Exposed - My Mountain Man Protector

by Alexa Ross

  “That’s a nice story,” I said.

  “Yeah. Funny, the things some people will do for love. Sacrifice everything. It’s beautiful if it’s worth it, tragic if it isn’t.”

  His words echoed bitterly over the water, and the question that had been playing on the edge my mind came to the surface.

  “Blake, did you really come out here to escape the way your parents lived, their shallow materialism? Or did you come out here to escape something else too?”

  The silence after my question was the answer. As I waited, there was not the slightest hint of a sound. No rustling, no chirping, nothing. Even the trees and animals were frozen in suspense.

  “Her name was Anya,” Blake said after a minute.

  The silence stretched even longer this time, and I was about to say something, about to make some dumb comment about the water or the stars, when he spoke again.

  “She was destruction incarnate.”

  I frowned.

  Another statement that was nearly impossible to respond to.

  Luckily, Blake followed it up for me. “You aren’t going to dunk your head in?”

  I glanced over. His cheeky grin was just visible in the dark.

  “No. Who knows what’s in this water,” I said, and he laughed.

  “Still a city girl at heart, afraid of a little forest water.”

  And with that, he shook his head exuberantly, like a dog, showering me with droplets.

  “Hey!” I said, swimming away.

  “Come on,” he said, “it’s not every day you get to swim in the forest under the stars. Make the most of it.”

  “I’ll go at my own pace, thank you,” I said, coming to a stop.

  Blake shrugged but kept advancing, stopping in front of me. Looking up at him, I trembled with marvel. He almost looked like a bear himself with those huge arms and broad chest, even with the alert way he was eyeing me now. Almost as if…

  I tore my gaze away. I was being ridiculous. Blake clearly had been enjoying his life here—alone. I took a step away, inhaled and then exhaled. I was still reeling from everything that had happened with Angelo. My feelings couldn’t be trusted.

  Taking another step away, I said, “I’m really hungry now. I think we should go back.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. We should go back,” Blake said. “Just after you”—he dunked me under the water and then up—“get the full lake experience.”

  Now sputtering, I turned to him and hit his rock wall of a bicep.

  “Blake!”

  He only laughed at my soaked and sputtering form. His big deep belly laughs continued as I wiped off my face and caught my breath, and then I was laughing too, the both of us shaking with it, with the warm water, the nice night, and me, drenched in my full lake experience.

  Once we got back to the shore, Blake’s gaze lingered on me as I hurried to my clothes. It flicked away hurriedly when I caught him looking.

  “Can you make it back all right?” he asked.

  Stumbling into my pants, I gave the answer I didn’t really feel: “Yes, thank you. I should be fine.”

  As I unfurled my shirt, Blake asked, “You sure?”

  Slipping on the shirt on, my arms groaned with fatigue, and finally I admitted it. “I am pretty tired actually,” I said.

  The next second Blake was there in front of me, turning around, crouching down, and spreading his arms for…a piggyback. I paused for a second and then hopped on. Blake rose as easily as if I were a bag of potatoes or a rabbit. Then he started back to the station. The ride was enjoyable and practically made me fall asleep.

  Blake moved through the forest seamlessly. He was part of it, one with it. He knew the stray roots before he came to them, and he sidestepped what looked to be poison ivy without a second look. He glided directly to the ranger’s station, not pausing once, only stopping when he came to the door.

  He put me down. We both lingered there for a moment, staring at the door neither of us wanted to go through. I didn’t want this magical day to end.

  “So,” I said.

  “So,” Blake said, turning to me.

  His eyes were on me, and they had that same intent look from before that excited me. And frightened me. I glanced away. I was a nervous schoolgirl under that intense gaze of his.

  “Can you…check to see if there are any spiders by my bed?” I asked.

  As soon as the request was out of my lips, I frowned, embarrassed by the ridiculousness of it. But when I chanced a glance at Blake, he was smiling.

  “Sure.”

  He opened the door and held it for me. When I walked through, I got a strong whiff of his pine scent. As I waited off to the side and then followed Blake when he passed, the smell made me ache with longing.

  Once we reached the side I slept on, Blake carried out his inspection, lifting my sleeping bag half, shaking it, crouching down and scanning the floor and walls with his flashlight.

  Finally, he gave me a reassuring smile. “Your biggest predator tonight will be a bit of dust; that’s all.”

  “Great,” I said.

  I paused, waiting for him to go, but he didn’t. We stared at each other awkwardly while worried questions churned through my head. Was I supposed to slip under the covers with him just standing there? Why was he still just standing there anyway, looking at me like that?

