Page 4
Story: Ferocious Mountain Man
It would also allow me to spend more time in her company. That was something I found I wanted all too much, whether I liked it or not.
“Come on in,” I said. “I’ll grab you something to drink, and we’ll get started.”
3
SAHARA
Rafe’s cabin was exactly what I expected. It was small, with a wood-burning fireplace and very few windows—all of which had blackout blinds.
The one-room cabin was truly one room. Well, maybe it didn’t technically qualify as one room since there was a door toward the back that I assumed concealed the bathroom. The bed was right out in the open, though. No wonder he was creeped out with someone popping a tent on his property. If a fan did find a way to peek through the windows, everything would be visible, including his bedroom.
He walked toward me, holding out a bottle with some sort of pink liquid. “Here you go.”
I took it from him, and in the process, my thumb grazed his knuckle. He jerked away like he’d been burned. Did he feel it too?
The minutes ticked by as we looked at each other. Something flickered in his eyes. Yes, he definitely felt it. In his stare was warmth, but it felt almost electrified. Tingles were spreading from my hand to the rest of my body.
What the heck? Had he just hypnotized me somehow?
He stepped back and looked at me. “It’s my mom’s favorite alcoholic drink,” he said. “She visited for Fourth of July with my sister and her family. They were all about the slides at the lodge.”
Slides at a lodge? I didn’t know what he was talking about. The ski lodge? They had slides there?
“Just wanted to explain why I had a drink like that in my fridge,” he said. “Got four more where that came from. My mom only drank one, and my sister’s still nursing.”
He was throwing a lot of information my way. Only now did I glance at the beverage I was holding. It was one of those sweet malt beverages—Cherry Bomb, the label announced, with a stemmed cherry for the O.
“Thanks,” I said.
I uncapped the bottle and took a big swig. Only after the liquid had crossed my tastebuds and made its way down my throat did it occur to me that I was technically on the job. I probably shouldn’t drink.
Was it really unprofessional, though? This wasn’t an ordinary kind of job, so I wasn’t sure what the protocols were.
He uncapped his drink and took a swig too. With his other hand, he gestured toward the couch, only speaking after he downed the big swallow he’d taken.
“Have a seat,” he said. “Relax. You’ll be spending all night outdoors in a tent. May as well enjoy a few minutes of air conditioning.”
I looked at the couch. How long had it been since I’d actually sat down? Well, aside from the time in my car. I’d driven straight here, set up my tent, and scoured the town looking for him. I’d been to the shopping center, had lunch at the diner, and dinner at the Mexican restaurant, hoping to happen upon him. No such luck.
That was when I’d gone to the lodge, figuring I could at least find some of the women who were coming to town looking forhim. No such luck. The ski lodge was where most of them were staying—that and the campground. But I’d hit so many dead ends, I definitely hadn’t really relaxed since I got here.
Besides, I was in Rafe’s house. What was the point in rushing to climb into my tent? A tent I’d erected on land adjacent to his property so I could spy on him. Just far enough that he couldn’t see me behind some trees, but close enough that I might catch some video of him coming and going.
“I think I will, if you don’t mind,” I said, heading over to the couch and plopping down. The cushion felt less than cushiony. This sofa had definitely seen better days.
He said nothing as he headed over to his chair and sat. Then he looked down at his beer bottle for a minute or two before speaking.
“So exactly why are you here?” he asked.
With those words, his head snapped up and he stared directly at me. Exactly why was I here? He was on to me. He knew I wasn’t the type who’d come to this small town to look for some pseudo-celebrity. For one thing, I was alone. For another, I was the only person resourceful enough to find out where he actually lived. And lastly, my reaction to him had been somewhat professional. Not at all how a celebrity stalker would act.
I couldn’t tell him the real reason I was here, so I called up the cover story I’d devised before leaving home. “I just wanted footage for my social media. I’m trying to get a thousand followers so I can start making money.”
That confession would probably not earn any respect from the guy. When I came up with the idea, I didn’t care what he thought of me. Did I care now?
I frowned as I thought about it for a second. Yes, I definitely did. And that could be a problem—especially if it meant I was developing a crush on the guy they’d nicknamed the Hardwood Hottie.
