Safe on the Mountain: A Mountain Man Romance

by Alexandria Thayer

  I finally get to my turn off, habit making me flick my blinker on. Instantly, the car behind me has it’s blinker on too - the same direction I’m going.

  That’s nothing, Callie. At least three families you know of live on your stretch of mountain too. I know for a fact that one cabin is an AirBNB, so technically anyone could be coming up here.

  Stay calm. Watch the road. You’re fine.

  I turn my wheel, easing onto the narrow black top road. This deep into the mountains, you don’t have professionally paved roads. It’s just gravel and dirt most of the time.

  I see headlights swing behind me a moment later and my stomach tightens. It could be anyone. It could be Brock. If it’s him, then he forgot something. Or he can’t get any service on this drive. He’s coming to tell me something.

  I know I’m lying to myself, especially as I see the car dip and swerve with each bump in the road. Brock’s truck could glide over the potholes without missing a beat. It’s definitely someone else.

  It’s another eight or so minutes to my house from here. It’s a slow, lazy drive - at least when I’m not panicked. Every hundred yards gives me a new turn to make, meaning speeding is not an option. This car is gaining on me, probably just a turn or two from being right on my bumper.

  I turn onto a straightaway, knowing I can pick up some speed here and hopefully lose him.

  I floor my car, throwing up dust behind me. Good, fucker. You don’t need to see anyway.

  His headlights glow behind the cloud and emerge with a roar from his engine. The radio is useless this far in the mountains, so the only sounds I have now are my tires grinding through the dirt and this other car, revving its engine to catch up to me.

  This can’t be a neighbor. It can’t be an AirBNB guest. It can’t be anyone I know - hardly anyone knows I’m here in this state, much less my exact address. This isn’t good.

  I take my hand away from steadying Cookie and grip the steering wheel with both hands. My logic is starting to fade - I can feel panic creeping it’s cold grip up my legs to my core. This can’t happen again.

  It can’t be the guy from Texas. It’s impossible. There’s no way he could find me up here. I took three days to make the drive to Colorado, stopping every couple hours and taking random detours. The cabin is in my dad’s name. He’d have to be a CIA-level tracker to find me.

  I didn’t even have a drink at Maggie’s. Nothing would have been in my food. Unless it’s someone who works there? Maybe a cook? Would Maggie employ someone who would be such a creep? I guess you never know people.

  I’m caught on new turns, having to slow down not to throw my car into the trees, when I lurch forward. It takes a second for my brain to process that the loud crunch I heard is my car. My own car was just hit.

  I look to the rearview mirror and only see a faint haze of headlights - he’s too close for me to even see the actual lights.

  No, no, no. This can’t be happening. I was just getting to feel normal. I was just getting something good back into my life. How the fuck is this happening.

  Brock. I’ve got to call Brock. My nerves are already shot with both hands on the wheel, much less handling my phone. I pull it out of my purse, hoping I have the service to reach him.

  One bar. One little dot in the top left corner. No, please, no. This has to work. I go to my texts, knowing he’s the last person in my log. I find his contact and press the phone icon, praying it connects. He picks up halfway through the second ring.

  “Callie - are you ok?”

  “Brock. Someone’s following me. I’m out by my house. I don’t know what to--” I scream as the car rams into the back of me again. My throat feels like it’s about to burst. I can’t cry, not now. I can hardly see the road anyway. I can’t let mascara blur everything.

  “What? Where ----you? ----can come.” Brock shouts across the phone. He’s cutting out and I can hear static replacing his every few words. No, no, no. Fuck the cell reception up here.

  I make the next turn - the last big turn before I get to my house.

  “I have to come to your place,” I shout into the phone. “Just stay there.”

  I slow in front of my house instinctively. This is the first time I notice my last name, Porter, clearly painted on the mailbox. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If this guy knows me at all, he’ll know this is my house.

  I could stop, run inside and hope to get to my dad’s shotguns before the guy makes it inside. I’ve kept them loaded by my bed since the first night I moved in here.

  But that means getting Cookie inside, running in these idiotic heels and locking the door all before he can grab me. Whether it’s simple logic or my own self-doubt, I decide I can’t make that happen. It’s not a safe bet.

  I have to keep going. I’ll have to go down the other side of the mountain to reach Brock’s place. That’s all downhill, meaning I’ll be riding my brakes. If this guy feels like ramming me then, I’ll go off the edge of the road in no time.

  I know I have to do it. I have to get away. I can’t let this guy get me. I can’t let this whole new chapter of my life start with another assault.

  I floor the gas, swerving out of the way of the pothole I’ve seen here countless times. The guy behind me has no clue, slamming his small car into the hole. He recovers fast, gunning his tires past the hole, but it still buys me a few seconds.

  I realized I’m in my panic-induced tunnel when I finally hear Brock shouting on the phone, It’s clearer this time. This peak of the mountain has a pocket of good cell service.

