Page 4 of S'more Mountain Man

I extended my free hand, an offer she eyed briefly before accepting. Her fingers were soft and damp, and she was lighter than I expected as I helped her over a tangle of tree roots. She swayed slightly, and I steadied her with a hand at her elbow.

"You hurt?"

"Just my pride. And my knee. And whatever's left of my reputation as someone who can handle basic adult tasks." She glanced down at herself, grimacing at the state of her clothes. "I was supposed to be teaching astronomy to tweens tonight. Not getting rescued by..." Her eyes did another quick sweep of my bare chest before darting away. "By a local."

"Camp counselor?"

"Science teacher. Friend's in a bind. I got volunteered." She squinted up at the sky, where rain continued to pour through the canopy. "Guess the stargazing portion of the evening is shot anyway."

Lightning split the sky again, followed almost instantly by thunder. No time for twenty questions.

"This way," I said, nodding toward the faint game trail I'd followed in. "Stay close."

For once, she didn't argue. Small mercies.

The trek back to my cabin was slow going. Her footwear was worse than useless on the slick terrain, and twice I had to catch her before she went down. By the third near-fall, I simply kept my hand at the small of her back, guiding her around the worst of the obstacles.

True to my first impression, she filled the silence with nervous chatter.

"So you just live out here? Like, full-time? With no neighbors? Or Amazon delivery? Do you hunt your food? Make your own soap? I read this book once about a guy who lived ina cave for thirty years and grew his own mushrooms, but I'm guessing you're not a mushroom guy, you seem more like a—"

"I have solar panels and rainwater collection," I cut in, if only to stem the tide. "And I go into town for supplies."

"Oh." A beat of silence. Blessed, wonderful silence, broken only by the steady drum of rain and the squelch of her laughable shoes in the mud. It lasted approximately eight seconds. "What were you doing out here with an axe, anyway? Besides terrifying lost city girls?"

"Checking the fire line." I guided her around a particularly treacherous root system. "Lightning strikes. Drought conditions. Making sure nothing's smoldering."

"You're a firefighter?"

"Was."

That earned me another brief, welcome silence as she processed this. We crested a small rise, and my cabin came into view—a simple structure of weathered timber and stone nestled against the hillside, barely visible through the curtain of rain.

"Whoa." She stopped short, nearly causing me to run into her. "You actually have a cabin. I was half-expecting, like, a lean-to made of sticks or something."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No, no—it's great. Very..." She seemed to search for the right word. "Rustic. In a good way. Like something from a magazine about people who've escaped the rat race to live their best mountain man lives."

I grunted, not sure if I was being complimented or mocked, and led her the rest of the way. The covered porch provided immediate relief from the downpour. I propped my axe against the wall and unlocked the heavy wooden door.

"After you."

She hesitated only briefly before stepping inside, bringing the scent of rain-soaked earth and something else—something sweet like vanilla—with her. I followed, flipping the switch that activated the solar-powered lights.

My house was exactly what I needed it to be—functional, organized, and minimal. Single room with a sleeping loft, stone fireplace, small kitchen area with propane stove, and a bathroom addition with actual plumbing courtesy of a gravity-fed system I'd installed myself. It wasn't large, but it was mine, built with my own hands after I'd left the hotshot crew.

Skye stood in the center of the room, dripping on the plank floor, taking it all in with unabashed curiosity. Her gaze swept over the hand-hewn furniture, the wall of tools, the books stacked neatly beside the single armchair and finally landed on the small forge in the corner, currently cold but clearly well-used.

"Youmadethis place?"

I nodded, moving past her to the bathroom. The temperature inside was already stifling—July heat trapped under the timber roof, making the cabin feel like a sauna. Even with the windows open, the humidity made the air thick enough to chew.

"You need dry clothes." I gave her a clinical once-over. She was curved in ways that suggested my usual attire would swallow her whole. "Bathroom's through there. Towels in the cabinet. I'll find you something."

She nodded, hugging herself. "Thanks. For, you know, not leaving me to become a cautionary tale for future generations."

"Wouldn't want that on my conscience."

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