Loving the Mountain Man (Love at Last Book 3) Read online

  She moved to do it, then stopped, swayed for a couple seconds, and grabbed my hand. I gripped it hard. “Lost a shoe.”

  Not only had she lost one, but the other was a high heel—pointy and red and totally useless out here. Useless anywhere.

  “Kick it off.”

  She did it quickly, then turned to the rock. She’d never make it in that dress—a short, tight, sparkly number. I was about to say something when she yanked it up over her hips, giving me an unexpected glimpse of her rear.

  I turned away.

  “I can do this,” she said more to herself than to me.

  After a couple false starts, she got a few feet up and stopped.

  “Stuck.”

  “Next foothold’s there.” I glanced up, forcing my eyes to focus past her body to the rock itself. “About three feet up.”

  She bent her leg, pushed up on it, and reached, but it was too far.

  “I’ll help you. Just be ready to shove up with your legs and grip.”

  “Okay.”

  I put one hand on her butt, the other hovered behind her back—just in case—and pushed. “Go.”

  For a millisecond, she teetered and looked like she’d fall straight back, but finally her balance changed, she hugged the wall, and she was up. Almost. Another half a minute and she was over the edge. I followed her to the top and found her sitting huddled in on herself.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Oh. Right.” She blinked down to where her car was gone—where she’d almost bit it herself—and let out a choked little laugh. Even in the dark, I could see the shell-shocked expression of someone whose mind hadn’t caught up with events. “I might need a rest first.”

  “Yeah. Just not here.”

  I leaned down and offered my hand. “Let’s go before you freeze your”—I cleared my throat—“butt off.”

  It wasn’t until she struggled to standing and pulled her minuscule dress down around her hips that I remembered her lack of shoes.

  Hell.

  I bent, grabbed her wrist with my right hand and put the left through her legs, before hauling her over my shoulders.

  3

  Christa

  Was this man saving me? Or had my life just gone from hellish to worse?

  “Um, sir? I can walk.” My voice came out reedy and weak. “Would you mind putting me down…please?”

  “Soon as we get to my place.”

  “Your place?” All the blood was going to my head, making my words slow. My tongue felt thick. I should have been frantic, but I couldn’t seem to get a scream going. “I need to call the cops.”

  “No cell service here. Call ’em from my home phone.”

  “Please. I’ll walk.”

  He set me on the ground and steadied me before taking his hands away. “You got no shoes.”

  I looked down. Oh. Right. No wonder it was so cold. That and my lost coat.

  “Won’t hurt you. Promise. You want to walk, you walk.” I blinked at him. He was dressed appropriately for the frigid night in a dark canvas coat with a thick beanie pulled low. His face, covered in a dense beard, didn’t need much else. His bottom half, in jeans and mud-stained boots, looked just as warm. “Here.” He unzipped his coat and, before I could stop him, put it over my quaking shoulders. Oh my God, it was Heaven. “Sorry I didn’t ask.”

  I waited. “Ask what?”

  “Permission to pick you up. Usually…” He paused and shook his head. “Never mind.”

  What kind of person had a usually that involved heaving bodies over their enormous slab of a shoulder? A fireman? A serial kidnapper? “You carry…people…a lot?” The words didn’t want to slide out past my chattering teeth.

  “Used to.” He shrugged, then glanced at my feet. “Boots are big, but you can—”

  Before he could take off his shoes for me, I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “No. No, I’ll walk like this.”

  “You could just let me carry you.” He looked up the mountain, to wherever our destination was. “Be faster.”

  “I’m heavy. I don’t want you to—”

  “Light as a feather.”

  I was shuddering too hard to give him a look.

  “Come on.”

  “Not killing your…back? You swear?”

  “Swear.”

  “Not planning any…nefarious activities?” I tried to make it into a joke, but my voice came out tiny and scared.

  “Don’t even know what that means.”

  “You’re not going to—”

  “Kidding.” His mouth did a weird quirking thing at the corners, which I assumed was meant to be a smile. It didn’t look entirely natural on him. “Won’t hurt you. Promise on the memory of everyone I’ve ever lost.” Every word sounded dead serious.

