Page 12 of Harvested By The Mountain Man
This is my spot. The place I come back to. Built it with my own hands after the old place gave way.
Logs squared and fitted, stone hearth hauled rock by rock. It’s quiet here except for the layers of sounds from nature. In fact, most nights … it’s too quiet. The cabin smells of pine, leather, and woodsmoke. Usually that calms me. Tonight it just reminds me what’s missing.
Ivy’s laughter still echoes in my head from the festival. The way she tilted her head, fearless in asking questions. Hannah’s girl is sharp, bright. Deserves more than a man who drifts in and out of her life. The thought stirs something I haven’t felt in a long time, something protective and dependable. For years, I told myself I was fine on my own. Better that way. But after tonight? I don’t believe it anymore.
Hannah’s right. Trust is complicated. But so is trying to sleep alone sometimes.
Pulling open the refrigerator, a cold bottle of beer waits among eggs, cheese, and leftovers. I twist off the cap, take a pull, and let the bitterness settle on my tongue.
The fire’s long gone from last night in the hearth, nothing but ash and embers. I crouch, stack kindling, and put on a couple of fresh logs from the porch. Striking a match, flames catch, licking their way up the logs until the living room glows.
In the corner leans my old acoustic. I pick it up, thumb brushing across the worn wood, and settle into the chair by the fire. The strings are cool under my calluses as I strum a few lazy chords, nothing more than muscle memory at first. Then something softer comes out — a tune I didn’t plan. Slow, searching, the kind of sound a man makes when he can’t put words to what he feels.
The notes drift up to the rafters, filling the spaces between the walls. For years, music was only for myself. Tonight, it feels like every chord belongs to her — and maybe a little to the girl with her same wide eyes.
I play until the bottle’s empty. Then I set the guitar aside, lean back, and close my eyes. All I see is Hannah.
Sleep doesn’t come easy most nights, but tonight it creeps in slow, wrapped around the echo of her voice and the memory of Ivy’s laughter. The last thing I remember is the firelight shifting across the ceiling beams … and the thought that maybe I don’t want to be up here alone much longer.
Chapter 11
Hannah
After Levi leaves, I sit on the swing long enough for the pumpkin to look smug about being the only witness to what just occurred. His business card in my hand feels heavy. Just a scrap of paper with numbers on it, but it might as well be a stick of dynamite.
Once inside, I blow out the candle and check on Ivy twice. She’s curled on her side, hand tucked under her cheek, breathing soft and even. I’m glad. If she had known the ‘train man’ was here, it would have excited her too much to sleep.
Back in my room, I lie down but can’t turn off my head. Each time I close my eyes, I see Levi’s face under the porch light, his blue eyes almost glowing. There’s a part of me that feels weak next to his huge stature. He’s at least a foot taller than me and muscular in a way that makes my knees buckle. But I can alsosense a tender spot in him – the way his voice went gentle when he said my name.
I recall the warmth that spread through me when his shoulder brushed close. And then the panic. The what ifs. What if I were to begin at least a friendship with him? And … what if he means every word? What if he doesn’t? What if Ivy gets attached and then it all falls apart? I’ve survived enough disappointment for both of us, but I can’t let her heart be collateral damage.
My hand strays to the card on the nightstand. One little call. One little risk. The idea curls in my mind like a spark that wants to be a flame. But sparks can burn. And … they can also start a fire – maybe one I can’t put out.
“No,” I whisper into the dark, as if saying it aloud will settle the war inside me. “This spark needs to be snuffed out now.”
I roll onto my side, clutch the pillow, and force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. My body begs for rest even as my mind claws at the thought of him. Finally, sleep takes me anyway, heavy and unwilling, and soon I’m dreaming.
I’m back on the porch swing, only it’s not mine anymore. It’s hanging from a broad timber beam, mountain air sharp with pine. The firelight spilling from inside is his, not mine. Ivy is there, her legs tucked under her, chattering to him about pumpkins and cats, and he listens like every word is gold. His big hand rests easy on the chain of the swing, steadying it, steadying us.
I’m there too, watching. But when I look down, the card is gone from my hand. Instead, my fingers are twined with his. Heat radiates up my arm until I can’t tell if it's a dream or truth.
A soft rumble of thunder sounds. No, not thunder. Laughter. His. It vibrates through me, deep and unshakable. The scene blurs at the edges, warmth giving way to cold, porchswing dissolving into nothing. I reach for him, for Ivy, but they slip away like smoke.
I jerk awake in the dark, heart pounding, hand clutching the sheets. I press the pillow to my face and force a breath. Just a dream. Only a dream.
But even as I close my eyes again, I know better. Some part of me already wants that dream to fall into my reality … more than I should.
♥♥♥
The alarm buzzes too soon, and I roll out of bed feeling like I’ve wrestled something ferocious the entire night. Coffee helps, but not enough to chase away the memory of Levi’s laughter booming in my dream.
Ivy comes barreling into the kitchen with her backpack already half unzipped, hair sticking up like a dandelion gone to seed. She climbs onto a chair and swings her legs while shoveling cereal into her mouth.
“Mommy,” she says around a mouthful, “can we carve the pumpkins tonight? All of them? Please?”
“All of them?” I respond, reaching for her lunchbox. “That’s a lot of pumpkin guts.”
Her grin is instant and radiant. “That’s one of the fun parts!” I shake my head, but my lips twitch into a smile anyway.
