Page 4 of Wrecked By the Mountain Man
But her plea, so simple and direct, hits something primal, something buried deep under layers of scar tissue. There was a reason I joined the military all those years ago. I wanted to help people like her, but something in that war broke that part of me.
My gaze flickers around the swirling snow, the rapidly darkening sky.
No one is getting off this mountain anytime soon.
She's trapped. And, by extension, so am I.
Trapped with a walking, talking ray of sunshine who smells faintly of summer and, irritatingly,hope.
With another grunt, I step back, opening the door wider.
"Get in," I command, the words clipped and devoid of warmth, even as a tiny part of me acknowledges the sheer impossibility of the situation.
My isolation, my meticulous routine of misery and self-destruction, has just been spectacularly wrecked.
And it is all because of a blonde-haired, curvy artist and a damn freak storm.
Chapter 2
Penny
I’ve just walked for what feels like an eternity, the bitter cold seeping into my bones, telling me I am foolish, telling me I am going to freeze to death out here.
My car, my sweet, reliable, artistic chariot...
It's now an abandoned heap in a snowdrift a mile back, the victim of black ice and a storm that has literally materialized out of nowhere.
But then... oh thank goodness... I saw his cabin.
Edward Rogers. The mountain man. The recluse. The guy my parentsconstantlywarned me about when I was little. The man whose piercing blue eyes have haunted my fleeting childhood memories.
He is also, at this very moment, my only chance at survival.
A wave of warm air, smelling faintly of woodsmoke and a clean, masculine scent that does funny things to my body, washes over me.
I practically fall through the doorway, my legs feeling like lead after the hike up here in the deepening snow.
The sheer relief is so overwhelming it makes my knees buckle. Just as they threaten to give out completely, a strong hand, surprisingly gentle despite its calloused roughness, grips my arm and steadies me.
"Whoa there... Take it easy."
It is a fleeting touch, but it sends a jolt of something electric through me.
I stumble further inside the rustic cabin, shrugging off the heavy, dripping raincoat that feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.
My teeth are still chattering, my body convulsing with shivers, but the immediate threat of freezing to death has receded.
Edward closes the heavy door, instantly cutting off the furious roar of the wind.
The silence that follows is thick and awkward, punctuated only by my own ragged breathing and the faint drip of water from my soaked clothes onto his roughly hewed wooden floor that looks somewhat unfinished.
I risk a glance at the giant man staring down at me.
He is still holding the rifle, his jaw still clenched, his blue eyes still wary. He looks furious, annoyed, and utterly unapproachable.
Maybe my parents were on to something after all.
But he’s let me in. He hasn’t left me outside for the storm to take me like it has so many others on this mountain.
