Page 3 of Lost with the Mountain Man

I was supposed to be preparing for tomorrow's fishing trip, not babysitting some city girl who got lost in my woods. Still, I can't just leave her here to fend for herself. She'd never make it back to town in her condition.

"Come on," I grumble, offering her my hand. "Let's get you back to my place. I can patch you up there."

Charlie looks at me, her eyes searching my face for a moment before she finally takes my hand. Her grip is warm and surprisingly strong. She winces when she puts weight on her leg.

Holding back another sigh, I grab her and hoist her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry.

The woman shrieks.

"Don't worry, I won't drop you," I say.

It's not far from here to my cabin. She's a thick, beautiful woman, so I don't mind having my hands on her, even if it is only for survival purposes. Even though she's sweaty and dirty, her scent is sweet, like vanilla and sugar.

I stomp through the woods with her on my shoulder. She squirms a little, grumbling about her dignity. I grin to myself, knowing full well she can't see me.

"So what's your name anyway, mountain man?" She asks, her voice muffled against my back. "I've never seen you in Darkmore before."

"It's Rust." I glance back, forgetting that I can see nothing but the great view of her ass in tight denim shorts. I snap my attention back to the path. "I don't go into town often."

"Not even the bakery? That's where I work."

"I don't eat bread."

"What?!" She shrieks. "How does someone not eat bread?"

"I have gluten intolerance."

"Oh," she says sheepishly. "Well, we could special order gluten-free flour for you. Or maybe even rice flour."

"That's fine," I cut her off her enthusiastic nattering. "I've gotten used to life without it," I grumble, adjusting Charlie's weight on my shoulder as we approach my cabin.

The warmth of her body is starting to get to me, making my mind wander to places it shouldn't. I shake my head, trying to clear the thought. I'm not the kind of man who goes after women who look to be half my age.

"Well, that's a shame," Charlie says, her voice soft. "Bread is my life. The smell of freshly baked bread is...well, it's magical. You should try it sometime. I'll make something special for you."

I snort but say nothing as we reach the cabin.

My pile of firewood is abandoned in the yard, if one can call the grassy clearing a yard. It's the closest thing I have living out here. The lamps cast a warm glow on the porch. The cabin is small, with one bedroom and simple furnishing, but I made it with my own two hands.

"Here we are, home sweet home," I say as I set her down.

Charlie uses my arm to steady herself.

Fire ignites in me at her touch. No. I can't let her affect me like this. I'm not some sort of caveman. I'll let her stay the night and rest. Then she's out of here. No ifs, ands, or buts.

three

Charlie

Rustissurprisinglygentle.

The burly, hairy mountain man helps me to a chair and leaves to get ice from the freezer.

I look around the cabin. It's small and cozy, with basic furniture. Everything is open concept, except for two doors, which I assume are a bedroom and a bathroom. Indoor plumbing – not bad for a guy that lives in the middle of nowhere. The kitchen is clean and minimal, just like the rest of the place.

"Here," Rust returns with a bag of ice.

I take it from him, letting my eyes wander over his broad shoulders and square face. His hair is dark with flecks of grey and red. He's probably in his forties, older than me. Experienced. His hands are big and strong.

---