Page 36 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

The drive back to the cabin takes longer than usual in the dark. I pull up to the cabin almost an hour later and grab the grocery bags off the seat beside me. The cabin is dark, inside and out. I didn’t expect to be gone so long.

Normally, I love the quiet of this place, especially after spending time in town. But right now, the quiet is putting me on edge. There’s no drizzle of rain, no thunder overhead, no Abby.

I try not to think about her, but every single thing reminds me of her in some way. The box of oatmeal on the counter, the Smokey the Bear t-shirt crumpled up on the floor, the indent in the pillow beside me as I lay in bed.

After a restless night of very little sleep, I walk the trail to see how much damage the storm did. After a mile or so, I can tell it’s enough damage to keep me busy repairing the trail, signs, and fences for the rest of the month.

I reach the shelter – the one I found Abby huddled inside of – and realize that even the shelters are going to need some help after the storm. But all I can think of is her.

The walk back to my cabin reminds me of carrying her through the rain. I replay the whole thing in my head. Inside the cabin, I think of her waking up in my bed and getting pissed at me over the beef broth I tried to give her.

And suddenly, there I am – smiling like an idiot in the middle of my cabin while my chest aches with the memory of her.

I have to get out of here.

When I pull up to the main ranger station, I’m relieved to see a few cars outside. Anything to keep me from being alone with my thoughts. I recognize one of the trucks as Ryan’s, and the others likely belong to the seasonal crew and visitors. When I walk into the building, a few people are milling about, asking questions, and digging through the brochures on the front wall. I manage to get through the lobby and back to my office without anyone stopping me.

Truthfully, I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I can find something to work on – some overdue report that no one looks at anyway or sifting through some old work orders – but I don’t reallyneedto be here. At least not from a professional perspective.

It doesn’t take long for Ryan to appear in the doorway to my office with a confused look on his face.

“Two days in a row? I don’t think you spent two daystotalin the office last year,” he jokes.

Can a fact be a joke?

“Just figured I should finish some stuff up here,” I lie while tapping a stack of papers against my desk to straighten them. I don’t even know what they are. Dust falls off from them, forming a constellation in front of my face. Ryan steps inside my office, one eyebrow cocked, as he looks down at the papers and then back at me. When I set the papers back down, I see that they are purchase orders from our cleaning contractor dated three years ago. Perfect.

“You see the paper today?” he asks.

I shake my head.

Ryan disappears, but returns a minute later and tosses the Gatlinburg Herald onto my desk. A black and white photo of Abby and I standing beside my truck dominates the front page. I’m looking down at her and she’s looking nervously out at the crowd. The headline above reads ‘Portland teacher rescued from Appalachian Trail by local ranger.’

When I glance up, Ryan is sitting across the desk from me with a grin on his face.

“It made the national news, too.”

I groan and toss the paper aside.

“Look on the bright side, man: if you need some female companionship to help you get over this girl, you’re sure to get plenty of it now. This is the ultimate dating profile.” Ryan points at the photo on the front page of the newspaper in front of him. “Every woman who sees this will want to be rescued by you.”

“Just what we need…more women flocking here.”

Ryan laughs and shrugs. “I’d be happy to take them off your hands.”

“I’m sure you would. You can have ‘em.”

Ryan has always been a player. If there’s anyone who women would flock here to meet, it’s him. He has a way with them. I definitely do not. I’d just send them packing back to town like I always do.

Abby is the only exception.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Ryan says sarcastically as he glances down at the old, dusty POs on my desk.

I grab the newspaper off my desk and hand it to him, but he shakes his head.

“Keep it.”

Logging onto my computer, I cringe at the pop-up notifying me that I have 437 unread emails. At least that will give me a reason to hang around the office for the next few hours.

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