Page 3 of Rugged Mountain Man (Cold Mountain Nights #1)

Chapter three

Mika

Wind battered the cabin, making it creak and groan, as if it would fold in on us like a house of cards. But Cormac didn’t seem concerned, continuing to toast bread and cheese with calm, measured movements.

“You should probably take off that coat,” he said, his attention on the fire.

I glanced down at the Carhartt jacket I wore. His jacket. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d been caught red-handed, stealing his clothes. I could argue that I was just borrowing it, but either way, I had trespassed on his private property and taken his belongings without permission.

Just as I prepared to apologize and explain myself, Cormac continued.

“It has a mouse nest in the pocket, last I checked.”

I yelped and leaped to my feet, frantically stripping off the coat. I nearly flung it halfway across the cabin. Cormac huffed a noise of amusement. Then he shrugged off his own coat and held it out to me

I stared at him, wearing a dark blue thermal shirt, practically glued to every bulge of muscle in his body.

I wasn’t blind, I could admit Cormac was attractive, with steel-gray eyes, a pleasantly low timbre to his voice that I would willingly listen to for hours, a strong jawline shadowed with stubble.

He was built like a Viking, too, with broad shoulders, a thick barrel chest, large hands that could undoubtedly do a lot of damage.

But I tore my gaze away, silencing the slow burn of feelings creeping up on me. The last time I fell for a man, it was the worst mistake of my life. And Brock wasn’t nearly as huge as Cormac. I didn’t want to imagine what an angry Cormac would look like.

“If you’re still cold,” he said. “You can wear my coat instead.”

He stood there, holding the coat fanned out. I would have to turn my back to him in order to slide my arms into the sleeves.

That definitely wasn’t going to happen.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

Cormac hummed and folded the coat, setting it on the couch next to me.

“There’s a storm moving in tonight,” he replied. “It’s expected to dump a lot of snow and temperatures will be well below zero. You’ll be a block of ice by morning.”

“Which is exactly why you should keep your coat,” I pointed out.

He shook his head.

“I’ll be here by the fire. You take the bedroom.”

“Why? I’m the uninvited guest. I should be the one to sleep on the couch.”

“Because the bedroom has a door,” Cormac said simply. “It doesn’t lock, since I never had a reason for that. But you can use one of those kitchen chairs and wedge it under the door handle as a barricade. That works about the same as a lock and key.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the bedroom as the implication of Cormac’s words sank in. He was giving me privacy, safety, security. I could rest easy, knowing there was a door between me and this man that I just met.

I reached over and picked up his coat. The dark green fabric was stiff and heavy, with a downy soft faux fur liner that felt like a puffy cloud.

It didn’t have that musty, cloying smell of disuse either.

As I slipped it on, I breathed in the sharp scent of pine trees, black coffee, and spicy clove soap.

I chastised myself for being ridiculous. That scent belonged to Cormac, and I had no right to be comforted by it when he was a stranger. I didn’t know him. What if he was just as volatile as my ex had been?

On the other hand, I reasoned, Brock had never toasted bread and cheese by the fire for me like this. In fact, Brock had never cooked for me at all, claiming it was a task beneath him. If he wanted food, he would go out to pay for a meal.

I burrowed into the depths of Cormac’s coat, still warm from his body heat. Now that I had a belly full of food, the fire was making me drowsy. I stifled a yawn, willing myself to stay awake.

“Go to bed, KitKat,” Cormac said. “Before you fall asleep sitting up. In the morning, I'll drive you into town, if the storm hasn’t blocked the roads.”

I didn’t have a reason to argue, so I rose to my feet and headed for the bedroom, taking the fire poker with me. Just in case. I paused at the threshold, swaying on my feet. Cormac was outlined in gold from the firelight, seated on the floor, one elbow propped on his knee.

Something about him seemed…serene. Steady as a rock. Maybe it was my fatigue, lowering my defenses and messing with my common sense, but the truth spilled out anyway.

“My ex,” I said.

Cormac turned to look at me.

“What?”

I gestured to my face.

“He’s the one who…did this.”

Understanding dawned in Cormac’s eyes and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Do you expect him to come looking for you?” he asked.

I shifted in place, uncertain. Part of me knew that Brock would never bother to hunt me down. He’d made it clear that he could find a better girlfriend—one who was actually pretty—any time he wanted to.

But that anger in Brock’s eyes still sent a chill through my bones. He was probably furious that I ran away. I stood up to him by packing my things and walking out. Since I’d never done that before, there was no telling how he would react.

“I'm not sure,” I admitted.

Cormac nodded.

“Well, chances are, he won’t find you here. And even if he does, he won’t lay a finger on you again.”

The iron in Cormac’s voice eased the tension between my shoulders that I never realized I’d been carrying for all this time. Did I believe him? I couldn’t decide. Brock had fed me words that I wanted to hear. Maybe Cormac was doing the same.