  Which I guess it would if he were a creepy person, bent on killing me, but considering that I couldn’t feel my toes—or my brain—anymore, it was definitely one of those leap of faith moments. Just those words—leap of faith—sent my mind careening back to the moment he pulled me from the car.

  I nodded. He grabbed my hand and bent, and suddenly I was on his back again, my butt by his head.

  He huffed on—actually up—each uneven step jolting me against him, and I could do nothing but curl into his heat.

  “Not far,” he huffed out. A few minutes later, I smelled wood smoke just as a dog barked, the sound muffled. I strained my neck to look ahead.

  It was a log cabin, its windows glowing warmly. There was someone waiting there for him, surely. A woman, all snug in that home, dinner simmering on the stove. Or, not dinner, maybe, since it was late, but a hot chocolate or something.

  I’d sell my soul for a hot chocolate right now. Anything hot.

  I almost laughed. It would be really weird if I laughed right now, wouldn’t it?

  At the cabin door, he let me down slowly. Boneless, I collapsed immediately against him.

  “Can’t…feel…feet.” My teeth clacked together with each word.

  He threw open the door to a madly barking dog, who looked—I squinted—happy. Something clawed at my knee and I looked down. Oh. Two dogs. A big German Shepherd-type creature and, beside it…was that one of those papillons? I blinked. A one-eared papillon.

  “Back it up, girls.”

  Slowly, I turned to look up at him. “Me?”

  “Talking to the dogs.” He turned to them. “Brownie, quit it!”

  The big dog stopped jumping on him, moved back a few feet, and sat.

  “Bear, down.”

  Once Bear—the little one—complied, going to sit next to her companion, he and I went in. He shut the door, enclosing us in quiet—aside from the crackling of a wood stove—and blessed warmth.

  “Might wanna…” He lowered his chin toward my feet. “Get that thing off.”

  Thing? I glanced down, puzzled, until I realized what he meant. My tights, full of runs, with big holes in them now, choked my toes. I couldn’t feel them.

  “Have a seat. I’ll heat up water for a tea.” He paused. “Get you something to put on.”

  I nodded, swayed, put a hand out, and caught myself on the door. Oh. Boneless.

  “I can’t…” I peered at the sofa. I mean, the place was tiny, so it wasn’t far, but it looked miles away. I tried a step, but it sent shooting pain up my foot and I was much, much too tired. Or something more than that—beyond pain and exhaustion, into some kind of otherness.

  I sank to my butt, right there, against the door.

  My savior walked back into the room with a few folded-up items, and stopped when he saw me. “Bath?”

  I shook my head. “Pro’ly drown.”

  “Okay. Well, um. Here.” Slowly, he drew close, like he might approach a wild animal. He set a pile of neatly-folded fabric beside me, picked up one item—a soft plaid blanket—and put it over me, then handed me the telephone he’d stuck in his back pocket. “Call whoever you need to.”

  I stared at the phone, suddenly unsure of who I should reach out to. Granny Evans, definitely, since she’d start worrying eventually.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “’Bout nine thirty.”

  I blinked. “You’re kidding.” What time had I left the party? Eight, I’d thought. Maybe eight thirty?

  Something else occurred to me. “How’d you find me?”

  “Opened the door to let the dogs out. Heard you skid off the road. Took me a while to find you.”

  Something broke loose inside my chest and I couldn’t keep my head up. With an audible thunk, my forehead hit my knees. I was shaking, only not from the cold this time.

  Was I crying? I turned my head, wiped my face and stared at my palm. Definitely wet.

  How did I not know what my body was doing?

  “Hey, hey. Don’t do that.”

  I couldn’t stop because I couldn’t even tell it was happening. How was that for messed up?

  He crouched in front of me, framed by his dogs, and I noticed his feet. He wore slippers. Grey, flannel slippers, the most out of place thing I could imagine on this big brute of a man.

  “What…Uh… Hell. Please don’t do that. What can I do?” he asked, sounding totally out of his element.

