Stranded with the Mountain Man (Log Cabin Christmas)

Chapter Three

Charlotte

I completely misjudged Ryder. He’s far from the coldhearted man I first took him for when he begrudgingly opened his door for me.

Behind that tough exterior is a man who’s kind and skilled, even though I suspect he’s also a bit tortured or broken. I mean, why else would he dislike people so much? I want to know what happened to him but don’t know how to broach the subject. No one likes being asked why they’re different, and I don’t want to ruin the vibe now that he seems to be okay with me being here.

I watch him as he talks about surviving alone on a mountain. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. I think he’s a bit older than me—in his early or mid-thirties.

I can’t tear my gaze from him. I’m pulled toward him like a moth to a flame. Ryder makes me feel safe and relaxed and… seen . The warmth of the fire is at my back, but it’s Ryder who sets my skin aflame. It’s intoxicating being here with him in this remote log cabin, with the storm raging outside.

The flickering firelight softens his rugged features, and the way his hands move as he gestures is mesmerizing. I find myself hanging on his every word, captivated by his looks and the passion in his voice. It’s as if the mountains aren’t simply a backdrop to his life—they're part of his very essence.

“Most people don’t last long out here. They think they can handle it until they can’t,” he says, his tone serious but laced with a hint of pride. “But if you respect the wild, it’ll respect you back. You have to be smart. Know your limits.”

“And you don’t miss people?” I ask, subtly trying to discover why he’s such a loner.

“I have friends. A few. It might not seem much, but it’s enough.”

“Well, do you have room for one more friend?”

As he leans in slightly, the distance between us shrinks, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of everything—his presence, the way his breath mingles with the cool air, the thrum of energy building between us. It’s as if the world has narrowed to the two of us.

“I think so,” he says.

“Someone hurt you, didn’t they?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to pry.”

His eyes grow dark, and he frowns, like he’s debating whether to open up to me.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he finally says, his voice low and rough.

I give him a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to talk about it. I get it. Some things are hard to explain.”

“Thanks for understanding, Charlotte. Not a lot of people do.” His eyes meet mine, and my stomach flips.

He’s good at making me feel all warm and fuzzy. I could argue it’s because of the fire burning behind us, but I know it’s not. It’s all him.

“You asked me about my job earlier,” he says, breaking the silence between us. “I’m a trail maintenance worker.”

“Really? What does that entail?”

“It’s a lot of physical labor,” he explains, his gaze steady on mine. “I hike the trails, clear debris, and ensure they’re safe for hikers. I also repair bridges and install signs. It’s hard work, but I love being outside, away from the chaos of towns and cities.”

“That sounds great. Being out there in nature. Honestly, I couldn’t imagine being cooped up in an office all day. It’s part of what appeals me to nature photography.”

“I could take you sometime if you want.” I swear his cheeks color slightly. “I mean, you know, so you can see what I do every day.”

I blink in surprise, caught off guard by the invitation. “You’d take me out there? Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging it off as if it’s no big deal. “I know some great spots. You could get some good shots, maybe even track down that elusive owl of yours.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

Ryder has shown me nothing but kindness since I arrived. I know he came across as rude at first, but I realize he was only trying to protect me. And rightly so. I was out of my mind thinking I could brave a fucking blizzard for a chance at a photograph.

I finish my soup and help Ryder do the dishes. We then move to the couch, and I’m suddenly super self-aware of his proximity. This cabin is small, tiny even. I haven’t even seen a bedroom. Where the hell does Ryder sleep when he’s here?

Maybe he doesn’t. He did say this was a shelter. It’s not like he’s spending all his time out here, so why would he need a bed if he has a couch he could sleep on?

“Do you have anything we could do to fill the time while we wait out that blizzard?” I ask. “A board game or something?”

He lets out a deep laugh, then stops abruptly when he sees I’m not joking. “No, I don’t have any board games. Who would I even play them with? I’m always alone in here.”

“Right, that was a silly question. How do you usually spend your time in here?”

“I don’t know. Chores. Repairs. Small wood carvings from time to time.”

“Wood carvings? Color me intrigued. Could you teach me?”

He frowns. “I don’t know, Charlotte. Carving wood is done with a sharp knife and quite some skill. You could hurt yourself.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage. I have used a knife before, you know.”

“Have you?”

I grin. “Sure. I eat, so…”

He rolls his eyes but still chuckles at my lame joke.

“Come on,” I say, poking a finger in his arm.

And wow, if someone told me he had granite for arms, I’d believe them. He’s so firm and strong.

He looks at me intently for a few seconds, and that irresistible pull is back in full force. It’s almost primal in its intensity, urging me to lean forward and kiss him…

Thankfully, I restrain myself at the last moment.

“Okay, I’ll teach you how to carve my wood. Wood scraps.” He runs a hand through his beard, visibly flustered. “Well, you know what I mean. I’ll get my tools.”

I can’t help but laugh at his attempt to clarify. “Don’t worry, I got what you meant.”

He walks over to a shelf and retrieves a wooden box filled with carving tools, the wood shavings from previous projects still clinging to the edges. He also grabs some wood before joining me on the couch again.

“Here we go,” he says, setting the box on the table. “What do you want to start with?”

“I don’t know… What’s something simple?”

He smirks, a playful glint in his eyes. “How about a small owl? You know, to remember your blizzard adventure.”

“An owl? You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

He reaches for the box. “I’ll just put this away again, then.”

“Hey, don’t you dare. I’m up for the challenge, okay? We’re carving an owl.”

Ryder picks up a carving knife, and I scoot closer. As he guides my hands around the knife, warmth spreads through me. His touch is gentle yet firm, sending a thrill through my veins. How am I supposed to focus on the knife when he’s this close, our bodies brushing, the roughness of his hands against my skin? If I’m not careful, I’ll cut myself.

“You want to apply enough pressure to carve without slipping,” he explains, his voice low and steady.

I nod, trying to absorb his words, but all I can think about is the heat radiating from his body.

He demonstrates with effortless skill, making smooth strokes on the wood. I watch, entranced, as the blade glides through the grain.

“Now, you give it a try.”

I frown. “What if I mess it up?” The last thing I want is to embarrass myself in front of him.

Ryder laughs. “You’re allowed to mess up. It’s part of learning.”

Taking a deep breath, I mimic his earlier strokes, but my hands tremble no matter how hard I try to keep them steady.

Ryder leans in closer. “Not bad. Remember to keep your fingers away from the blade.” He positions my hands again, his fingers brushing mine. Another rush of heat sweeps through me at the contact, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to lean into him.

“Like this?” I ask, my brows furrowing in concentration as I try to find the right angle.

“Exactly.” His breath is warm against my cheek.

I don’t know how much longer I can go like this—resisting him with every fiber of my being.

Just as I begin to feel confident, a gust of wind slams against the cabin, rattling the windows and jolting me in my seat. I instinctively jerk my hand back, but the knife slips through my fingers, and a sharp pain pierces my thumb.

“Shit!” I gasp, glancing down to see a thin line of red bloom against my skin.

“Charlotte.” Ryder’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes full of worry.

“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to brush it off.

But he’s not buying it. “Not nothing. You’re bleeding,” he snaps, taking my hand in his and examining the wound. “I’m getting the first aid kit.”

He gets up from the couch, and within seconds, I miss having him near.