Page 4 of Mountain Man's City Girl
The guest cabin is a simple one-room structure with a small bathroom. Kitchenette along one wall, bed against the other, sitting area in between. No television, no wifi. Just books, a woodstove, and necessities.
"Solar panels provide electricity," I explain, pointing to the small breaker box. "Enough for lights and charging your equipment. Water heater's propane. If anything runs out, tell me."
She runs her fingers along the bookshelf, tilting her head to read spines. "Thoreau, London, Abbey... all the wilderness philosophers. Plus... wait, is this poetry? Robert Frost? Emily Dickinson? Mr. Myers, you dark horse."
I ignore the comment. "Rifle above the door is loaded. Bears sometimes come through the clearing."
"You're letting me near a loaded gun? Bold choice." Her mouth quirks into a half-smile that does strange things to my pulse.
"Do you know how to use one?"
"Dad taught me. I'm a decent shot, actually. Hit a tin can at fifty yards first try."
The casual mention of Mark hits me like a physical blow. I turn toward the window, pretending to check the latch.
"You don't talk much, do you, Mr. Myers?" she asks, leaning against the bookshelf.
"Victor," I correct her. "And no."
"I remember." She crosses her arms. "You weren't exactly chatty at family barbecues either. But you used to smile sometimes. I distinctly remember a laugh when Dad fell off the dock that summer at Lake Tahoe."
I meet her eyes, surprised by the gentle teasing in her voice. "Not much to smile about up here."
"Just breathtaking mountains, pristine wilderness, and complete freedom. Terrible."
Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. I suppress it quickly. "Stove's temperamental. Turn the knob all the way left, then back to medium."
She sighs dramatically. "Fascinating. What other household tips are you dying to share? How to fold fitted sheets? The proper angle for stacking toilet paper?"
"Don't leave food out. And don't wander off without telling me where you're going."
"Yes, sir." She gives a mock salute, then sobers. "I'm just giving you a hard time. I appreciate you letting me stay, especially given... well, everything."
Everything. Years of friendship with her father. Then the falling out.
"I'll make dinner at six," I say instead of all the things I can't say. "Main cabin."
She nods, and I leave before I can notice anything else about her that threatens my carefully constructed walls.
I busy myself with dinner preparations, chopping vegetables with military precision. Venison stew—meat from a deer I took down last fall, vegetables from my greenhouse. Simple, hearty. I'm not trying to impress her. It's just what I'd make anyway.
A knock at the door at precisely six o'clock. I wipe my hands and open it to find Jade with a bottle of wine.
"Peace offering," she says, holding it out. "For being a pain in the ass earlier."
I accept it, surprised. "You didn't have to."
"I know. But my mother raised me right, despite evidence to the contrary." She steps inside, eyes widening as she takes in the main cabin. "Holy shit, Victor."
Where the guest house is practical, this space is personal. Exposed beams, stone fireplace, walls lined with books and maps. Large windows frame the mountain view. It's not fancy, but it's mine in a way few things have ever been.
"Wow," she says softly. "You built this?"
I nod, uncomfortable with her attention on my private space. "Most of it."
"It's beautiful." She wanders to the window, looking out at the gathering dusk. "I can see why you stay up here. I'd never leave either."
The genuine appreciation without judgment in her voice eases the tension in my shoulders. I pour the wine, hand her a glass, and return to the stove.