  Finally, he said, “Here, you’re probably pretty tired. I’ll tuck you in.”

  His voice was light, and my answer was too. “Sure. Thanks.”

  I lay down on the purple carpet, curled up onto the side I always slept on, and looked up at him. He was still looking down on me, lost in his own world. Catching my eye, he picked up the sleeping bag half, swooshed it out, and laid it over me. Then, kneeling, he tucked it all around my body, by my feet, my back, my torso. The top part he tucked under my chin, where he paused.

  Our eyes were locked. His face was advancing toward mine, his eyes still with that intent gaze. An inch away from my lips, he froze.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Good night, Claire,” he said.

  By the time my “good night, Blake” was said, he was halfway across the room, hurriedly shoving himself under his own sleeping bag half. He switched off the flashlight, and, in the dark, I stared at him. Did what I thought almost happen just happen?

  Could he actually feel how I did? And, God, what were we going to do if he did?

  The next morning, I woke up, rolled over, and saw an empty bed. I stared at it for a minute, imagining Blake there, rolling over, giving me a long, morning-time stare back. I rolled back over to my other side and got up. It was surprisingly easy. My legs moved with a wonderfully excited energy.

  I bounded outside to find two pieces of toast on a tree stump and Blake, sitting by the fire, finishing his own toast.

  “Just in time,” Blake said mid-chew.

  As I reached for my pieces, I tried to casually study his face, but I found nothing—no change, no sign of what might have almost happened last night.

  “It’s 7 a.m. You’re up early,” Blake said with a good-humored smile.

  “Yeah,” I said, biting into the first piece. “I feel…really good actually. Can’t remember the last time I had this much energy.”

  Blake grinned. “Living out here by nature and eating simpler food will do that for you.”

  “Yeah, I think so,” I said.

  I chewed slowly and didn’t say anything else. I didn’t want to admit that this newfound energy was also from no more Angelo, no more late nights worrying what he was doing.

  “You good?” Blake asked, probably noticing the change in my face.

  “Yeah,” I said, keeping my voice light. “What’s the plan for today?”

  Blake glanced over at the fire. “We’re on fire duty. We used almost all the timber in our first fire. I want to get a good supply going, enough for a week or so. I already caught a rabbit for dinner, so all we need is fire.”

  I avoided looking in the direction Blake ges
tured, to the gray slump of fur that I knew was the rabbit. I knew hunting was necessary, but I still felt uncomfortable about seeing what I was going to eat like that.

  Once our toast was finished, it was time for our timber hunt. Each searching session was fairly brief, only a half hour or so, during which we filled our arms to the brink with dry sticks.

  Blake was talkative. He almost seemed unrecognizable from the gruff man I first encountered.

  “It’s funny,” he said, trying to balance the latest stick amid the mass of others in his arms. “As a kid, this was my dream—getting away from it all, just me and nature and whatever I felt like for the day. Growing up, seeing the way my parents lived, the way the world was, it seemed less and less likely. My leaving for my grandad’s was a last-ditch effort, an abrupt move, because I didn’t see any other way to stop myself from becoming like them. Then, after he died, coming here to stay was a long shot too. I never thought it would actually work.”

  “That’s awesome” was all I could think to respond with.

  Blake didn’t notice. He was in his own little world now. “Kids get it,” he said, half to himself. “They really get it.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Then, turning to me, he asked, “What about you?”

  I shrugged, and before I could think better of it, the words flowed out. “The only thing I wanted when I was a kid was to be less afraid.” I bent to pick up a particularly dry-looking stick. “I was afraid of rain, dogs, strangers, even tall people. I was afraid of skating, the outdoors, and just about everything except for the one thing I really should have been afraid of: being trapped in a life that wasn’t mine.”

  Now it was Blake’s turn to be silent.

  “Well,” he said finally, “at least you’ve escaped now. Some people take a lifetime to figure out that what they’re doing isn’t working.”

  “Yeah, I escaped, but at what a cost?” I murmured, half to myself.

  “Hey, Claire,” Blake said, putting his hand on my arm, “an authentic life is worth it, worth any cost.”

  I felt like responding, but something in his eyes told me there would be no arguing with Blake about this. After a minute, he continued on.

  “Well,” I said, “I certainly am going to make some changes when I get back, move somewhere close to nature, really savor cookies.”

  Blake said nothing, didn’t even laugh.

