Page 6 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Obsession
Still, the biscuits she made this morning were amazing. Those, along with the eggs and sausages—I’m a reasonable man. It doesn’t take much to make me happy. And that shy smile she gave me before I left, when she asked me to be careful—it’s been stuck in my head all day. Maybe she’ll have dinner ready? Hell, I’d settle for just seeing her face.
But now I’m remembering her tears and the way her voice cracked when she told me I was her only option and she had no place to go. Fuck. What a shitshow. I didn’t mean to make her cry.
My tires crunch and slide over the gravel drive, kicking up muddy sprays as I pull up to the cabin. Then the house goes pitch black. Perfect. The power’s out.
I curse under my breath, knowing it’ll be all hands-on deck tonight if the storm takes down any lines or trees. My pager hasn’t gone off yet. There are no alerts, which is a good sign. We’ve got enough crew on duty to handle whatever comes our way. I made sure of it this morning when the weather report turned grim, and scheduled extra guys, just in case. I shove open the truck door. The icy rain stings my face like needles as I jog to the cabin. My boots thud against the porch, shaking loose clumps of mud.
Inside, the air’s damp and smells faintly of pine and the cedar candle she insisted we burn over pizza last night. I grab the flashlight off the hook by the light switch and flick it on. The beam cuts through the gloom. “Eva!” My voice echoes in the empty house. “You okay in the dark back there?” No answer.
My stomach twists as I storm down the hall with the floorboards creaking. Her bedroom door’s wide open, and I poke my head in, half-expecting to see her curled up with a book. Herbags are still here, zipped up and leaning against the wall, but the bed’s untouched.No Eva.
Adrenaline spikes through me, sharp and electric, as I check the bathroom—empty. I swing into the kitchen, even though I know she isn’t there because I would’ve seen her from the door. The counters are bare, with no sign of dinner prep, just the faint scent of coffee.
“Eva!” My shout rattles the windows, louder than the storm outside. I search the sunroom porch where I crashed last night, the lumpy couch still holds the shape of my restless sleep. Nothing.
Now I’m worried. When I told her to check out the Grizzly Grind this morning, I meant in the daylight, not when it’s almost dark with the wind howling, in this mess. She’s not used to these mountains or storms like this anymore. I picture her out there, lost in the wilderness, and my chest tightens. I don’t bother peeling off my uniform. The layers—flannel, fleece, raincoat—keep me warm, and my jacket’s inner pockets are stocked for emergencies: matches, a knife, bear spray. Not that the bears would be dumb enough to roam in this downpour.
I head back out, the storm slamming into me the second I’m off the porch. Rain pelts my hood as I take the trail I pointed her to this morning, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Eva!” The downpour drowns my voice, and I try again, louder, “Eva!” My flashlight beam swings left and right, catching glistening pine needles and slick rocks, but no Eva. The trail’s a muddy mess, and I push forward, my boots sinking with every step. The windows are black at the Grizzly Grind; the door is locked tight. Not a soul in sight.
“Eva!” My heart’s pounding now with a sick dread. What if she’s hurt? Twisted an ankle? Or worse? I double back to the trail, veering off into the forest, searching for her tracks in the soaking pine needles for over an hour.
I’m no expert tracker—but I know enough to look for broken twigs or disturbed earth. Nothing. The rain’s erased any trace of her, like she was never here. My breath comes in sharp bursts, fogging in the cold air. “Eva!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “Eva! Where are you?”
“Slade!” A faint, but unmistakable voice slices through the wind. I freeze, tilting my head to pinpoint it. She calls again from the north. Eva’s close. Relief crashes over me, but this isn’t over yet.
“Eva! Stay where you are! Don’t move, I’m coming!” I shout, plunging into the trees. My flashlight bounces wildly as I run. The forest closes in on me, branches snag my sleeves, and I have to fight my way through, until I see a form huddled near shrubs and a large rock.Thank God.
“Slade!” She rises and waves both arms, flagging me down.
“I’ve got you!” I cover the distance to her quickly. She’s wearing a coat, but it’s soaked through and not nearly heavy enough to keep her warm.
“I’m so happy to see your face!” She shouts, and I know she means it. All thoughts of past arguments are gone as she presses herself flush against me for a tight, desperate hug. “Thank you, thank you.”
I hold her tightly, inhaling her sweet scent and nuzzle next to her ear. “I wouldn’t leave you out here. I’d never do that.” I break from the hug and inspect her, raising my voice over the wind. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You didn’t slip or fall?”
“I’m fine,” she says so softly I can barely hear. “I was just lost and scared to death.”
I wrap my arm around her, not thinking twice. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She peeks up at me silently with those mercurial grey eyesof hers, and I see relief. I know these woods like the back of my hand, but even I need a minute to get my bearings. “There,” I point. “Let’s make our way to that huge boulder. We can take shelter.”
I’ve used this cave before. It provides ample cover, and it’s shallow and easy to check for critters before we duck inside. Eva’s shivering, her jacket’s soaked through, her face looks even paler in the beam of my flashlight. She’s here, safe, but we’re not out of the woods—literally.
We need warmth, and fast. I’ve got tools, years of working in storms behind my belt, and a stubborn streak that won’t allow us to freeze tonight. I pick a spot near the back, where the ceiling’s high enough for the smoke to rise. Scrounging the floor, I gather dry leaves and twigs, and with my folding knife, I shave curls from the most brittle roots I can find.
I rummage through my layers of pockets and take out a crumpled notepad—outage reports I won’t miss—and tear the pages for tinder, building a teepee of sticks over it. Eva watches as I remove the waterproof match case from my jacket. The match flares with a hiss, and I shield it from the cave’s draft, touching it to the paper and leaves. They catch, crackling as flames lick the twigs, casting a warm glow on her face. She scoots closer, her eyes softening with relief.
The fire’s stronger now, pushing back the chill. “Better?” I sound gruffer than I mean to. I’m not good at soft, never have been, but something about her tonight makes me want to try.
She nods, her smile dancing like the firelight. “Yeah, much.” Her voice is still small but steady. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along.”
I shift, sitting back on my heels, feeling the fire’s warmth seep into my hands. “What happened out there? Why were you even out in this mess?” Her fingers fidget with the hem of her jacket, and she glances down, like she’s embarrassed.
“I went to visit your mom at the Grizzly Grind. It was great seeing her.” She breaks into a smile. “We had a really good talk and caught up. It was only drizzling when I left the cabin, and I had the bear spray.” She opens her pocket, the canister clinks as she gives me a glimpse and shoves it back. “I thought I’d be fine. But then the clouds rolled in, and it got dark, fast … The rain was coming down so hard, and I … I’m not sure what happened, but I lost the trail and got completely turned around.” Her voice cracks, but Eva’s holding it together.
“It happens out here. Even to people who know better. Don’t beat yourself up.” I’ve seen her like this before—teetering on the edge of guilt—and I hate it. She’s always been too hard on herself.
