Page 2 of My Protective Mountain Man

The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m out here trying to build a luxury ski resort, and I can’t even survive the forest for half a day in summer. If this resort ever gets built, the first thing we’re installing is a pool for the summer. And some street signs.

I stand, brush myself off, and keep walking. And if I don’t find Everest Smith or my car before nightfall, I’ll be sleeping out here too.

Every step feels like I’m dragging boulders instead of feet. My blouse is plastered to my skin, my bra soaked through. Sweat drips from my forehead into my eyes, stinging like fire. I can barely see straight. Everything is bright and too loud—cicadas screaming in the trees, the pounding of my own pulse in my ears.

I’m so far past thirsty it doesn’t even feel like thirst anymore—just a deep, hollow ache in my ribs, like my body is folding in on itself. My mouth is dry and coated with dust, my tongue thick like it doesn’t belong to me. My thoughts are sludgy. Slow. Everything feels too slow.

But then—Something.

Just beyond the next line of trees. A sliver of wood. Angled roof. Pale against the dark greens and browns of the forest. Iblink hard, afraid it’s another mirage. I’ve already chased too many shapes through the trees—rocks that looked like cabins, shadows that looked like chimneys. But this one stays steady. Itgrowsas I move forward.

A house. A real house.

I don’t feel my feet anymore. Don’t feel anything, really. Just momentum and hope laced with desperation. I push through branches and stumble over roots until I hit the clearing.

And there it is. Weathered wood, deep porch, green tin roof. It’s not fancy—more bunker than bungalow—but it’s real. A door. A porch swing. Windows. I could cry just looking at it.

I drag myself up the steps, one hand clinging to the railing to keep from collapsing. Each stair is a mountain. My vision tunnels in and out—black at the edges, white fuzz in the middle. My knees buckle once, then again, and I drop to them hard on the porch. My palms scrape on splintered wood.

I don’t care. I’m here. Imade it.

I lift my hand to knock but I don’t think my fingers work. They’re numb and useless, like dead leaves. I manage to stand up and slump against the doorframe instead, resting my burning cheek against the wood.

My body caves. I melt sideways onto the porch with a choked sound that might be a sob, might be a laugh. Who knows anymore. Everything is too bright. The world spins in wide, slow circles.

“Please,” I whisper, or maybe I justthinkit. “Please let someone be home…”

And then it’s all too much. The heat. The exhaustion. I let go.

The last thing I hear is the creak of the porch swing swaying. Or maybe it’s the door opening.

God, I hope it’s the door.

CHAPTER

TWO

EVEREST

The knockat the door doesn’t make sense. It was actually more of a thud than a knock.

No one knocks out here. People don’t come up the mountain unless they’re lost, crazy, or looking for trouble—and I’ve got no patience for any of the three. I’m elbow-deep in grease from fixing the generator when I hear it. Just one hard knock, then silence. I freeze, wrench in one hand, sweat dripping down my temple.

Could be a tree branch in the wind. Could be a black bear nosing around. Could be?—

Another knock. Softer this time.

I wipe my hands on an old towel and head for the front of the cabin, heart beating a little faster. It’s the middle of the damn day in the middle of the damn forest. No one should be here.

When I swing open the door, I don’t expect to seea woman.

She’s beautiful—staggeringlyso—even though she looks like hell. Her hair’s stuck to her face with sweat, her cheeks flushed a dangerous red, her blouse clinging to her like she just walked through a storm. Her eyes meet mine for only a second, wide and glassy.

Then she collapses straight into my arms.

“Whoa—shit!” I catch her instinctively, my wrench clattering to the floor. Her full weight slumps against me. She’s deadweight, her body burning hot like a furnace. “Hey. Hey—can you hear me?”

Nothing. Just a soft moan against my chest and the terrifying heaviness of someone who’s notall there.

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