Page 10 of Orphan Girl's Mountain Men

I head inside and look around in the darkening twilight, searching for a light switch. There's one by the door, but when I turn it on, nothing happens. Of course. First, I need to get the generator running. Luckily, there’s still enough light left to see my way around. I find a storm lantern in the kitchen that still has plenty of paraffin in it, and I light it with a box of matches that's handily placed on a shelf nearby. I adjust the wick to get a nice glow, then wander into the living room. Considering how long it's been since my parents and I came here, everything is much better maintained than I expected. The woodwork that's been exposed to direct sunlight through the windows is faded to an ashen gray. There's some black mold in one corner. A fine layer of dust covers the furniture, but not as much as I'd expect from twenty or so years of abandonment. Safe to assume someone's been coming here to clean up, albeit occasionally.

In the utility room out back, I find the generator, and to my surprise, it starts on the first try. Someone has definitely been maintaining the place off and on, including recharging the generator battery and keeping it serviced and ready for use. I set the generator to automatically start when needed and trythe light switch again. This time, the lights flicker briefly as the generator powers up, then stay steady. I blow out my lantern and make a mental note to find out who's been looking after the place, so I can thank them and figure out if I owe them anything.

Meanwhile, I decide to explore the rest of the building. There's a rustic bathroom with a shower, sink, and toilet. Another door leads to the bedroom—the one I used to share with my parents, in fact—containing a big old wooden double bed complete with a massive, hand-carved headboard. My old childhood bed is still there too, in the corner. This brings back memories of me lying there as a child, sleeping like a baby, safe, warm, and happy, with my mom and dad close by. A time when I had no cares in the world, never dreaming for a single moment that the two people I loved most would suddenly be taken from me.

There's even a photograph of the three of us on the dressing table, faded and dusty now, but still entirely visible. My father, tall, slim, and tanned, rather serious looking, but very handsome in a slightly academic sort of way. He's wearing slacks and a cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up, just the way I remember him. Next to him is my mom. At only five feet and two inches, she always looked like a delicate little fairy standing next to my six-foot-two father. But you can see how deeply in love they are from the way they look at each other.

My mother is smiling as always. I don't think I ever saw her without a smile. At least, I'm sure I must have done, but when I picture her I can only see her now with that big smile on her face. A real smile from the eyes, not just the mouth. And there, balanced on her hip, am I, age about two I would guess from the size of me. I'm all swaddled up in some pink fluffy blanket or other, and from the background it looks like the photo had been taken with a flash at night, because the background is darkand there's what looks like a bonfire, it's flickering light partially illuminating a row of what might be pines in the distance.

Grief is a sharp ache in my chest as I remember being here with my parents when they were alive. It doesn't seem to get any better as time passes. I reach out and touch the photograph, as if touching it would somehow bring them back. All those years. All that heartache. And for what? An investigation, followed by an official report. A momentary loss of control on the flight deck of their aircraft, then confusion leading to panic, poor decisions made under stress, followed by the untimely deaths of two young, innocent and entirely wonderful people, along with many others. All very sad of course. All filed away and forgotten now… forgotten by most, that is.

I stand there for what might have been hours, but is probably only a few minutes, my thoughts on the past. Finally, with a shake of my head, I wipe the moisture from my eyes and turn away. I never want to forget them, but I still have my life to lead, and these are memories I try not to dwell upon too often. Instead, I push them to the back of my mind, locked behind a closed door because they're too painful to keep focusing on every day. But now, seeing our old bedroom for the first time in years, looking at the photo of us together as a family, and recalling those naïve, happy times, it's much harder to keep those memories buried. My eyes moisten again, and once more I shake my head to clear the sadness, forcing myself to move forward.

I can do this.

The bedroom has a large window overlooking the property next door, which presumably is the one that belongs to the three hunky men I've just met. All I had recalled about this place until now was its sense of rural isolation. I had completely forgotten how close the little cabin was to our nearest neighbor, but at the time I think there was someone else living there. I vaguelyremember an old man living there when I was a child, certainly not these three men, anyway.

