Safe on the Mountain: A Mountain Man Romance

by Alexandria Thayer

  Good night nurse, I'm an idiot. I can't just start talking to a new guy - a perfect stranger! Not safe, Callie. Not smart. As if the last one didn't show me just what kind of creeps guys can be.

  Brock. Such a manly name. And a manly body to match. He was huge - probably one of the tallest men I’ve ever seen in person. His hair was dark, almost black and hung down to his shoulders. Thick and wavy, perfectly framing his stormy eyes.

  I know I was probably gawking at him, but can he really blame me? He’s got to be dropping panties left and right all across Colorado. I’ve been told my nerves come across as bitchiness, so maybe that scared him off. If I keep that idiotic attitude up, I can safely say I’ll be alone for a while.

  But lord have mercy, he was something else. He had a thick beard and darkly tanned skin. He must work outside with that kind of tan. His thick forearms we’re bulging out of a flannel that was stretching to accommodate his broad shoulders. If this was six months ago, I might have jumped him right there next to the dog treats.

  But I learned my lesson on guys the hard way. I couldn’t put myself out there like that anymore.

  I made the mistake of dating the first halfway nice guy I met when I moved to Colorado. I thought a harmless fling would do me some good, help me distance myself mentally from the shit I left back in Texas.

  Clearly, things can't work out that simply for me. Or at least Gabe didn't work out that simply. The first few dates were fine - dinner, movies, a few cocktails for him. But by the fifth date, I was apparently being rude for not "sleeping over." He got pushy about staying at his place, saying I shouldn't drive the hour out to the mountains from Denver at 11 at night. Which was a reasonable argument, but not from a guy that clearly just wanted to get in my pants.

  I gave the most polite answer I could, saying I could get home just fine. I have music, podcasts, some gas station coffee. There's no reason I couldn't drive home. I hadn’t even touched my drink at dinner, unlike Gabe, so I was more than okay to make that trip. I haven't been able to bring myself to drink around people, much less guys, since the incident.

  My gut churns and I’m back to the night I ended things with Gabe.

  "Are you for real, Callie? How many dates do we have to have before you'll do something more than a dumbass kiss?" he slurs, letting his true colors roll out on display with every passing word.

  "Look, I need to go," I barely manage to get out as my chest tightens, avoiding his eye contact. I have to get out of here. Just get to the car. Get to your car and it will be ok.

  His arm swings in front of me, blocking my exit. He gives me a drunk, lazy grin, barely keeping his latest drink in his glass. I should’ve never agreed to come to his house.

  "So I can't even get blown after dropping all this cash on dates? What the fuck, baby?"

  Breathe. Fucking breathe, Callie. You can't let a panic attack happen in front of him. Just go.

  "Please, let me through. I'm going home," I grind out, hoping to sound braver than a feel. I can sense the cold sweat spreading across the back of my neck.

  How is it so hot all the sudden? It's got to be 30 degrees outside. But it's stifling in here. My skin feels damp. My chest is tight and starting to burn. Please, fuck, don't let this piece of shit see me fall apart.

  "Baby, come on. Just get in bed and you'll be glad you didn't leave." His arm is around my waist before I can stop him, his hand under the back of my skirt in one move. I feel his fingers pressing the fabric of my underwear and his arm pinning me against his front, where more than enough of him is pressing against me.

  I shove him, surprised at my own strength. I know I don't have much muscle, but this adrenaline, or possibly pure panic, is giving me raging power.

  I get out of his door and make a beeline for my car, my erratic breathing drowning out the yelling I hear spewing from Gabe's front door. Down the stairs, across the street, down the block. One step at a time. I can see my lights blink as I click my keys - if I can get in the car, I can fall apart there. Not in this intersection full of people.

  I throw myself into the car, focusing on getting the keys in the ignition. My fingers are cold, my nose is burning, and my back is drenched through my sweater. I can feel the tears coming.

  I jerk my car out of my parking spot, nearly hitting another car in the process. I’m too shaken up to drive, but I can’t stay in his neighborhood. I know he can see me from his front windows.

  By the time I get a few miles down the road, I pull into a quiet truck stop, and let it out. Heavy, deep sobs. My eyes are burning with smeared mascara and my throat is scratched from gulping in air.

  How the fuck is this fair? How is this the very first guy I meet after...that? I’ve been kidding myself thinking I could get over the physical issues and sleep with someone. Especially human garbage like Gabe. Even if I was ready, how am I ever supposed to have a real relationship?

  How is this the way my story goes?

  I wish I had told him off now, gripping my steering wheel as I make a similar late-night drive home. I wish Gabe knew it all, just to see the smug, douche-y grin get wiped off his face. He had no clue about the guy. The break-in. The week spent in the hospital afterward. And the constant paranoia for weeks after that.

  No, Callie. You can't go back there. Focus on getting home. Focus on making this drive. Focus on achievable things. Get home, eat some food and crash out.