  After everything that had happened tonight—my shithead boss trying to put his hands on me, then, oh, just driving off the side of a mountain, nearly dying, and being hauled back to life by this guardian angel person—I couldn’t drum up the tiniest drop of fear or suspicion.

  All I wanted was a hug.

  “Could you,” I managed through chattering teeth. “Please hold me?”

  4

  Micah

  She wanted me to wrap my arms around her. As if I did shit like that every day.

  No. No fucking way. I was good with pulling people out of wreckage and just fine humping them up the mountain to safety, but aftercare wasn’t something I had experience with.

  “Uh…look. Why don’t we ca—”

  Before I could finish, she’d moved from her spot against the front door to my lap, leaving me with no choice but to wrap myself around her shaking body.

  So, she wasn’t having the brush off. Brownie and Bear moved closer to sniff our unexpected visitor. Wasn’t surprising, since this was the only female we’d ever had here.

  The woman had to be in shock. Not much to do about that, except make sure she was physically safe. Warm, hydrated.

  After nudging the girls away, I grabbed the blanket from the floor and put it over her—us—trying not to catch that warm, addictive smell I hadn’t gotten a hit of in forever. Damn, it was good. A drug to a man who’d been sober for years. I had the sudden urge to lick her.

  Which just proved how unfit for this I was.

  She rubbed her face tighter to my chest and pressed hard against me.

  At least she wasn’t scared of me anymore. Though, she really should’ve called the cops before trusting me like this.

  “Hold on.” I leaned over and grabbed my phone from where she’d dropped it. “Hey, um…” Jesus, what was her name? I didn’t even know that. Didn’t know a damned thing about her. “Call the cops. Let ’em know what happened.”

  She nodded, but didn’t move to take the phone. I should do it.

  Just a sec.

  Another of those close snuggles brought her ass tight to my crotch and I stilled. Yeah, no. This wasn’t going to work. They needed to come get her.

  “Look, I’ll give ’em a call.” I dialed 911 and spoke as soon as the operator answered.

  “Not an emergency, ma’am. Just wanted to report an accident—no injuries.”

  “Go ahead, sir.”

  Shit, I’d forgotten to get her name. I leaned in. “What’s your name?”

  She mumbled something against my chest.

  “Crystal?”

  “Christa. Evans.”

  “Woman named Christa Evans. Wiped out on Pine Mountain Road. Her car…” Shit. Her car was at the bottom of the fucking ravine. I couldn’t help tightening my arm around her, then cleared my throat to get rid of some leftover adrenaline. “Black ice on the mountain. Her vehicle’s gone.”

  “Can you put Ms. Evans on the phone, sir?”

  “Just a sec.” I pulled the blanket away and handed her the phone, instantly missing the distance between us. “Go on and tell them.”

  “Hello?” She glanced up at me for a few seconds, then away. “Yeah. Christa Evans.” She rattled off an address and appeared to listen. “He’s…” Her eyes met mine. They were dark in her pale face, bottomless. “Are you Mr. Micah Graham?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes.” Another long pause. “He saved me. Risked his life. I’ll be fine… Yes. Oh. Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Thank you.”

  She handed me the phone and I listened, while the operator informed me they’d try to get someone up here, but since it wasn’t an emergency, it likely wouldn’t be tonight. I was also advised not to drive, given the driving conditions.

  All the while, the woman—Christa—watched me. She had one of those round faces turned into a heart by a pointy little chin. All of it was sort of framed by super-straight, shoulder-length hair, cut across her forehead. Reminded me of that actress in Pulp Fiction. Except fuller, her rosy cheeks and bright, almost-black eyes making her doll-like. The rest of her was nothing like a doll. Or if it was, it wasn’t one I’d give my kid sister.

  “They don’t want us driving tonight. Said the roads are mess in the valley, too.”

  “Oh, crap.” Something like panic flitted across her face. “I don’t want to put you out, it’s not—”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I’m sorry, Micah.”

  “Don’t be.” I nodded. “Christa.”

  “I’m safe with you, right?”

  “Always.”

