Stranded with the Mountain Man (Log Cabin Christmas)

Chapter Two

Ryder

The curvy goddess who stumbled into my cabin sits by the fire, looking like a skittish cat. I’m starting to feel bad for being rude to her, but I didn’t expect anyone to show up here. This isn’t the log cabin I live in; hardly anyone knows about it. It’s a shelter I built for emergencies, a place where I can ride out a storm or take cover when a blizzard or tornado hits. So, no one can blame me for being surprised when Charlotte showed up on my doorstep earlier.

She looks out of place, wrapped in her thick coat, hair tousled and damp from the snow. Her bright eyes dart around the cabin like she’s searching for an escape route. A fire crackles in the hearth, and the warmth should be comforting, but she looks anything but comforted.

I clear my throat, trying to shake off the guilt gnawing at me. I didn’t mean to snap at her earlier, but when you live alone in the mountains, you get used to the quiet. I have little patience for interruptions, especially when they come barreling through my door in a snowstorm. The last time I interacted with people was at the town meeting a few days ago, and that was only because my cousins Noelle and Holden practically forced me to attend.

“You should take off your wet coat,” I tell Charlotte as I poke the fire. “You’ll warm up faster.”

She nods and cautiously removes her coat, putting it on the floor right next to where she’s sitting.

“What were you doing out there, anyway? Didn’t you read about the blizzard warnings?” I ask, sitting down.

“I’m a nature photographer, and I was looking for a rare owl.”

I shake my head. “Risking your life for a photograph?”

“I get that you don’t understand it, but I’ve been tracking that owl for weeks. This was my last chance to snap a shot before I head back home.”

“Next time, you wait out the storm, understood? I don’t care what kind of owl you’re chasing. And never head out into the mountains without telling someone where you are.”

The words spill out before I can stop them. My protective instincts are kicking in hard, and I’m not sure how to rein them back. No matter how mad I am at her recklessness, I want to keep Charlotte safe.

“I appreciate the advice,” she says in a flat tone, her shoulders tense. “But you’re not the boss of me.”

“No, I’m not. But I’m the one who’s stuck with you right now.”

I know I’m coming off as harsh. I can’t help it. I’m known for not doing well in social situations. It’s part of why I avoid people as much as possible.

She takes a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position. I just—”

“Just what?” I interrupt. “Didn’t think you’d get lost? Didn’t think putting your life at risk was a bad idea?”

“No,” she replies, her voice steady now. “I thought I could handle it. I thought I could get the shot and be back before things got bad.”

I watch her, and it’s hard to ignore the determination etched on her face. She’s stubborn, that much is clear, and maybe that’s part of what makes me care so much about her despite only knowing her for a short amount of time. Her dedication is admirable, even if it’s misguided. I have to admit that it takes balls to chase an owl in a blizzard, no matter how dumb it seems.

“You’re lucky you found my cabin,” I tell her.

“You’re right. I’m grateful that you opened the door for me.”

“I mean lucky as in, I’m not here all the time. I’ve had my fair share of storms on this mountain. I figured it was smart to build a place to wait them out.”

“Wow. You clearly know these mountains well.”

“I know them well enough to understand that the weather can turn on a dime,” I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “And that it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

She nods. “I get that now. I really do. I’m sorry for being reckless. Like I said, I didn’t think it would turn this bad.”

“Just promise me you’ll be more careful next time,” I say, softening my tone. “You might not always be lucky to run into someone who can help you.”

“I will.” She shoots me a smile, and something shifts inside me as if my heart is thawing. “So, what’s your name?”

“Ryder,” I say.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ryder,” she says, looking more at ease than before.

I let my gaze rake over her curves but quickly avert my eyes before she catches me. There’s no denying that she’s unbelievably beautiful.

“Are you hungry? I could heat some soup for you. I’ve also got bread and butter,” I offer.

“Soup and bread sounds amazing right now,” she says. “Thank you, Ryder.”

Charlotte watches me as I cross the small space to the kitchen and grab a pot to heat some soup. The space isn’t much: a small wooden counter my friend Axel made for me and a makeshift propane stove. It’s basic, but it sure comes in handy when the power’s out like it is right now.

As the soup heats, I lean against the counter and glance at Charlotte. She’s moved from the floor to the couch, and I can see the way the warmth of the fire is finally starting to relax her tense shoulders.

“So, you do this often? Chase after birds in weather like this?” I ask.

She smiles. “Not in blizzards, no. I’m still getting the hang of this whole nature photography thing. It’s a learning curve.”

“Is it? I figured you just aim and shoot,” I joke.

“It’s a lot more than that. You have to understand the animals’ behavior, their habitats, the light conditions... It’s a mix of patience and a bit of luck. But I’m getting better and better at it. I’ve done a few freelance jobs. Nothing fancy or exciting, but at least I’m doing it, even if it’s just taking pictures of cows for dairy commercials.”

“Really? I always wondered who shoots those pictures.” I wink. “Guess that mystery’s solved now.”

She laughs. “Glad I could help.”

I’m happy I made her laugh. She’s clearly more at ease than when she first arrived, and it almost feels like an achievement on my part.

The soup starts to bubble, and I grab a couple of bowls from the cupboard. I ladle the soup into them and put them on the small table, telling Charlotte dinner’s ready. The wooden table is worn and stained, but it’s all I need in a cabin like this.

Still, I’m self-conscious about the décor in here, which is, well, rather rustic and sparse. I hope she doesn’t think I’m some sort of slob.

“So, how are you liking the rustic charm of the place?” I ask her.

“It’s cozy. And nice to see how people live out here without all the frills. I like it.”

“Thanks.” I’m relieved she’s not put off by the lack of luxury.

“I mean it. I’m not a fan of those overly clean, sterile houses. I love the stories places like these tell. Like every dent, every scratch, every stain has a history, you know?”

I grin. “Sounds like it’s a topic you’ve given a lot of thought.”

“True.” She smiles. “What about you? What kind of job do you have? How do you spend your days?”

“I spend them mostly alone,” I admit.

She frowns. “You never get lonely?”

I shrug. “Not really. I prefer being alone. I like things simple and people tend to complicate everything.”

“Oh, I see.”

“But I’m enjoying your company,” I quickly add before she thinks I’m trying to get her out of here as soon as possible.

I admit, that was the idea when she first knocked on my door, but now I’m not so sure I want her to leave. As far as I’m concerned, this blizzard can last days. Weeks even. There are way worse things than being stranded in here with a gorgeous woman.