Page 41 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

“Vacation?” I can’t help but repeat. Are we talking about the same Hunter Shaw?

“Yeah, but I can take down your name and phone number and have him call you when he gets back,” he says with an annoyed huff.

“O-Okay,” I stammer, “It’s Abby Webb.”

“Abby,” he mutters quietly along with the sound of his pen scratching down the letters.

“Yes, and my phone number is-“

The sound of shuffling cuts me off. I hear a second voice in the background. After more shuffling and static, another voice greets me. It’s deeper and much friendlier than the last.

“Hello?” he asks.

“Um, hi.”

“Is this Abby Webb?”

“Yes, it is. Can I leave my phone number with you?” I respond, confused by the abrupt changing of the guard.

“Abby, this is Ryan Ehler. I’m a friend of Hunter’s.”

His inflection says it all – he’s heard about me and he knows it’s strange for me to be calling. My heart flips a little at the thought that Hunter might have told someone about me. About us.

“Would you mind holding for a minute, Abby?”

“Sure, no problem.”

I overhear Ryan telling the other person that he’s going to take the call in his office before the sound of generic hold music fills my ear. A few seconds later, his voice is on the other end of the line again.

“Sorry about that. Is everything okay?” he asks with so much warmth and conviction that it catches me off guard. Apparently, any friend of Hunter’s is a friend of Ryan’s as well. “Is Hunter alright?”

“Um, I think so?” I finally manage. “Isn’t he? You would probably know better than I would.” I laugh a little, trying to diffuse the awkwardness of this conversation.

“Right.” Ryan pauses for a long second. “Well, I’d be happy to take a message for you, or I could give you his cell number if you’d like.”

A little gulp gets caught in my throat. I hope it doesn’t carry over the phone line. On one hand, if I leave a message, there might not be any reason to actually speak to Hunter after all. All the excitement that I felt before dialing this number rushes out of me. The only thing that could probably bring it all back is the idea of having Hunter’s phone number. But on the other hand, there’s no guarantee he wants to hear from me.

“It’s sort of a personal matter. Do you think he would mind if I called his cell?” I ask.

“Not at all,” he says without hesitation. “Got a pen?”

I scribble down the number as he recites it and then read it back. Ryan jots my number down as well. “Just in case,” he says.

“When will he be back? I don’t want to interrupt his vacation.” I’m fishing – unabashedly fishing for information because my curiosity has gotten the better of me.

“Oh, he won’t mind. He’s probably on the plane right now, but give him a call around five o’clock. You might even be able to catch him during his stopover in Denver.”

I glance up at the clock on my microwave. Five o’clock is seven hours from now, exactly the amount of time that it takes to fly from Knoxville to Portland. And Denver was where my flight back to Portland connected as well.

“He’s not coming to Portland, is he?” I blurt out, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment as the words tumble past my lips.

Silence.

Eventually, there’s a sigh on the other end of the phone.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, “it’s none of my business. Just wishful thinking, I guess.”

Oh, dear God. I guess my tale of humiliation in the Smoky Mountains is not over yet.

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