  “Callie, are you ok? Where are you? I can come to you, just send me your address.”

  “I don’t have time. I have to drive. He’s still behind me.” I yell into the phone, not really caring at this moment if I’m hurting his ears.

  I hear Brock cursing and opening his car door. He’s probably stopped on the side of the road to answer my call.

  “Please go home. I’m coming to your house.”

  I put my phone in the cup holder, leaving it on so I can focus on this drive. Thankfully, the half mile past my place is basically a straight shot down the mountain. Now I have to ready myself for the turns.

  My years growing up in Texas gave me plenty of mudding and four wheeling practice. I know it’s not the same, but I’m hoping it can help me make these sharp turns. I slow down to a crawl as I make a tight turn, hoping he doesn’t hit the back of my car again.

  I make the turn smoothly, speeding up for the next few hundred yards. I’m between riding my brakes and laying down the gas pedal - I’ve never driven this insanely.

  I make the next few turns deftly, surprising myself. The more ground I cover, the less energy I have to hold back my panic. My chest is tightening and I see his brights turn on behind me. The blinding lights add another layer of panic to this drive. What a bastard. I grip the steering wheel harder and see my phone screen go black from lack of use. The call is dropped.

  Does Brock know how to find me? He doesn’t even know where my house is. How would he ever know what road to check? I’m alone on this road with a psycho and Brock may not find me in time.

  I thank all that’s good and holy that I made the drive to Brock’s house in the daylight. At least I have a chance of knowing where I am. I see a familiar metal fence with the name Linker across the arch. I saw that before. This is the right way. Just a couple more minutes.

  The prick is flashing his lights at me. If he honestly thinks I’m stopping, he’s got to be beyond crazy.

  I take the last big turn, drifting into the outer edge of the road and throwing up more dirt. My nails dig into my steering wheel - please, please make it.

  I feel the jerk of the tires going from solid dirt to open space on the edge of the road. Every muscle in my body tenses as I pray I make this turn. The tires right themselves and I push the gas pedal down hard. I’m leveled out on a normal road now. I can see the red of Brock’s horse barn from here. Just a couple more minutes.

  My engine groans as I reach fo
rty, fifty, sixty miles an hour. I start to crest a hill, losing sight of Brock’s land for a moment. The uphill climb makes me slow down a bit and I hear an engine rev again - not mine.

  I scream as he hits the back of my car again. The crunch is loud. The release of the scream finally opens up my emotions. Tears blur my vision. I’m shaking, sweating. I can’t do much more of this. Cookie is whimpering now, confused and scared.

  “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. It’s gonna be alright,” I tell her. I really don’t know if I’m lying to her or not.

  I fly over the hill, building back my speed. I see Brock’s truck at the bottom of his driveway and I yelp with happiness. Thank you, God. Thank you, Brock. His lights flash at me, reversing his truck to open up the driveway for me. I take it as the go ahead to turn into his land.

  I slow down, knowing I can’t make that turn this fast. The guy behind me honks, right on my bumper again. I don’t give him the warning of a blinker. As soon as my shoddy calculations allow, I jerk my wheel and cross the cattle guard at the bottom of Brock’s entrance.

  I cross the gravel driveway and keep going into his field. I see Brock’s truck lurch in front of the cattle guard, just in time to block the other car. Brakes squeal and dirt flies, and I hear one of them furiously beating the horn.

  Soft grass slows down my car enough to look behind me. I can see the outline of Brock’s huge shoulders as he gets out of his truck. He walks towards the driver’s side of the other car. I see his shoulders heaving - he’s fuming.

  The honking stops. All I can see is Brock over the hood of his truck. I don’t know what’s happening at the other car. Before I can put myself in park and get out to see better, the tires peel out, turning away from Brock as this guy hurls himself in the opposite direction.

  He’s gone.

  Brock

  Every vein in my body is pulsing. I need to hit something. I wanted that pathetic fuck to get out of his car and try to fight me. He might not have survived my rage but I have to get this energy out of me. I debate getting in my truck and chasing him down. But Callie needs me.

  I memorize his plates as he goes and take a deep breath. You can’t be this angry when you get to her, Brock.

  I hop back into my truck and move it across the cattle guard. I get out to close the gate behind me - there’s no way that fucker is getting onto my land. Especially when Callie is here.

  I leave my truck by the fence and jog over the Callie’s car in the grass. She hasn’t gotten out and that’s worrying me. She’s got to be terrified. I see the back of her car is scratched and the bumper caved in. A new wave of heat rolls through me as I realize all the shit this guy just put her through.

  I get to the side of her car and she jumps as I approach. I see a streak of black down her cheek as she turns away from me. She’s crying. Something in my chest snaps - hurt, for Callie, and fury for the guy that dared do this to her.

  I open her door slowly. She looks up at me, tears rolling down her cheeks. She lets out a tiny “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, you don’t be sorry. Not at all. That jerk off needs to be sorry,” I tell her, leaning into the car. “Are you okay? Let’s get you up to the house.”

