Page 3 of Runaway for the Mountain Man
The forest floor is uneven, roots twisting underfoot, but I leap over them like I’ve spent my whole life preparing for this escape. Maybe I have.
A branch catches my sleeve, jerking me sideways. Fabric rips with a sound like a gasp, and I stumble, but catch myself from slipping.
Above, thunder cracks, and the first fat drops of rain splatter against my bare shoulders. The storm has finally broken, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.
When rain falls, it pours. Coming down in a heavy wave, my curls press into my cheeks as the weather takes no time to drench me from head to toe.
As my adrenaline high comes crashing down, so do my energy levels. The dress quickly starts to weigh me down, and I have to take a minute to catch my breath.
Stopping at a tree, I look around and take in my surroundings. Realizing that everything looks the same, I quickly realize I am lost. While I should have stuck to the trail, there is no way I could’ve risked someone recognizing my face and getting in my way.
I can only imagine that if my face didn’t attract their attention, then a bride sprinting in a storm would do the trick.
Squinting ahead, I wonder if I can find any of the inhabitants of this mountain to give me a ride the rest of the way.
While I’m unsure what I’m going to do for the next few days, I know for certain that I’ll need to hide out. The last thing I want to do is attract attention while the iron is hot.
With my legs feeling heavy, I push forward and keep a steady pace beneath the umbrella of leaves in hopes I can save myself from another dousing of water.
The storm isn’t getting better—it’s getting worse. Darker.Meaner.
Then I see it. A cabin. Small, wooden, with a sagging porch and a single window beside the door. No car parked outside. No lights on inside. It looks abandoned.
Even if looks can be deceiving, it’s the closest thing to shelter I can get my hands on.
I rush up the creaking steps, my heart pounding as loud as the thunder overhead. Without thinking, I slam my fist against the door. Once. Twice. A third time, harder.
“Hello?” I shout, my voice nearly lost in the storm. “Is anyone in there?”
I press my ear to the wood, listening. Nothing but the groan of old timber and the relentless drum of rain. My stomach twists. It’s empty. Ithasto be empty. But the state of the place shows enough life to tell me someone lives here.
Maybe there’s a phone inside that I can use to call up a ride. I don’t know if Willowbrook Ridge is known for having Uber or Lyft, but I’d pay someone a fortune to get me the hell out of this place and far away.
Although I am not known for crimes, I don’t have many options. After knocking once more in hopes I’ll hear some kind of shift inside, I opt to grab the handle. Expecting it to be locked, to my surprise, the door opens.
Who in the world keeps their door unlocked? Even if they are up on a mountain, there’s too much that can possibly happen. People can try to steal, or brides can slip in.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” Calling out once more, I step inside and flip on the light switch to see if there is electricity. As the room floods with light, I can see that this cabin is definitely lived in.
With mud caked on my sneakers, I slip them off and leave them at the door. Clutching at my dress and lifting it to try not to leave a trail, I carefully walk deeper inside.
The house is completely empty. As crazy as it is, I’ll take it as another win. There is no one here to get in my way.
When I reach the kitchen, I notice the fridge, and my stomach immediately cramps up. Remembering that I haven’teaten since this morning, solely because my mother told me multiple times that my dress wouldn’t fit otherwise, I move toward the appliance without a second thought.
Pulling open the door, my eyes land on a bowl covered in foil. Without even knowing what is underneath, my mouth waters.
I am completely shameless when it comes to reaching in and pulling it out. Peeking underneath the foil, I see the shreds of chicken and vegetables surrounded by cream and dumplings.
I swallow hard and look around just in case I expect this to be some kind of trap where someone’s waiting to jump out. The only thing welcoming me with open arms is a layer of silence and a flicker of the lights.
With the thought of the power going out, I rush over to the microwave before I lose out on the chance to eat a hearty meal heated.
Okay. New plan. Once I get my bearings and wait for the owner of this cabin to return, I’ll explain what happened, pay them back for the food I’ve eaten, and promise them whatever amount they want to take me down to the base of the mountain.
From the smell of the meal coming from the microwave as I impatiently wait, my plan sounds perfect. No flaws whatsoever. Only the freedom I desperately want.
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