Page 6 of Found By the Mountain Man
Connor's smile becomes more pronounced. "When did you eat last?"
I try to remember. "Yesterday morning, I think? I was so focused on getting to the formations before the light changed."
He shakes his head and moves toward what I assume is the kitchen area. "Can't save the world on an empty stomach. How do you feel about soup?"
"Like it might be the most beautiful word in the English language."
A few minutes later, he brings me the soup, and I struggle to sit up enough to eat without spilling it all over his blankets. Without a word, he arranges pillows behind me, supporting me with surprising gentleness.
"Thank you." I take a spoonful of the soup and nearly moan with pleasure. It's rich and hearty, with chunks of meat and vegetables. "I like your cabin. It’s peaceful." I take another spoonful, feeling strength returning with each bite. "Very different from my world."
"Which is?"
"Chaos, mostly. Constant travel, impossible deadlines, clients who want to save the planet but only if it looks pretty and doesn'tmake anyone uncomfortable." I realize how bitter I sound and try to moderate my tone. "Sorry. It's been a frustrating few months."
"The climate work isn't going well?"
I'm surprised by his genuine interest. Most people's eyes glaze over when I talk about environmental photography.
"It's going exactly as well as you'd expect when you're trying to convince people to care about something that's inconvenient to acknowledge." I set down my spoon, the familiar weight of disappointment settling on my shoulders. "Editors want 'inspiring' shots of pristine wilderness. They don't want to see the reality of what's happening to that wilderness."
"But you keep trying."
"My grandmother was a photojournalist. She taught me that the camera doesn't lie, even when people want it to." I pick up my spoon again, needing something to do with my hands. "She documented pollution in the Rio Grande Valley back in the seventies. Made people so uncomfortable that they actually changed federal policy."
"That's incredible."
"She was incredible. I'm just..." I shrug, immediately regretting the movement when my shoulder protests. "I'm just trying to follow in her footsteps, even if it feels impossible sometimes."
He just nods, but I feel understood. Silence stretches between us for a few minutes before he speaks again. "Storm's supposed to blow through by tomorrow afternoon. Roads might be clear by evening, depending on how much snow we get."
Tomorrow evening. That means at least twenty-four hours alone in this cabin with a man who makes my pulse race just by existing in the same space.
Not that anything could happen. I'm injured, exhausted, and probably look like something the cat dragged in. Plus, he'sa professional who risked his life to save mine. The last thing he needs is some grateful photographer developing an inappropriate crush on her rescuer.
Even if he does have the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen.
Even if his hands were surprisingly gentle when he helped me sit up.
Even if there's something about the way he looks at me that makes me feel like he sees more than just another tourist who got in over her head.
"You should rest," he says, as if reading my thoughts. "Your body's been through trauma. Sleep is the best thing for recovery."
I nod, though I'm not sure sleep will come easily. There's something about being here, in this warm, quiet space with this capable, attractive man, that has my nerve endings humming with awareness despite my exhaustion.
Then he turns away, busying himself with the dishes. "Get some sleep, Mavis. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."
I settle back into the pillows, pulling the blankets up to my chin. Outside, the wind howls around the cabin, but inside it's warm and safe. I watch Connor move around the kitchen, efficient and sure, and feel something unfamiliar settling in my chest.
For the first time in months, maybe years, I feel completely safe. Not just physically, but in some deeper way I can't quite name.
It should be unsettling, this instant trust in a stranger. Instead, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
My eyes grow heavy, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the quiet sounds of Connor cleaning up. Just before I drift off, I hear him settle into the chair across from me, as if he's planning to keep watch through the night.
The last thing I see before sleep claims me is Connor's silhouette against the firelight, solid and reassuring, like a guardian standing between me and the storm raging outside.
four