  I glanced over. There were three creases of vague irritation on his forehead. I stared at them, trying to figure them out. Surely Blake didn’t expect me to stay indefinitely.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Any plans after this?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll stay here until it no longer feels right to do so.”

  I glanced over at him. Now his profile was one of assuredness: the definite set of his mouth, the purposeful narrowing of his eyes. God, he made it look so easy.

  “But how do you know?” I asked.

  “How do I know what?”

  “How do you know what feels right and what feels wrong? How do you know which feeling is right, which voice to listen to?”

  Pausing, Blake sat down on the grass. His face was thoughtful.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Practice, I guess. For me, I find there’s usually two voices: one of love and one of fear, one that wants to help me and one that wants to protect me. I try to listen to the helping one, but it’s not always easy.”

  I sat down beside him and glanced over. Blake’s gaze was on a pile of leaves on the ground in front of us. Could I tell him?

  No, I couldn’t tell him, couldn’t explain it to this upright, perfect man. I’d been listening to the wrong voice, the fearful one, for so long that I hardly knew what the right one sounded like.

  Sometime later, Blake rose and we headed back to the fire in silence. I didn’t say anything; I was all talked out. I had enough to think about already. Maybe Blake did too. Or maybe he just didn’t feel like talking to a clueless city girl anymore.

  Once we got back to the fire, Blake went inside the house and returned with his guitar.

  “Break time,” he said, sitting down on the log.

  I sat down gratefully beside him; I didn’t want to admit it, but I was getting tired.

  Blake started strumming away, and just when I recognized the chords, he started to sing.As the final chord echoed into the night, Blake put the guitar down and smiled at me.

  “You’re a Stones fan?”

  I nodded. “Did you know that they were named after a Bob Dylan song?” I said.

  He shook his head, paused, and then, after a minute, said, “No. They were named after a Muddy Waters one.”

  I laughed, wanting to throw my arms around him right here and now.

  “What?” he asked.

  “That was a test,” I said, “and you just passed.”

  He grinned, and we went on to rhyme off our favorite bands. Suddenly, mid-conversation, Blake paused and cocked his head at me, his blue eyes scanning my face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just never would’ve pegged you for a music lover.”

  “Bet you wouldn’t have pegged me for a nature lover either,” I shot back.

  He shook his head. “I…can be quick to judge sometimes. I think I misjudged you, Claire. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. I kept my gaze on my hands, avoiding the intentness of his gaze.

  “Well,” Blake said, rising, “we should probably get back to timber gathering.”

  And so we did, our trips going farther into the trees each time, our conversations growing more excited all the while. Even though we were just collecting timber, the list of subjects to talk about only grew.

  Finally, when there was a pyramid of sticks almost up to my waist by the fire pit, we stopped.

  Blake surveyed the result of our efforts with a chuckle.

  “Think we may have gone a bit overboard. Looks like we have enough sticks for the next three months or so.”

  I laughed myself. “Three more months here wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I froze.

  Blake only smiled slightly and headed inside, saying over his shoulder, “The sun sets soon. I think I know a place we can get a good view. I’ll bring food.”

  I paused at the doorway, unsure if I should follow him. Soon enough he was back again, his arms full of bread.

  “Oooh, bread, my favorite,” I joked.

  His face darkened, and his voice came out robotic and cold. “I just thought the rabbit could wait.”

  “I was only joking,” I said, but Blake was already striding ahead into the trees.

  I followed him. We were probably headed to the clearing, but I wasn’t about to ask for certain. Clearly something had set Blake off.

  It was not long before we got there, to a patch of grass overlooking the mountain. As we sat down, it was getting dark already, although not dark enough to obscure the irritation still on Blake’s face.

  He handed me a piece of bread. Catching my eye, he said, “I’m sorry. Something you said—it just reminded me of someone. Anya.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  We ate our bread in silence, at first in awkwardness but at last in awe. The sun had begun its final descent, casting an orange halo over the pines, outlining the mountainside with fire. The air was clear and cool, and the clearing was silent; all the animals were watching too. Even the trees stood still in a motionless respect for the stunning sight.

  It was only when the last ray of sun was gone, when all had settled into darkness, that Blake spoke.

  “I met Anya when I lived with Grandad. She was beautiful, funny, remarkable—everything I could have ever wanted, except for her some of her values. She was overly concerned with appearances, with keeping up with trends, with the ‘look’ of things. For a while I played along, ignored the irritated voice in my head, stifled what I really wanted. I got a real job, went
along with her to her friends’ over-the-top dinner parties, even looked into going back to school. But it wasn’t enough.”