“You came up here for followers?” he asked.
“Come on in,” I said. “I’ll grab you something to drink, and we’ll get started.”
3
SAHARA
Rafe’s cabin was exactly what I expected. It was small, with a wood-burning fireplace and very few windows—all of which had blackout blinds.
The one-room cabin was truly one room. Well, maybe it didn’t technically qualify as one room since there was a door toward the back that I assumed concealed the bathroom. The bed was right out in the open, though. No wonder he was creeped out with someone popping a tent on his property. If a fan did find a way to peek through the windows, everything would be visible, including his bedroom.
He walked toward me, holding out a bottle with some sort of pink liquid. “Here you go.”
I took it from him, and in the process, my thumb grazed his knuckle. He jerked away like he’d been burned. Did he feel it too?
The minutes ticked by as we looked at each other. Something flickered in his eyes. Yes, he definitely felt it. In his stare was warmth, but it felt almost electrified. Tingles were spreading from my hand to the rest of my body.
What the heck? Had he just hypnotized me somehow?
He stepped back and looked at me. “It’s my mom’s favorite alcoholic drink,” he said. “She visited for Fourth of July with my sister and her family. They were all about the slides at the lodge.”
Slides at a lodge? I didn’t know what he was talking about. The ski lodge? They had slides there?
“Just wanted to explain why I had a drink like that in my fridge,” he said. “Got four more where that came from. My mom only drank one, and my sister’s still nursing.”
He was throwing a lot of information my way. Only now did I glance at the beverage I was holding. It was one of those sweet malt beverages—Cherry Bomb, the label announced, with a stemmed cherry for the O.
“Thanks,” I said.
I uncapped the bottle and took a big swig. Only after the liquid had crossed my tastebuds and made its way down my throat did it occur to me that I was technically on the job. I probably shouldn’t drink.
Was it really unprofessional, though? This wasn’t an ordinary kind of job, so I wasn’t sure what the protocols were.
He uncapped his drink and took a swig too. With his other hand, he gestured toward the couch, only speaking after he downed the big swallow he’d taken.
“Have a seat,” he said. “Relax. You’ll be spending all night outdoors in a tent. May as well enjoy a few minutes of air conditioning.”
I looked at the couch. How long had it been since I’d actually sat down? Well, aside from the time in my car. I’d driven straight here, set up my tent, and scoured the town looking for him. I’d been to the shopping center, had lunch at the diner, and dinner at the Mexican restaurant, hoping to happen upon him. No such luck.
That was when I’d gone to the lodge, figuring I could at least find some of the women who were coming to town looking forhim. No such luck. The ski lodge was where most of them were staying—that and the campground. But I’d hit so many dead ends, I definitely hadn’t really relaxed since I got here.
Besides, I was in Rafe’s house. What was the point in rushing to climb into my tent? A tent I’d erected on land adjacent to his property so I could spy on him. Just far enough that he couldn’t see me behind some trees, but close enough that I might catch some video of him coming and going.
“I think I will, if you don’t mind,” I said, heading over to the couch and plopping down. The cushion felt less than cushiony. This sofa had definitely seen better days.
He said nothing as he headed over to his chair and sat. Then he looked down at his beer bottle for a minute or two before speaking.
“So exactly why are you here?” he asked.
With those words, his head snapped up and he stared directly at me. Exactly why was I here? He was on to me. He knew I wasn’t the type who’d come to this small town to look for some pseudo-celebrity. For one thing, I was alone. For another, I was the only person resourceful enough to find out where he actually lived. And lastly, my reaction to him had been somewhat professional. Not at all how a celebrity stalker would act.
I couldn’t tell him the real reason I was here, so I called up the cover story I’d devised before leaving home. “I just wanted footage for my social media. I’m trying to get a thousand followers so I can start making money.”
That confession would probably not earn any respect from the guy. When I came up with the idea, I didn’t care what he thought of me. Did I care now?
I frowned as I thought about it for a second. Yes, I definitely did. And that could be a problem—especially if it meant I was developing a crush on the guy they’d nicknamed the Hardwood Hottie.
“You came up here for followers?” he asked.