Page 6 of Wrecked By the Mountain Man
“That’s me!” I beam, trying to infuse some much-needed warmth into the air between us. “And you’re Edward. Though I think everyone just calls you Eddie. Or maybetheEdward. Orthatgrumpy recluse?”
I immediately slap a mental hand over my mouth.
Too much, Penny. Waaaay too much.
His left eyebrow twitches, almost imperceptibly. “Just Edward is fine.”
“Right. Edward. Good. Simple. To the point.” I nod, probably too vigorously.
I need to take a breath. Calm down. This isn't some awkward first date. This is a survival situation.
Kind of feels like a first date, though.
“What were you doing up here anyway, Penny Kaye?” His voice is laced with suspicion. “No one comes up this far, especially not in a storm like this. You’re lucky to be alive.”
I shiver again, recalling the terrifying slides and the deafening roar of the wind.
“I… I was looking for inspiration,” I admit, then immediately cringe at how trite it sounds. “For my art. You know, to get the creative juices flowing."
I stare at him for a moment, expecting a conversation of sorts, but he doesn't say anything. Not a word.
So I continue, anyway.
"My parents think I need to ‘find myself’ or ‘do something productive’ with my life. So, I figured… I live in the wilderness. The raw, untamed beauty of it all… maybe that might spark something. And then…” I gesture vaguely out the window, where swirling white is now all that’s visible. "The storm rudely interrupted."
He scoffs. “Inspiration. Right.”
His gaze rakes over me, taking in my curvy frame, my perhaps overly optimistic bright yellow sweater, the colorful scarf still tied around my neck.
He probably sees a fluffy bunny trying to survive in a wolf den. But I think the scarf is cute.
“It’s true!” I insist. “I’m an artist. I’m starting my own studio down in Scottsdale, but if I'm going to make this work, I need… avision. Something profound. Something that really speaks to the soul.”
My words hang in the air, sounding incredibly silly in this masculine and way too functional looking cabin.
He turns away, dismissing me. “You’ll find profound in a snowdrift if you keep wandering these mountains.”
He moves to the fireplace, adding another log. The flames leap higher, making shadows dance across his rugged features.
It's then I notice the strong line of his jaw, the subtle scar near his temple.
God, he’s objectively gorgeous, even with that perpetual scowl. Like a grumpy lumberjack supermodel.
He continues poking the fire, and I notice how his jeans pull tight across his backside. I feel heat rise to my cheeks, and it has nothing to do with the new roaring flames making the cabin brighter.
Those strong, capable hands that rescued me... I wonder how they'd feel against my skin?
“So,” I persist, refusing to be deterred. “What do you do up here, Edward? Other than… glare at unexpected visitors?” I try for playful, but it probably comes out as desperate.
He stops, one hand on another log.
He slowly turns his head, and I brace for another scathing remark. Instead, he just says, “I exist.”
My mouth opens, then closes.
That’s… succinct. And also, deeply sad.
A pang of empathy stirs in my chest, a feeling unfamiliar in the face of such raw, unvarnished despair.
