Page 2 of Getaway with the Mountain Man
Of course the town gossip network has already latched on. That's Silver Ridge for you—population 3,000, and everyone knows everyone else's business within hours.
"Not interested," I lie, dropping into the chair across from him.
"Right." Mattias doesn't even try to hide his amusement. "That's why you've been distracted all afternoon and why you're gripping that wood like it owes you money."
I force my fingers to relax. But my mind keeps drifting to dark eyes wide with mortification, to the flush that had colored her cheeks when she realized I'd seen her watching.
Thirty-nine years old, and I've never experienced anything like the jolt of awareness that had shot through me in that moment of eye contact. It was instant, primal, and completely unexpected.
"You should ask her out," Mattias continues, apparently determined to meddle. "Take her to dinner at the Silver Lodge. Show her some of Silver Ridge's famous hospitality."
"She's a tourist," I point out, though my tone lacks conviction. "Here for a week, then gone back to her real life. What's the point?"
"The point is you haven't dated anyone seriously since your ex moved to Vancouver two years ago. And even she never made you look like you'd been struck by lightning." He leans forward, studying me with the annoyingly perceptive gaze he's had since we were kids. "Maybe it's time to take a chance."
"I don't even know her name," I mutter.
"Lottie Smith," Mattias supplies helpfully. "Twenty-four years old, marketing executive, staying through next Sunday. Vernon's quite the information gatherer."
Lottie. The name fits her—cute and completely out of place in our mountain wilderness. And yet something about her presence in those woods had felt right, as if she belonged there despite her obvious urbanity.
"Still not interested," I repeat, though we both know it's a lie.
Mattias shrugs, finishing his beer. "Your loss. But if you change your mind, Juniper mentioned she's planning to try the hiking trails tomorrow. Popular spot for chance encounters, those trails."
After he leaves, I sit on my porch until the sun sets, trying to lose myself in the familiar view of Silver Ridge spread out below. I've lived in this cabin for five years, worked heavy equipment in logging operations since I was twenty-two. It's honest work, satisfying in a way my brief stint at university never was.
But tonight, even the peaceful evening can't quiet my mind. Every chirp of crickets, every rustle of wind through the pines, reminds me of her eyes finding mine across that clearing. The way my entire world had tilted on its axis in the space of a heartbeat.
I'm in trouble. The kind of trouble that comes from wanting something—someone—completely inappropriate.
Lottie Smith is sophisticated, successful, undoubtedly used to men in suits who take her to five-star restaurants and art gallery openings. What could a small-town equipment operator possibly offer a woman like that?
Still, as I lock up and head inside, I find myself planning a different route for tomorrow's morning run. One that might,purely by coincidence, intersect with the popular hiking trails where a certain city executive might be exploring.
After all, Mattias is right about one thing: I haven't taken a chance on anything in far too long.
And Lottie Smith might just be worth the risk.
three
Lottie
I'mdefinitelylost.
The trail map I picked up at the lodge made this route look simple. A gentle two-mile loop through the forest to a scenic overlook. What it didn't mention was the spider web of smaller paths branching off in every direction, each one looking equally legitimate.
"This is what I get for trying to commune with nature," I mutter, consulting my phone for the dozenth time. Still no signal, and the battery is down to thirty percent.
The morning started perfectly. I'd woken early, determined to make the most of my forced vacation, and set out with a backpack full of supplies and my camera. The first hour was actually pleasant—fresh mountain air, wildflowers blooming everywhere, and enough Instagram-worthy vistas to prove to Chloe that I was embracing the outdoors.
Then I'd taken what I thought was a shortcut.
Now I'm standing at another unmarked junction, three paths diverging into the forest with no indication which leads back to civilization. The sun is climbing higher, and despite the morning cool, sweat dampens my hiking shirt.
"You're fine," I tell myself, choosing the path that seems to head downhill. "Civilization is downhill. That's basic survival logic."
Twenty minutes later, I emerge into a clearing and stop dead in my tracks.
