Page 1 of Scarred Mountain Man
Chapter 1 - Miranda
With the help of the taxi driver and with two trips each, we manage to carry everything that I brought with me. Between my art supplies and the food, it’s hard to believe I’m only going to be here for two weeks.
I searched for the most remote places I could rent out, and that’s why I’m here. Pepys Island seemed so far away from everything; it just felt right. And a cabin on the Almond Mountains with no internet? Everything seemed to click into place. The perfect place for my painting retreat.
Since I just arrived this morning, I could’ve spent a couple of days exploring the small towns of Pepys Island, but I was eager to get to work. I’ve always enjoyed spending time in nature, and I don’t get to do that as often as I’d like living in the city.
So that’s why I went straight to the grocery store from the airport. Buying everything to make sure I wouldn’t have to come back down for groceries. Maybe I went a little overboard. Just a smidge. Okay, a lot! But if I’m not leaving the cabin during these two weeks, I need food… right? So I bought food. Maybe enough to feed a family of four.
I thank the taxi driver again as he waves goodbye. It would’ve been hard to haul it all by myself from the main road, a mile away, where he stopped the car.
When he drives off, I feel both excited and terrified. I’ve never spent so much time away from everything.
I store everything in the cupboards and refrigerator before stepping outside. I’m meant to be here, I know it. I feel it. At first I dance around near the cabin, buzzing with excitement. Then I start wandering, not toward anywhere in particular, just eager to explore. It’s even better than I imagined. I venture deeper into the mountains, noticing every small detail this paradise has to offer: stubborn little flowers pushing through cracks in the rocks, the scent of pine thick in the air, the sound of a stream—or maybe it’s just the famous Red River that passes through these mountains—trickling somewhere nearby.
When the first drop of rain hits me, I smile towards the sky, loving to be this connected with nature. I've always lived in the city, but I've never felt like a city girl. It's just that when you've always lived in the city, you don't know if you're cut out to live in the mountains. But I can see it, I can see it working, I can feel how at peace I already am with just a few hours here. What would it be like to actually live here?
There's not much time for me to mull it over before the rain starts pouring down on me, one second I'm smiling, the next I'm running around trying to find anything that'll provide me shelter. It'd be nice to have thought of checking the weather before I left, I think. But my planning behavior stopped right after I made sure I had enough food.
I'm dripping wet by the time I reach a bigger tree that provides me some coverage, at least enough for me to thinkabout what I'll do next. In truth, the plan is simple: get back to my cabin.
Just a tiny problem though: I've no idea where I am and how I'll get back. Between my daydreaming and the rain that had me running around the mountains like a maniac, I lost track of my way back.
My thin blouse, perfect for the sunny weather earlier today, now clings to my body as it rapidly grows colder. It was warm this afternoon, it's still September after all, but the rain also brought the cold, and with every passing minute the temperature keeps dropping.
I look around, trying to spot anything familiar — an odd-shaped tree, a rock but nothing seems memorable enough to give me a clue where to go next. The rain is still pouring, and again, I regret not checking the weather before I left.
After ten minutes, I decide it's time to stop feeling sorry for myself and do something about it. No one’s coming to rescue me. No one ever has. I’ll find my way back, eventually. I’m already soaked, so what’s a few more drops of rain?
I start going one way but after a mile I realize that a pile of rocks I've never seen before is blocking the way, so I go back. After almost an hour of going back and forth and feeling the cold reach my feet, even though my chest feels warm with exhaustion, I see a cabin. It's not the cabin I’ve rented, but it's something. Not a single light is on inside. Maybe no one is home. There are plenty of clues that tell me someone lives here: new rags on top of the porch, the well cared for path with not a pebble in sight. But maybe they're gone for the day. I decide to take my chances and knock on the door, hoping to get a couple minutes of shelter on the porch.
No answer.
I stumble to the floor of the porch feeling defeated, but that's when I hear a clack from the other side of the door. There is someone there.
Maybe they're scared. I'll just introduce myself and all my current problems.
"Hey! I'm Miranda! I'm lost! I can't find the cabin I rented and I'm drenched. Can you please help me?" I shout as my hand knocks on the door. I might sound delusional, but if that does the trick, I don't care.
Although now that I think about it. Why don't I see any lights from outside? Am I interrupting a murder? Maybe there's someone inside killing the person who lived here. Or maybe it's just someone who likes to go to sleep at 9pm. Not everyone is a night owl like you, Miranda.
Right. Now I don't know if I just made myself a target or my overactive imagination is working its magic.
I stand up ready to leave, but I turn when I hear a key in the lock. Then I see him. The flashlight in his hand is pointing down, but it's enough to see him clearly.
The big man filling the frame of the door looks at me. He's wearing a flannel shirt. It looks like he just put it on because it's slightly off-center, unbuttoned just enough for me to see a hint of how muscled his pecks are. I don't try to look at his legs because there seems to be too much of them… so much muscle, so much bare skin since he’s not wearing pants. His face is covered in tiny scars, there's not one big, prominent scar to focus on, but his eyes don't let me look for too long because they scream murderous intent.
This man is a very hot murderer. A murderer who probably kills his victims without a shirt on. I don't know whether I should feel arousal or regret.
I swallow hard.
Chapter 2 - Oliver
The woman in front of me looks terrified.
The first knocks on my door I ignored. I didn't want to deal with anyone today. Especially with this rain. There's something about rain that always puts me in a bad mood. But then I heard her shouting, her words failing, and so, of course, I opened the door.
But I already regret it.