  Callie nods weakly.

  “Can you drive up to the house? I can get Cookie once you’re up there.”

  She nods again, sniffling. Her eyes are wide and glossy with tears.

  “I’ll meet you up there.” I tell her, giving her knee an encouraging squeeze before shutting her door.

  She makes the trek up my gravel driveway and parks, but doesn’t move from the car. I’m close behind her, opening the passenger door and picking up Cookie, who’s whimpering like crazy.

  “Do you need anything else from the car? Let’s get you inside.” Callie is almost catatonic - both hands are on the steering wheel and she hardly moves as she nods. I stare for a moment, getting more worried by the second. What the fuck actually happened?

  She reaches into the back seat and pulls out a pink duffle bag. She opens her door and slowly steps out, looking disoriented.

  She kicks off her heels, picking them up to shove into her bag. She walks into the back door of my place without turning around. I lock up her car and bring the dog in.

  I’m only a moment behind her, but by the time I come inside, Callie is gripping the counter, sobbing. Her back is shaking with each gulp of air and her knees are shaking like she might pass out.

  “Callie, honey, it’s ok.” I tell her as I come up beside her. She jerks and pulls away at my first touch, but let’s me softly rub her back once she realizes she’s safe. I keep my hand on her, trying to offer her my support through the touch. I can feel her rib cage rattling through her cries.

  I turn her towards me and she stiffens. Her eyes meet mine and she looks like a deer in headlights. Her eyes are rimmed red and are greener than I’ve ever seen. Even covered in smeared makeup, she’s ridiculously beautiful.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whispers, looking up at me, almost begging me to forgive her with those eyes.

  “Callie, there’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s that guy’s fault.” I’m rubbing down her arms now, but she’s still apologizing. I grip her upper arms, bringing my face down to her.

  “This isn’t your fault. It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re here and you’re gonna stay the night and I’ll take care of you. It’s ok, Callie,” I whisper to her.

  She bites her lip, wiping away the makeup under her eyes.

  “Sit here and I’ll clean you up,” I tell her as I pat the counter behind her. She puts her hands back shakily to pull herself up, but I know she doesn’t have the strength. I take her by the waist and sit her on the island.

  I get paper towels, wetting some in the sink. I come back over in front of her, wiping her face. Without really thinking, my free hand rests on her thigh. Her skirt has ridden up her leg, leaving soft, warm thigh under my palm. Her small hand reaches for it, wrapping around my wrist tight.

  I wipe under her eyes, taking away the streaks of eye makeup. “There are those freckles,” I joke with her. She looks up at me with those bright green eyes.

  “How did you know I have freckles?”

  “That first day, at McFerrin’s. I could see them when we first met.”

  “Oh… I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember meeting?” I’m a little hurt, but I guess she was in a rush that night...

  “No, I don’t remember if I had makeup on or not. I remember meeting you...very well,” she says softly. Her eyes trail down my chest and arm to where my hand meets her thigh. She gives me a little squeeze. I squeeze back.

  “Good, because I couldn’t forget you,” I tell her, hoping she catches my drift.

  Her eyes shoot up back to mine. She looks so sad and helpless.

  My other hand drops to the counter by her hip, and I lean closer to her. She doesn’t stop me, doesn’t move away. She’s looking up at me, watching me with those wide, electric green eyes.

  I can’t let this chance pass. If she pushes me away, so be it. I can’t just tell her I could never forget her and not follow it up with a kiss. Those lips are pink and swollen. It takes all my mental energy to not devour her mouth and her whole body right here.

  She’s delicate right now, scared and vulnerable. I can’t scare her away. I lean in gently, the press of my hips opening her legs. Her skirt slides higher, and I move a hand to her waist.

  I feel her palms on my chest. A new heat rises up in me and I let out a low sigh as I feel her breath so close to my mouth.

  Her soft lips brush against mine and waves of heat and excitement roll up my back. She feels perfect against me.

  Her hands slide up my chest to my neck, wrapping her arms around me. I pull her close to the edge of the counter, gripping her waist. I will my lips to stay still, waiting on Callie’s cue as to what she wants. She sighs against me, pressing her lips harder to mine.

  That’s all the direction I need. I
kiss her gently, over and over again, reaching up the cradle the back of her head. She tastes like the Coke we had at Maggie’s and some sort of fruity lipstick. It’s sweet and warm, and I don’t want to let her mouth go.

  I hear the smallest whimper come from her throat and pull back. I lean back to her, resting my forehead against hers.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, speaking as softly as I can while my adrenaline is rushing through me.

  “Yeah. No. I don’t really know,” she sighs. I lift up, kissing her forehead, hoping to tamper the raging erection I’ve got building in my jeans. “Thank you.”

  “Of course, honey. I’ve got you,” I smile into her hair as she looks down.