Page 12 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

“There’s plenty of food here to get you by until the storm passes. You know how to work the CB?” Hunter nods toward the radio on the desk.

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll be fine. You can reach the main station on channel three.”

I take a couple of steps forward and cock my head at him, demanding his attention. He’s missing the point. “That’s great,” I say, “but I’m not just asking for my benefit.”

He pulls on his boots and laces them tightly. He slides a brown leather belt through the loops at his waist then disappears from view, kneeling beside the bed. A moment later, he’s standing up and sliding a gun into the holster at his hip. I instinctively take a step back and draw my arms across my stomach protectively.

One day, I’ll stop being so jumpy…I hope.

Hunter’s boots land heavily on the wooden floorboards as he strides across the room closer to where I’m standing. He grabs his coat from the hook near the door and pauses to look back at me.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “If I’m not back by sundown, call the station, okay?”

Our eyes catch on each other and we stay suspended in the moment a little too long. His gaze flicks down to my lips, my neck, the arms folded across my stomach, then find their way back up to my eyes. It feels like the sort of moment where something epic should happen – a passionate kiss, a final plea, a declaration of…fondness. Instead, the moment flat-lined. A gush of rain echoes through the cabin as Hunter disappears out the front door, followed by muffled silence as I stand alone in the cabin.

For the next few hours, I busy myself with mindless tasks. I wash my clothes by hand over the bathroom sink and string them up around the shower. I clean out my hiking bag. I read brochure after brochure from the boxes on the kitchen table. I munch on handfuls of trail mix while I straighten up the meager offerings of Hunter’s pantry.

Around three o’clock, the radio goes off again. It’s the same man’s voice asking Hunter if he’s there. I walk over to the desk and pull the receiver up to my mouth. I know how to work CB radios more in theory than practice. I have to suppress the desire to let a string of jargon and numerical combinations that I don’t even understand slip out of my mouth.

Instead, I say, “Hi, this is Abby, the hiker that Hunter brought in yesterday. He isn’t back yet.”

There’s a long pause – so long that I begin to wonder if the man is still on the other line.

“Are you holding up okay out there, ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Alright, well, when Shaw gets back, will you let him know that the lost hiker turned up in the next district?”

“Is he okay?” I instinctively blurt out this question. Something in his tone tells me this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

The man on the line prematurely deploys the receiver’s button and I catch the tail-end of his sigh. “Well, he lost his footing up near Sterling Pass, took a pretty good spill down a cliff. Sounds like both his legs are broken, maybe a few vertebrae, too. He should pull through though. He’s at the hospital now. But don’t you worry about that. Shaw should be back soon; just stay put and pass that message along to him once he returns.”

“Okay, I will,” I say feebly. A chill runs through me despite the fire that roars in the corner of the room. I think of what could have happened to me if Hunter hadn’t found me in the shelter. I think of what could happen to Hunter out there now. The hiker they found was experienced – the man on the radio said so earlier – and he still wasn’t immune from a misstep in this storm. My stomach drops and anchors me to the ground where I stand. I’m not sure how long I stand still in that spot, my mind racing through the possibilities.

For the remainder of the day, my eyes are trained on the windows, looking for any sign of Hunter. I tend to the fire, determined to keep it going for my own benefit and so the cabin will be toasty warm when he returns. I throw together a batch of chili using the leftover beef from last night’s hamburgers. By the time it’s ready, darkness has settled in and I’m left with only my reflection when I instinctively glance out the window for any sign of him. Despite some rumbling objections from my stomach, I pour the chili into a plastic container and place it in the fridge without eating any.

Worry starts to consume me. It’s not Hunter, exactly; I would worry for anyone who rushed out into a treacherous storm on a rescue mission. It’s basic human decency.

Just like it is basic heterosexual female instinct to be attracted to a man like Hunter. Yes, that totally explains the clench I feel deep and low each time I think about last night. It’s just a primal, yet fleeting instinct to burrow in his arms while he burrows himself inside of me. Totally normal.

Just as I make my way over to the desk, about to call the station, the doorknob jiggles to my left and a very soggy Hunter appears.

Chapter 8

Hunter

Fuck this storm.

The rain I can handle, but this is not normal rain. It’s coming down in sheets rather than drops, punishing everything in its path with unrelenting force. Sometimes it turns into hail without warning. The wind is whipping through the trees, toppling some of the younger ones. The forest floor can’t absorb all the water, so virtually everywhere is a flash flood zone. I’ve seen a lot of storms in this forest, but nothing like this.

To top it off, I couldn’t find the missing hiker anywhere. There isn’t a single trace of him, which isn’t too surprising given the conditions out there. It’s hard for me to accept that I have to go back to the cabin with someone still out there needing my help, but there’s no way I can keep searching for him in the dark. Conditions were bad enough in the daylight.

I let out a string of curse words under my breath as I make my way back to the cabin.

The lights are on inside and the curtains are still wide open, but I don’t see any sign of Abby. I open the front door as I’m still stomping the mud off my boots on the rug outside.

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