense of the squiggles and dots. Clara drew me a map of her favorite wild blueberry patch.

"Okay, Charlie," I say, pointing at a spot on the map. "You can do this. Just follow the path, and... and...fuck." I fist the map in my hand, frustration boiling over. I've been walking for what feels like hours, and I'm no closer to finding the blueberries than when I started. The trees all look the same, and the path, if there ever was one, has long since disappeared.

I decide to take a break, sitting down heavily on a nearby log. I pull a water bottle from my backpack and take a long swallow, the cool liquid doing little to alleviate the heat. I pull out my phone to check the time, and it's no surprise when I see there's no signal.

Great, just great.I'm lost, I'm hot, and I'm quickly running out of daylight. Not to mention, the blueberries are nowhere to be found.

Once I calm down, I take another look at the map. Clara drew the stream on it, and I can hear water nearby. That means if I find the stream, I can have a better idea of where I am.

I struggle to my feet and dust off my jean shorts. I'm wearing hiking boots and a tank top, looking like a pink, sweaty tomato. I'm glad no one is around to see me like this. I'll be happy when I'm back in the kitchen making bread.

I follow the sound of water until I come upon the stream.

It's narrow and crystal clear, the water babbling over smooth stones. I bend down to splash some water on my face, and it feels like a cool, refreshing miracle. I scoop up more, splashing my neck and arms.

"Okay, Charlie, think," I mutter to myself, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. "The water runs down from the mountain. The mountain is to the north of town. You know the stream is east of the blueberry patch. So, you need to go... west."

I start walking, careful to pay attention to where I'm going, which is easier said than done. The forest is quiet. The only sounds are the rustling of leaves and the occasional birdsong.

I'm so out of my element. I'm used to the loud hustle and bustle of a bakery, with timers ringing and pans clanging.

I pause, taking in a deep breath. Maybe the wilderness isn't so bad.

Famous last words.

Suddenly, I slip on a pile of leaves, toppling forward down a hill. I crash through the leaves, coming to a sudden stop when my body hits a tree. The wind is knocked from me. I gasp on the ground like an upside-down turtle as stars dance in my vision.

“Damn it,” I hiss out, clutching my leg. My knee is throbbing.

I never cuss unless I'm certain no one is around. I was raised with a family that took the swear jar and not-so-tasty bars of soap very seriously. That being said, if these trees had ears, they would have heard lots of colorful language from me today.

I collapse back down into the leaves, wondering if a bear will come by and finish me off.

The afternoon sun is fading when I finally struggle to my feet. My legs are scratched and bruised.

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