Page 2 of The Mountain Man's Sweet Treat
He seemed friendly enough in our email exchange. I never spoke with him on the phone or video chat, but I looked at the lease carefully. Everything was right, and he even sent me a nice welcome packet, explaining that I could stop at Emma May’s grocery store.
Mom insisted I print out all of it and carry it in my bag, muttering about not being able to trust GPS these days. Her work on a zombie apocalypse show has made her paranoid about people becoming too reliant on technology.
Reaching for my phone, I’m relieved to see it still has a few bars even here high in the mountains.
My mom answers on the first ring, her voice filled with the breathless panic that happens after you thought that your only daughter was going to be remembered as a tragic mention in a documentary.
“Are you filming?” I ask the question automatically. She used to get so engrossed in her work that nothing could break her concentration. She’d have her phone on silent.
Back then, I was right there with her. I’d be just out of view of the camera lens, ready to step on the set at a moment’s notice to spray black gunk on a zombie’s face or add just a touch more yellow to their rotting teeth.
“Nothing that can’t wait,” she reassures me quickly. A little too quickly.
My stomach tightens. Sometimes, I forget. I forget that I wasn’t the only one who still lives with the scars and the what-ifs and the endless terror. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, the way I learned to in therapy. I need to get out there. Need to feel some dirt beneath my running shoes.
“I’m here. I arrived safe at the cabin. It’s even more beautiful in person. I’ll send you pictures later tonight.”
“OK, love you, baby,” she says, and I swear that I hear her sniff before she hangs up. She stood so strong in the aftermath, a tower I could run to when I needed strength. That’s what moms do. They’re the strong ones when the rest of your world falls apart.
With the call over and my mind whirling, I grab my groceries and walk into the cabin. The owner insisted the place would be open. When I’d asked him about that over email, he explained that the town is a safe little place where residents rarely lock their doors.
As I step inside the cozy living room with its oak flooring, I pause to take a deep inhale. There’s the aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. The place smells earthy and warm, a small crackling fire already started in the fireplace.
I can’t wait to stretch out on that big, oversized couch in front of the window overlooking a stunning mountain view. I’ll burrow underneath a fuzzy blanket and stream old B-movies until I fall asleep.
I set the pet carrier with a still sleeping Tobias down on the floor. I’ll wake him up and let him explore his new temporary home just as soon as I get settled.
I head into the kitchen that despite the cabin’s rustic charm is modernized with all stainless steel appliances a chef could dream of. There are no dishes in the sink, but the fridge is already stocked with a few basics like cheese and milk. All are fresh and in date.
“So thoughtful,” I murmur under my breath. I should send him an email later today and thank Whiskey for the kindness.
I add my groceries to the fridge and start to go for the coffee machine. It’s the old kind that brews a whole pot at once, not like the fancy one-cup machine that’s in my apartment. At the last second, I talk myself out of it. I definitely don’t need the caffeine. I barely get restful sleep as it is.
Instead, I go into the living room and give Tobias gentle cuddles until he’s blinking awake and making those adorable noises that baby kittens do.
His soft, black fur and sweet smell have some of the tension that’s like a band around my chest easing. The way he looks up at me with so much trust and faith in his green eyes has me melting. He’s my little reminder that there’s still good in the world. Day by day, I’m rediscovering that good.
I carry him into the kitchen with me, so I can feed him. “Alright, Tobias, you just relax. I’m going to make you a good dinner then we’re going to cuddle by the fire tonight. How does that sound?”
“Sounds just about perfect to me,” a masculine voice says.
I whirl around and clutch Tobias closer to me. The band is definitely back. My heart beats an erratic rhythm as I blurt out. “Who are you?”
Without taking my eyes from the stranger, I reach into the open kitchen drawer. I grab the first weapon I can find and hold out…a wooden spoon. Still, I do my best to look menacing as I brandish it.
We both know this would be useless against his brute strength. He’s easily over six-feet tall with forearms that are as thick as my thighs. They’re marked with scars and tattoos and lead up to a very broad set of shoulders.
He’s got a thick, bushy beard that’s nearly trimmed and a crew cut, short on the sides and long on top. His strawberry blonde hair and neat appearance make him look young, but his clear blue eyes are haunted. This is a man who has seen evil and horror. Not the kind you film on TV, the real thing.
He crosses his arms, drawing attention to where his dirty, sleeveless flannel shirt pulls tight at the seams. How much protein is this man eating to maintain a physique like this?
He looks like he would be featured on one of those men’s magazines, revealing the secrets of his fitness routine. Is the routine really a secret if you have a personal chef that’s also a nutritionist and a personal trainer who obsesses over helping you stay in shape?
He arches a brow. “What are you planning to do with that? Bake me a cake?”
“Who are you?” I repeat, trying to make my voice sound authoritative and not like I’m turned on by his whiskey-over-the-rocks voice. Seriously, how does he get it so gritty and so deep?
“You already know that,” he answers, a muscle moving in his jaw. He keeps looking me up and down, assessing me. His gaze always lingers on my hips just a beat too long. He likes them. He likes my curves. Wait, wrong thing to be excited about right now.