  And an achievable thing just might be Brock. Fuck, he was gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome. The best walking cliche I've ever seen.

  And warm. Those big dark eyes seemed to just melt me. He even seemed to take to Cookie. And finding a guy nice enough to carry my stuff to the car reminds me of home. He might not be from the south, but he seems like a gentleman.

  And having those big muscles and looming height around would probably make me feel safe. Or it could give me a whole new slew of things to be scared of.

  Fuck this anxiety.

  But I can't risk it. I can't let another Gabe happen. I can't risk scaring someone away with my history. That was the whole point of this move - put it all behind you.

  But my heavens, that body. His arms had to be as big around as my thighs, even though those things were getting bigger by the day. Those sweet eyes and broad shoulders. I shake myself out of it - I can't screw around again and catch the attention of another asshole. Not worth it. Not one bit.

  I'm gripping the steering wheel like there's no tomorrow. Cookie is long gone into another nap, and I'm checking the mirrors for anyone following. With as little traffic as this lonely highway gets, it's no surprise to see a long streak of darkness back towards town. Nobody is behind me.

  Still, being alone in that house by myself stirs up a whole new thread of anxiety. What if someone finds me, alone, of guard and unable to protect myself? Again.

  Brock

  This is the third week I've "swung by" the Mcferrin's feed store where I first met Callie. They seem to be catching on, clearly not used to my presence on a regular basis. As I leave the shop this time, Mr. Mcferrin tells me to have a good Thanksgiving. I forgot we were that close to the holiday. Callie’s probably back in Texas for it, so I’m defeated at finding her for the day.

  Knowing when to call it quits, I decide I might as well get a decent meal while I'm in town. The only option is Maggie's diner, a place older than dirt that can grill up a perfect greasy-spoon breakfast. If I can't see those beautiful green eyes of Callie's again, the least I can do is get some grub.

  I slide in the front door as quietly as a giant like me can, hoping to get to my booth and avoid everyone. I turn to go to my usual table, a spot at the back with prime viewing of the parking lot and patrons while still basically hiding behind the counter. My ideal place.

  "Brock Skinner! As I live and breathe." Shouts Maggie. Always 50 decibel points above the rest of the world.

  She leans over the counter as I approach and I know I'm gonna have to do the nice small talk stuff.

  “How’s your daddy’s
campaign going?” she quizzes me, already diving into the topic I hate.

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” I smile tightly at Maggie. We get each other. Asking is more of a playful poke than anything, but she knows I’m not up to talk about their corrupt politicking. She puts her hands up, telling me she’ll leave that sore spot alone. Then she crooks a finger and leans across the counter.

  "Someone is in your spot." She winks.

  I look over and see that same dark hair I've been hoping to see for weeks. I can't help but smile at the chance to talk to this woman again. Maggie must notice my change in demeanor.

  "Don't you start harassing her Brock. She's a sweet girl. Brand new to town. Doesn't need you to scare the shit out of her."

  I wave her off. "Don't worry. Can I get a coffee over there?"

  "Coming right up." She turns back to the kitchen as I make my way over. Callie has the table covered in papers, pens and her laptop. Who comes to this tiny diner in the middle of nowhere to work?

  "This doesn't seem like the best place to get work done," I tease as I slide in across from her.

  Her eyes jolt open and for a second I think she doesn't recognize me. Then that gorgeous smile spreads across her face.

  "Oh. Yeah, I guess it's not the best but I had to get out of the house for a bit."

  "Ah. Well, you can't get better coffee than this place," I nod at her half empty cup. “Are you staying up here for Thanksgiving?”

  “Oh, that. Yeah…. I’m not that close to my dad, so I’ll stay here this time around,” she says with a sigh. I probably shouldn’t have asked.

  Thankfully, Maggie shows up to top her off and set my drink down, giving me an all too obvious grin.

  "What are you working on?" I pick up a stack of papers, covered in graphs and numbers. Changing the subject to her work is my best bet at keeping this conversation going.

  "Just client stuff. I do digital marketing."

  "And what is that, exactly?" I lean towards her, gripping my coffee and looking right into those eyes. I couldn't care less about what kind of marketing she does. As long as she keeps letting me see those mesmerizing eyes.

  "Basically anything online. Paid ads. Building websites. SEO. All that stuff people don't want to mess with so they pay me to do," she grins. She opens a few packets of sugar and reaches for the cream. I don't know how people can drink coffee like that, but it's adorable nonetheless.

  "So you work from home?” I ask."I’m guessing you don’t make the drive back and forth to Denver everyday?”

  “No... I don’t,” she answers, her eyes narrowed at me. She must need this sip of coffee because by the time she sets her cup down, her face is warm again instead of suspicious.

  "What about you? What exactly do you do around tiny Idaho Springs?" She licks a tiny drop of coffee from the curve of her lower lip. Focus, kid. Don't get a hard-on in the fucking diner.

  "I train horses. Stud them out for fees, house a few locals' horses that don't want the upkeep. All the stuff people don't wanna do, so they pay me to do it," I smile wide, hoping the playful mocking goes over well.