  A big, fat tear formed at the outside corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. I don’t think she even noticed it. “Thank you, Micah.”

  “Any time.”

  With a deep, shaky sigh, she got close again. It took a few seconds for me to realize she wasn’t using me for heat and comfort this time, she was thanking me.

  After what had to be close to a minute, I shifted back. “You, uh, ready for some tea?”

  She sniffed and nodded, let me nudge her off me and get up. I offered her a hand, which she accepted, and pulled her to standing.

  “Mind if I call my roommate, Micah?”

  “Course. I’ll get you something hot.” I handed her the phone.

  With the girls dogging my footsteps—as usual—I went into the kitchen. Well, what I thought of as my kitchen, but she’d probably see as something less. Sink, oven, counter—all shoved into the corner of the cabin’s main room. At least I’d made the bathroom separate. And the bedroom. Which would give her some privacy.

  ’Cause she wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

  5

  Christa

  I dialed home, hating that I’d be interrupting Gran’s shows.

  She picked up on the second ring, a little out of breath. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Gran.”

  “Christa, hon? What are you doing?”

  I sighed and walked to the front window. Crap, the sky was that same weird pink. I glanced back at Micah—my guardian angel—and let the curtain fall closed before shutting my eyes and concentrating on not giving my grandmother another heart attack.

  “First of all, I want you to know that I’m safe. I’m fine. Okay?”

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Got into an accident, leaving the work party.” She tried to talk and I pushed through. “I’m totally fine. Unhurt.” Not strictly true, but she didn’t need to know about my sore wrist and the shoulder I could barely move, or about the pain across my chest from where the seatbelt had held me back. It suddenly occurred to me, in a weird aside, that my airbag hadn’t deployed. Probably a good thing, given the situation. Last thing I’d need on top of this was a broken nose. “But the car’s…gone.”

  Silence.

  “Gran?”

  “Gone,” she repeated, without inflection. So much for not freaking her out. No way would I tell her about the stuff that happened before I left my boss’s house. Ex-boss.

  “There’s black ice up here. Hairpin curves. I braked and…” I shut my eyes hard against the wave of nausea that overtook me, took a step back and made it to the sofa, where I collapsed with an oof. My voice came out flat. “Went off the side of a cliff, Gran.” I paused, expecting some kind of reaction. Nothing. I’d killed her. “You still there?”

  “Yes. Go on. How are you calling me?”

  “A man saved me. Gran, he’s my…” Angel, I almost said, but some instinct told me he wouldn’t like that. “Micah.” His eyes were on me. I could feel it, though I couldn’t look at him right now or I’d lose it. “He…” Don’t cry. Keep it in. “He climbed down a sheer rock face. Um, broke the car window, and, uh, pulled me out.” Hiccup. “Just as it dropped.” I inhaled, wishing I’d learned how to meditate, or actually gone to all those yoga classes I’d signed up for. “The car. The car dropped.”

  “He there?” She used her all business voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “Put him on.”

  “No, he’s…”

  “Put. Him. On. Christa. I need to talk to the man who saved my baby’s life.”

  “Um. Micah?” I held the phone out. “My Grandmother would like to talk to you.”

  Expressionless, he stepped to the sofa, took the phone and said, “This is Micah Graham.”

  He didn’t say much. A couple Yes, ma’ams and No, ma’ams. The man had a good voice. Solid, but not overloud. Deep, and smooth… No, that wasn’t the right word. More like rich. Like a strong cup of black coffee. No freaking watered down lattes for this man.

  I blinked. Was I delirious, comparing this man’s voice to a hot drink? These seemed an awful lot like the thoughts of a person teetering on the edge.

  Oh, God, don’t think of edges right now.

  One of the dogs—the big one. Brownie, I think?—nudged at my knee. I petted her unconsciously and sank deep into the sofa. It was one of those big, man-sized pieces of furniture. Soft and ridiculously comfortable. I tucked my legs under me and scratched behind the dog’s ear. It was soft, the movement repetitive and soothing. Micah spoke quietly into the phone. I could fall asleep to this.