Page 2 of Healing with the Mountain Man
Lewis made it clear that his daughter was his world during our service together. Showed me baby pictures until the edges frayed. Wrote about her, too, when we traded letters.
Even his last letter, the one that arrived too late with a warning that has haunted me to this day, asked me to do one thing. Take care of the one thing he felt he didn’t have the strength to do himself.
Going from one pen pal to another, all I have are her words. Ink on paper. Pixels on a screen. Close enough to ache, too far to matter.
My head wasn’t in the right space during the funeral, and my heart felt heavy at the time. I didn’t start craving the woman because of the memory of her looks.
It was the three years of communication we shared.
This isn’t what Lewis wanted, I’m sure of it, but it is what it is. It’s why I’m going to continue to shove these feelings down. Pretend they don’t exist.
Scowling ahead, with nothing else to keep me in town, I make my way toward the mountain.
Rain drums against the windshield, a steady rhythm that blurs the world beyond the glass. The wipers fight a losing battle,swiping away sheets of water only for more to take their place. The mountain road twists ahead, slick and dark, disappearing into the mist.
I grip the wheel a little tighter. Not gonna make it back down tonight—not in this.
The cabin comes into view, tucked between towering pines, its porch light a dim beacon in the storm. I ease the truck to a stop, kill the engine. For a second, I just sit there, listening to the rain hammer the roof.
Then I see her. A woman—no, not just a woman. A damn vision. Something that makes me wonder if the weather is playing tricks on my eyes.
She’s perched on the edge of my porch, legs hanging lazily, like she hasn’t got a care in the world. Her head leans against the banister, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Eyes closed. Lips parted just so.
A sleeping beauty on my doorstep.
I step out into the rain, but I barely feel it as the drops soak my shoulders. My boots hit the gravel, then the wooden steps, but she doesn’t stir. Not even when I stop right in front of her, water dripping from my jacket.
I notice her luggage and bag, but not even the mystery of why her belongings are at her side is enough to pull my eyes away.
Even if it’s been three years since I’ve seen her, the image of her is burned in my mind.
Alani Morris.
There is no black dress anywhere in sight. Of course not. She’s got jeans torn at the knees and circles around her eyes like she hasn’t slept in days.
With the growl of thunder bringing me out of my daze, I tear my eyes away and grab her luggage.
While I don’t have a clue why she’s here, there’s no shot in hell I’m going to turn her away. Not when she had to have travelled so far to get here.
Taking it inside first, my fingers curl at my sides as I decide how I want to get her inside before the rain starts hitting her.
Alani stirs when I crouch to pick her up. The young woman feels as light as a feather in my arms as she curls up against my chest.
Heading inside, I hear the distant meows growing louder as my arrival has garnered more attention. As I reach the living room, I find my cat waiting for me.
Muttering that I’ll feed him in a moment, I keep moving.
Heading down a hall of doors, I hesitate on where to stop. Despite having a room for guests, it’s remained occupied by nothing but a pack of dust bunnies. The room is going to smell stale, and I don’t want Alani breathing in all the dust.
Turning my gaze to the only other door that is better fitting, I continue forward.
I nudge my bedroom door open. Setting her down against my sheets, I carefully take off her shoes and leave them paired together at the foot of the bed. Once I’m throwing a blanket over her, I’m running a hand down my face as I watch her curl up with one of my pillows.
This is unreal. Impossible. Too good to be true.
What in the hell am I going to do?
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