  It does. She smiles, taking another sip of her coffee and blushing.

  "I've never actually ridden a horse."

  “Really? A girl from Texas that's never been on a horse," I muse. "I can teach you. I've got plenty of calm ones that'd be easy to learn on."

  "A friend of mine broke her leg getting kicked off a horse when we were young. It scared me shitless so I haven't touched one since I saw that. They are beautiful though."

  You're beautiful, I think. Thankfully, my brain-to-mouth filter catches that before it falls out.

  "Well, the invitation is open anytime you wanna come ride."

  She blushes and I catch my slip. Fuck, is that too sexual? I can't be that prick to this girl before she even knows me.

  I move on, hoping to avoid that comment.

  "Where's Cookie?"

  "She's at home. She sleeps so much right now I thought she'd be good for a couple hours. I should actually probably get back pretty soon. I'm still not used to these roads at night yet."

  "How far do you have to go? I'd be happy to drive with you if that would make it easier. I could probably drive every road in the county blindfolded," I brag, hoping she doesn't actually test me on it.

  Her eyes goes wide and I see the warm demeanor drain off her. Fuck.

  "No. No, it's ok. If I go in the next few minutes I can get back without any trouble." Her smile is forced now. Was that too much? I thought I was offering to help.

  "Would you excuse me? I've gotta run to the bathroom," Callie announces as she slips out of the booth.

  Callie

  Breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. What's that counting thing the doctor taught me? I'm leaning against the stall door white knuckling my sweater, trying to concentrate on anything but my panic.

  Why would he ask to follow me home? I did say I hate driving at night. It could be a simple, friendly offer. He could be sweet. He seems sweet. And what about that riding comment? Did he really mean what I thought?

  Not that I would mind. That man and his big hands have been in every wet dream I've had in the past few weeks.

  But he could never deal with all my baggage. I'm sure he's a "friends with benefits" guy and I'm not up for that. Six months ago? Sure. I'd have a fling with someone every once in a while, knowing full well that it would never turn into anything serious. But now there's no way. No way in hell I can give that to anyone, much less to myself.

  I'm sliding back into the table as Brock eyes me. Maliciously? No. He's smiling. The lines around his eyes are crinkled. Only a true psycho can fake that kind of smile.

  "Where were we?" I push past the last subject. "Is this your go-to place?"

  "I guess so. I try to avoid town as much as possible, but I have to come get supplies every once in a while."

  "Coffee and chit chat are supplies?" I tease.

  "I'll have you know my truck is loaded down with a few weeks worth of horse medicine and a healthy supply of coffee and chit chat at this very moment," he quips back. We both smile. His beard moves with his smirk, and I think about running my fingers through it while he kisses me. He leans closer across the table, dangerously pushing the line of chit chat to full on flirting.

  Up this close, his shoulders are even broader than I remember. He’s taking up most of his side of the booth. This near to me, he smells like leather and hay. The smell stirs up a memory from the past - at home in Texas. It’s almost too close to home. Too comfortable. If I had any sense at all, I'd pack up my things and go.

  My nerves take over and I look down, watching the little bubbles around the edge of my coffee cup.

  "Have you ordered anything? I'm starving," he says, jolting me back into the moment and still putting off strong vibes in my direction.

  I look up into his eyes. Big, brown, warm eyes to match his tan skin and dark hair. They remind me of someone. Oh, shit.

  "Cookie! Shit, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I need to get back to her," I blurt out as I find a few dollar bills to leave for my coffee.

  "Of course," he says deflatedly. "Um, if you don't mind, I'd like to buy your next coffee."

  I stop my packing and look into his eyes. Those same lines around his eyes are showing again - genuine. Warm. I could handle another cup of coffee with him.

  "That'd be good. I'm usually here on Saturday mornings if you want to meet me then?" I'm packing up my laptop and fumbling with all my papers.

  His eyes are staring up at me. I smile again, uncomfortable and giddy under his gaze.

  "I'll be here."

  Brock

  Saturday crawls towards us. I spent the last few days working endlessly, keeping myself busy. Thank goodness we had several horses that needed new shoes and some shots. They kept me distracted while I waited.

  I feel like a goofy teenager, but I can’t lie to myself: I’m genuinely excited to see Callie again. I might look like an emotionless gi
ant, but I have already found my soft spot with this woman.

  When she said morning, I assumed 7am. But I had a hunch that she doesn't run on my rancher schedule. I'm up at the ass-crack of dawn every day, so that's basically midmorning for me.

  8 a.m. rolls around and I can't fiddle around with the horses anymore. All of them have hay and water. The antsy ones have had at least run around the corral. I need to go.

  "Back again already?" Maggie teases as I walk into the diner. It's fairly crowded for how small this town in. Several families I know are enjoying their breakfast and catching up on town gossip. My usual spot is taken by a farmer I hardly know, so I throw my leg over a barstool to wait.