Page 4 of Lost with the Mountain Man

The thought of his hands on me makes heat bloom in my core. I quickly shake off the daydream, reminding myself that I'm injured and he's just being helpful.

"Thanks," I say, carefully placing the ice pack on my knee. "You're not as scary as I thought you seem, Rust."

He grunts in response, turning away to rummage through a cabinet. He pulls out a first aid kit and sets it on the table. "Clean the scrape, and I'll bandage it."

Rust turns his back to me again, taking out a cast iron skillet and a couple of eggs.

"What are you doing?" I ask, watching him crack the eggs into the skillet.

"Making you dinner," he says, not looking at me. "You must be starved."

On cue, my stomach growls. "A little," I lie. I wipe my knee with an alcohol swab, hissing with pain. I put the ice back on it to dull the burning sensation. "I wasn't planning on being out here that long," I admit, watching Rust move around the kitchen.

He's surprisingly at ease with the simple task of cooking eggs. The way his shoulders flex under his shirt, the confident way he handles the skillet. It's all very appealing.

"You wouldn't have lasted long without food," he says, his voice gruff. "Especially with that injury."

I smirk. "You sound like you've had experience with wounded people before."

He glances back at me, his intense blue eyes meeting mine. "Something like that." He doesn't elaborate, but I get the sense he's hiding something.

I decide to change the subject, not wanting to pry. "So, how'd you end up living out here all by yourself?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

Rust shrugs, not looking at me. "Just prefer the solitude. No people, no problems."

"No people, no problems, huh?" I chuckle. "That's a pretty pessimistic view of humanity."

He turns to look at me, his stern expression softening slightly. "It's not pessimism; it's realism. People are complicated and messy. They bring drama and chaos."

He plates up the eggs and sets them down in front of me. The scrambled eggs are steaming, with sliced tomatoes and a squirt of ketchup on the side. Brave of him to assume I like ketchup, but I wouldn't complain even if I didn't.

The food smells amazing. I lose myself as I shovel the eggs into my mouth. "Mmm, this is so good."

Rust doesn't look up from bandaging my knee. "Anything is good when you're starving. But I make decent food."

"I guess Uber Eats doesn't come out here, does it?"

"Definitely not," he chuckles.

The sound is deep and rumbly and does weird things to my insides again. I've never had a reaction like this to a man before. I feel my face growing hot.

"There," he says. "All good. Keep the ice on it for a little while longer. You'll be good in a day or two."

"A day or two? But I have to get back to town. The blueberries." My voice fades as he gives me a stern look.

"What kind of blueberries could be that important?" He crosses his arms over his massive chest, pulling at the fabric of his flannel shirt.

"Like I said, my boss needs them for a special order. She's pregnant, so she couldn't go out in the woods. She said that there's a patch of wild blueberries that are better than any that she can get from a store."

Rust scrubs his hand through his beard. "Fine, we'll get you some in the morning." He glances out the window. The sky is dark now. "You'll have to spend the night here. I'll take the couch."

four

Rust

I'vedonealotof difficult things in my life. I've seen a lot of shit that I'd rather not remember and been through hell. But nothing has been as hard as resisting Charlie's beautiful curves right now.

Charlie is in my bed right now, wearing one of my shirts, fresh and clean from a shower. Thankfully, she was able to call her boss from my satellite phone and let her know that she was safe. She went to sleep right after, obviously exhausted from her ordeal. She was not the outdoorsy type, as she said.

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