Page 19 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

There’s an electrical current around us and it only intensifies as the darkness settles around the cabin.

My last relationship was short-lived. Ben was another teacher at a neighboring school. We started dating in the middle of the last school year after meeting at a faculty event. It was an easy relationship to fall into and required so little maintenance that sometimes I admittedly forgot all about it. When I thought about the future, I’d just forget to include Ben, and when I did remember, I would just insert him blandly into whatever future I’d imagined for myself as if he were an armchair or a shrub.

That’s when you know it’s not true love…when you start comparing your partner to a shrub.

By the time the shooting happened, Ben and I were already pretty much through. There was no big fight, or even a real discussion; things just sort of tapered off naturally. But afterward, things changed. Ben was suddenly there all the time again. He felt bad for me… and if there’s anything sexier than thinking of your significant other as a shrub, it’s knowing that your relationship is entirely based on pity. After a few weeks of him hovering endlessly in the periphery, we finally had ‘the talk’ and officially ended things. He was a good guy, but a shrub is a shrub.

Looking across the table at Hunter, he couldn’t be any more different than Ben. His presence is quiet but commanding. He’s not the type to be easily forgotten. The way he touched me and looked at me that first night certainly won’t be forgotten any time soon. That memory will live a long and prosperous life in whatever the female equivalent of a spank bank is.

Chapter 12

Hunter

Abby is blushing. I have no idea why.

I wonder if she was blushing in the dark when my hands were on her. Or when my fingers were inside her. In the interest of not getting too worked up at the dining table, I push the thought aside.

When I catch her staring at me, she quickly looks down at her empty bowl instead. I’ve given up on pretending like I’m not staring at her, although I try not to overdo it. It’s impossible not to stare at her. I’ve spent the last three years staring at the inside of this cabin; I know every grain of wood like the back of my own hand. Maybe I’m just trying to memorize her the same way, even though I know she’s not a permanent fixture here.

“Finished?” I ask, motioning to the bowl in front of her.

She nods and thanks me as I grab bowl bowls and turn to walk to the sink. A glint of movement near the front door catches my eye.

“Shit!”

Abby jumps at the sound of the bowls being dropped carelessly back on the table. A moment later, she’s standing beside me and we are both staring down at the water pooling inside the front door.

“I’ll grab some towels,” she says before darting off to the bathroom.

I walk over to the kitchen and grab all the towels shoved into one of the bottom drawers. It’s going to take every towel in this place to sop up this puddle. And it’s growing rapidly.

Abby returns with an armful of all four bathroom towels. I drop to my knees and get to work. The first towel is immediately soaked. When Abby tries to hand me another, I shake my head.

“There’s too much water getting in. I’m going to have to go get the sandbags out of the shed; otherwise, it’ll just keep getting worse.” I say.

Normally, I would put the sandbags out before a storm like this hit, but there was no time. Once I all realized how bad this storm would be, I got the call about Abby being stuck in a shelter and had to go out to find her. This is an old cabin. It’s stood up to a lot of storms over the years, but with each one, it becomes a little more fragile. Last time, it was a leaky roof. And now, this. I should have known that the porch would flood eventually.

I grab my coat off the hook near the door and Abby darts back to the bathroom. When she emerges, she’s wearing her coat and a pair of jeans. My hand is on the doorknob, boots sloshing in the rising water in the doorway as I stare up at her questioningly.

“I’m going to help you,” she answers my unspoken question.

An audible sigh of disapproval leaves my lips. “The shed’s far away and it’s slick out there.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“The sandbags weigh forty pounds each.”

Abby stops just short of me and stares up defiantly. “Well, then it sounds like you’re going to need my help,” she says with a smile.

I get an urge to press my mouth to hers. To say fuck the water and let this entire place flood while I carry her over to the bed and finish what we started last night. The sound of another rush of water hitting the door breaks the spell. I throw the door open and tilt my head as an indication for her to follow me outside.

We trudge silently and quickly to the shed. Abby is trying to keep up with me, slipping and sliding around a lot in the process. I slow down a pace and grab her hand to steady her. If this surprises her, she doesn’t show it. Her face is tilted downwards, plotting each step and avoiding the pelting rain. It feels more like nails tumbling from the sky than water, each one pricking our small patches of exposed skin. My coat is still dry on the inside, but it won’t be for long at this rate.

When we reach the shed, I pull her inside and we both stand there for a minute. The shed is huge – almost as big as the cabin itself. It’s full of tools and equipment for maintaining the trails and rec sites and, try as I might to keep it organized, it’s always sort of a mess.

The sandbags sit in a dusty heap along one wall. Abby trails behind me as I walk over and take inventory. We are going to need a lot of them if this storm continues. I grab the wheelbarrow from the adjacent wall, pick up a sandbag in each hand, and toss them both into the wheelbarrow. Apparently, I make this look easy because Abby tries to follow suit. When the load proves too heavy for her, she calls the bag a bastard and hoists a single bag up and over the edge of the wheelbarrow with both hands.

I pause and watch. I had no idea someone could actually look cute while doing manual labor. She picks up another and lets out a tiny grunt as she heaves it into the wheelbarrow. I can’t help but laugh as I toss two more bags in on top of hers.

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