Page 2 of Possessive Mountain Man

“You won’t be fine if you freeze to death.”

“I hardly think I’ll freeze—” A fresh gust of swirling wind blows through the cave’s mouth, bringing in a whirlwind of ice and dust with it.

“Elise Marie,” my dad’s voice takes on a hardened edge I haven’t heard since I broke curfew one night in high school. “You may not want to be rescued, but you’re going to be anyway.”

As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. This storm came on fast, and I’m wildly unprepared. I swear I checked the forecast before I set out on my hike.

Well, at least I looked outside. The point of being off the grid was to avoid spending time on my phone looking at apps.

Lesson learned, if—when— I get off of this mountain, I’ll always check the weather.

But for now…

“Who are you sending?” I ask, trying not to sound completely exasperated with the situation and him.

“Someone I trust. Someone who will know what the hell to do if?—”

The line crackles, and he’s gone. I try to get him back, but the dreaded “NO SERVICE” flashes across the top of my screen.

I stare at the phone. Someone who will know what to do if what? The storm howls louder, and my heart hitches as a sense of dread settles deep in my core.

For the first time, I can feel my bravado slipping. For the first time, I feel good and truly alone.

For the first time, I hope my dad’s tendency to track my location has led him to know exactly where to send my future rescuer to find me.

I hope they find me.

I wrap my arms tighter around my knees to conserve what warmth I have. The thin jacket I’d brought for summer hiking isn’t exactly ideal for surviving a blizzard.

My teeth chatter as the minutes crawl by at a glacial pace. Minutes pass. Hours. Or maybe it’s only minutes. But it feels like forever as the cold wind seeps into my bones.

I shift my numb legs and rub my hands together, when I hear a new sound. Crunching twigs against rock. My gaze darts to the cave’s opening.

Through the thick curtain of snow, I see a dark mass of movement.

My heart hitches as the large figures moves closer with purpose. Bundled in a heavy winter quote, with a ski cap pulled over their face, they have a military-grade knapsack slung over one broad shoulder as they squeeze through the space.

I scramble to my feet, nearly losing my footing on the icy ground.

With cat-like speed, the figure reaches out to hold me upright. “Steady there.”

The deep voice is vaguely familiar. I blink, trying to make out the face. “Are you…?”

Releasing his hold on me, he pushes the cap up from his face. I suck in a breath.

It’s Hayes Carter.

Rugged. Serious. Dark good looks that are so lethal, they should be illegal.

Of course it’s him. My father’s best friend. Who else would be close enough to reach me? Who else would be loyal—or crazy—enough to brave the storm to reach me?

“Hayes,” I whisper as my gaze roves over his face. I take in the dark stubble across his chiseled jaw and the intensity in his nearly jet-black eyes.

That’s nothing to say for the way he seems to tower over me. Almost larger than life.

While he was a permanent part of my dad’s life, our paths rarely crossed. I know him mostly from photos. We’ve only met a handful of times. He crashed on our couch once the night before he and my dad left for fishing trips with their Army buddies in the Cascades.

I haven’t seen him in… at least a decade?

---