Page 15 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

“Well, I have a degree in English Literature and I teach junior high English. What are your qualifications?”

“Being able to read a book without re-enacting it and nearly dying in the process,” he says dryly with one eyebrow cocked.

Hunter scoots by me, planting a hand at my waist as he passes between me and the counter to get the eggs out of the fridge. It’s a casual touch, soft and quick. I shouldn’t feel the heat of his palm all the way in my core like I do.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’d make a terrible cow thief,” I say.

“And I think you make a terrible hiker.”

“Well, that storm wasn’t in the forecast.” The words come out more defensively than I intended.

Hunter glances over at me and knits his brows. His attention turns back to the eggs that he’s whisking together in a bowl before finally saying, “Sure wasn’t.”

Breakfast is scrambled eggs and toast again. We sit at the table, surrounded by the stacks of boxes. Between bites of food, the storm raps at the window and demands our attention. It’s just as bad as yesterday. The only thing that’s changed is my outlook on the situation. It feels like the storm has washed away any traces of civilization. There is only the cabin now, along with the two people stuck inside of it. And strangely, I don’t mind that idea. Instead of feeling cramped and confining like it did not so long ago, now it feels liberating, maybe even protective and safe. It makes me wonder if I should cancel the lease on my apartment and find a cabin outside of town instead.

“Can I ask you something?” Hunter says, drawing me away from my real estate fantasies. I nod and take a bite of my toast. “If you’re an English teacher, shouldn’t you be back in school by now?”

I chew slowly, my gaze still fixed on the window. When I can’t delay any longer, I finally say, “I’m taking some time off from teaching.”

“Right…job problems,” he says, echoing my words from just after we met.

“Right.”

We don’t talk again. When we’re both done eating, I grab both plates off the table and carry them over to the sink. As I’m fishing the dish soap out of the cabinet beneath the sink, the radio blasts to life again. My stomach drops at the sound, knowing it might be another lost hiker that will send Hunter out into the storm again.

I don’t want him to go.

I want him here, safe and warm and within reach. Floating in the same tiny orbit as me. I can’t describe it or justify it. Am I seriously excited to spend the day stuck in this cabin with this man? Something must be wrong with me.

He is a good cuddler though; I’ll give him that.

Hunter walks over to the radio while I am lost in thought and comes pretty close to scrubbing the finish right off this plate. I miss the first part of the conversation until I hear my name over the radio.

“That girl you brought in two days ago…any chance it’s Abigail Webb?”

The voice is different than the man who I spoke with yesterday. I freeze at the way he says my name. Something in his tone tells me he recognizes it from the news and expects Hunter to do the same.

Hunter glances over at me. He’s looking for confirmation. I nod. All this time together and I haven’t even told him my last name. When his eyes linger on me, I wonder if hearing my full name jogged his memory. Maybe he finally recognizes me. He clears his throat before responding to the man on the radio.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“The family called the district office today to report her missing. I’ll let them know that we found her. Is she okay? Do we need to try to get a medevac team in there?”

“No, I think it was more dehydration and exhaustion than hypothermia. She’s recovered now and we can wait out the storm here until the road’s clear again.”

“Alright, the media’s picked up the story, too.”

My stomach drops. Hunter’s jaw tightens slightly and his hand settles impatiently on his hip.

“Well, tell the Herald there’s nothing to report here.”

“It’s not…”

The man’s voice cut out, overtaken by static as thunder crashes overhead. The next few words are blips of static, and Hunter doesn’t bother to try to interpret or respond to them. He places the receiver back on the cradle and glances back over at me. His stern gaze rakes over me and I brace myself for whatever he has to say.

“You hear all that?” he asks.

I nod.

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