Grabbing a chair from the kitchen, I dragged it into the bedroom with me, as Cormac had instructed. Closing the door, I wedged the chair under the handle. It didn’t totally put my anxiety at ease, but it was better than sleeping in the open, unprotected space of the living room.

It was significantly colder in here, away from the fire though. I propped the fire poker against the wall, within reach, and crawled under the covers, too tired to care about their musty, stale scent. My eyelids drooped with exhaustion as the wind shrieked outside, rattling the windows.

Despite how tired I was, I didn’t think I would sleep a wink.

But before I knew it, the rising sun woke me, warm and bright in my eyes.

The smell of coffee permeated the cabin.

Snow piled up against the window pane in little drifts, weighing down the tree branches outside until they threatened to snap.

More snow was still coming down in thick, fluffy flakes.

Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and moved the chair aside, emerging from the bedroom. Cormac was already awake—if he’d ever slept at all in the first place—tending to a pot of coffee partially buried in the hot embers of the fireplace.

“Morning, KitKat,” he said. “Coffee is almost ready.”

“You weren’t kidding about that storm,” I replied.

He shook his head.

“It came on hard and fast. The sooner we can get on the road, the better. Otherwise, we’ll be snowed in, and God only knows how long we’ll be stuck here together after that.”

I didn’t want to think about how stressful that would be, trapped in this tiny, drafty cabin with a stranger for days, and no end in sight.

Cormac gestured to a metal bucket on the kitchen table.

“I melted some snow so you can wash your face and brush your teeth,” he said. “There’s an outhouse behind the cabin. Just follow the rope tied onto the back porch, it will take you there. Toilet paper is in my rucksack.”

I wasn’t exactly thrilled about that part, but I would take roughing it in the woods like this over Brock’s fists in that expensive, modern A-frame any day of the week.

Digging around in Cormac’s rucksack, I felt like an intruder, even though he’d given me explicit permission to go through his personal belongings.

Grabbing the toilet paper, I braced myself and opened the back door. A wall of snow swirled around me, and the wind was even worse than last night, buffeting against me. But I spotted the rope tied to the porch railing that Cormac had mentioned and I latched onto it, following it into the storm.

By the time I returned, I felt like a human icicle. Cormac greeted me at the door, as if he’d been waiting for me. Taking me by the elbow, he led me to the fire, stoking the flames high until the room was sweltering with heat.

“I was about to send out search and rescue,” he said, pressing a cup of steaming coffee into my hands. “Are you ready to return to the land of central heating and running water?”

I nodded, teeth chattering.

“Yeah, I think so. Not that I haven’t appreciated your hospitality.”

He chuckled and passed a plate of food to me, with eggs sunny side up, crispy golden hash browns, and plump, juicy slices of oranges.

“Eat up,” he said. “I’ll get the car running so it’s warm when you’re done.”

I picked up my fork, bewildered as I stared down at the meal. For the second time in twenty-four hours, a man had cooked for me. Feeding me until my stomach was full.

If I wasn’t careful, I could get used to this.

Fifteen minutes later, I had polished off every crumb of my breakfast. Cormac pulled his earthy brown Ford Explorer up to the door as close as possible, but even then, I could barely see it through the snowstorm’s onslaught.

Cormac offered his arm to me. I glanced up at him in surprise.

“You better hold on,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the wind. “You’re short. One wrong step, and you’d be lost in a snow bank until the spring thaw.”

I sputtered, indignant. His eyes gleamed with amusement.

Was he… teasing me?

“I’m not short, Sasquatch,” I shot back.

“Whatever you say, KitKat. But if I’d brought a package of cookies with me, I could safely store them on the top shelf, knowing you wouldn’t be able to touch them.”

I wrinkled my nose at him in protest. He chuckled and took my hand, hooking my fingers into his belt loop. Then he started walking, trekking through the snow that was already up to my knees. I followed after him, trailing in his footsteps, taking advantage of the path he forged for me.

Inside his car, it was blistering with heat like a tropical oasis. All around us, the towering trees were rendered to blurry shadows by the snowfall. How would Cormac see the road in a storm like this?

He climbed into the driver’s seat and slowly started rolling down the driveway, onto the main road. Even though the car skidded and fishtailed on the icy, slippery snow, Cormac remained calm and in control. The tendons in his forearms flexed as he gripped the steering wheel.

I twisted my fingers together, biting my tongue until I tasted blood.

Through the windshield, it was nothing but white everywhere I looked.

These mountain roads had steep drop offs with no guard rails.

If Cormac lost control of the car, we could easily plunge over the edge, and there would be no surviving a fall like that.

Then a massive pine tree loomed out of the storm, blocking the road.

Cormac barely saw it in time. He hit the brakes, sending the car skidding wildly. He swore under his breath, fighting to regain control, before plowing to a stop.