This thought leads me back to them.

God, they were dreamy, even the two who barely spoke during the ride. If I'd been given the option, I honestly wouldn't know which one to choose. Of course, since Reed was the one blatantly flirting with me, I let myself focus on him. Once again, I remind myself it's not serious. I know his type well, and he's the kind you avoid if you don't want your heart broken.

But honestly, my heart's already too broken to care about Reed right now. Plus, it's been such a shitty week, and I could use some no-strings-attached fun.

Temptation gnaws at me, and I decide to take the chance. After all, I do need cleaning products, and it's not like I can stay here with all this dust. I check the time on my cell phone (two bars again here, thank goodness) and I see it's still only eight-thirty. Not too late for visiting a neighbor.

I clear my throat and take a second to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Not that it matters. All the makeup has been stripped off my face, and I look as tired as I feel. But Reed already seemed attracted to me, so this will have to do for now.

The men live on a vast farm, far larger than the little space I've inherited from my parents. As I climb across the fence and walk into their yard I see their big ranch-style homestead, along with several outhouses. In the evening gloom I spot cattle grazing in the distant pasture, and between the cattle and me stands what must be a stable full of horses. They must be loaded. It would be nice to set up my own little family farm, growing a few simple crops. It doesn't have to be uber-successful, but I want to make enough to stay here for a while.

A soft, pine-scented, evening breeze teases my nose. That's one of the things I always liked about living in rural Sudan. Apart from the friendly and welcoming people, there was a lotof communing with nature. Unlike the concrete jungle that was Aurora, everything here looks and smells fresh and wholesome.

I climb the steps up to their well-boarded veranda. Without letting myself second guess, I knock on their door.

I clear my throat and wait for the response, but it's not Reed who opens the door. It's the big guy—the one with the hauntingly beautiful pale blue eyes.

He stares at me silently and I stare right back. His gaze is so intense I can't look away. At a second glance, his eyes aren't really blue. More of a light gray. They're hooded with thick lashes that have no business belonging to a man, and the only imperfection on his face is a nose that has been broken at least once.

"What do you want?" his voice is dark and heavy, almost angry. That alone shocks me out of my reverie. How long had I been staring at him for? His face is expressionless. He almost reminds me of Lurch from the Addams family. I suppress a giggle, but then I see the look on his face again.

"Oh, sorry," I say, instantly blushing at being caught staring at him like an idiot. "I'm your new neighbor."

"I know who you are."

Of course, he does. You moron, he's the one who dropped you off. Can't you even say a simple sentence without looking like a complete idiot?

Yeah, my brain is definitely fried. But he doesn't seem to care. He stands there, looming in the doorway. Yet big and imposing as he is, there's also a sense of vulnerability about him. A feeling of fragility, as if he is only held together by willpower alone, and he might at any moment shatter into a thousand pieces. His blue/gray eyes look sad, as though he has seen and experienced things no person should have to undergo. In many ways, he's like a big, vulnerable child, and in spite of his size andhis demeanor, I find myself wanting to give him a big hug and tell him everything's going to be alright.

"I was wondering if you had a mop and some cleaning products I could borrow. The cabin is kind of a mess, and I would like to get it clean before I sleep there tonight. You know how it is—it's so much easier to relax if you have a clean and tidy home."

Stop babbling, I'm screaming in my head, but my brain does that thing it always does when I'm speaking to a guy who's so hot that it intimidates me. It wants to keep going.

Luckily, he stops the torrent by shutting the door in my face.

For a moment, I'm embarrassed, presuming I weirded him out, but a few seconds later, the door opens again, and he hands me a mop, together with a bunch of cleaning products in a bucket.

Then, he closes the door again.

Well, I think, still standing there facing the closed door and feeling like an idiot.That went horribly.

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