Page 20 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

“Hey,” she chides, “don’t make fun of me. I’m just trying to help. We can’t all be beefy grizzly bears like you.”

“A beefy grizzly bear? Is that how you think of me?”

“Yep.” Her voice is strained but perky as she struggles with another sandbag. “You’re big and ornery…like a bear. I even mistook you for one when you showed up at the hiking shelter.”

I guess she really was mumbling something about bears when I carried her to the cabin. And by bears, she meant me apparently.

“Well, I’ve been called big before, but never ornery.”

“Not to your face,” she counters with a smile.

I can’t argue with that.

Before she grabs another sandbag, I tell her I think we have enough. I only hold half a hope that the wheelbarrow is going to make it through the thick mud, but it’s worth a shot if it means not having to carry two bags at a time back to the cabin.

One bag at a time for Abby.

I grab the handles of the wheelbarrow and head for the door of the shed. Right as I push it off the edge of the landing, lightning blooms in front of us, as bright and as close as can be. Abby’s hand instinctively grasps my upper arm, as if to pull me back inside. It’s the worst possible thing to do when the person she’s grabbing is pushing a big metal object through a lightning storm.

“This seems ill-advised,” she yells over the pouring rain.

“Sure is. Hang back a bit, just in case. We shouldn’t walk too close together. I’m going to try to make it back to the cabin as fast as I can.”

Of course, ‘as fast as I can’ turns out to be a snail’s pace. The wheel sinks deeper and deeper into the thick mud under the weight of the sandbags and the rain accumulating in the metal basin.

Admittedly, I lose my temper with it and cuss under my breath. And then again, over the sound of the rain. Abby catches up to me but keeps her distance. I can’t tell if it’s because of the lightning or because of my obvious frustration.

Maybe I am a bear.

“This isn’t working. I’m going to have to carry them back by hand.” I glance up and down at Abby, who is fully soaked and starting to shiver. “You should go back to the cabin and warm up.”

“I’m going to help you,” she says defiantly.

“Abby, you-“

“Don’t argue,” she says, “If we stand out here and argue, it will just take longer. Or we’ll both be struck by lightning before we even start.”

I want to pick her up and haul her back to the cabin over my shoulder, but since that won’t be well-received and I can tell she isn’t going to back down, I relent. I tip the wheelbarrow forward, spilling the sandbags out onto the muddy ground. It’s better if we don’t have to pull them out of a metal vessel.

Abby marches over and picks one up. It’s slippery and heavier than ever with the added moisture. Once she has it tucked in her arms, she tells me to put another on top of it. I cast a doubtful look in her direction, which is met with another defiant stare. I pick up another bag and stack it on top. Her balance wavers under the added weight and I reach out to steady her, but she’s already trudging off with both bags.

Her stubbornness is infuriating.

And sexy as hell.

I follow behind her with two bags of my own. Her pace slows long before the cabin is in sight, but she continues without ever stopping. When we reach the porch, she deposits the bags clumsily on the porch and stands there, catching her breath. Between the slippery mud, the pummeling rain, and the added weight, I’m a little exhausted, too. I can’t imagine how she feels.

Before I can tell her to wait inside again, she’s off the porch and heading back down the trail. Back at the pile of bags, we each grab one. I motion to her with my bag, seeing if she wants to try carrying two again, but she shakes her head. She’s shivering a little now, and the corners of her mouth are pulled down into a frown.

Wordlessly, we make this trek back and forth one more time until we have ten sandbags piled on the porch. I had planned to use more, but the lightning is only getting worse so this will do for now. We arrange them outside the door then go inside and spread the rest of the towels out around the entrance to sop up the water.

When I turn around, Abby is standing there shivering with water pooling at her feet.

Chapter 13

Abby

My clothes are drenched. When I move, they cling even tighter to my skin. And I can’t stop moving because I’m shivering so violently.

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