It wasn’t that I didn’t like the mountains. I just didn’t do mountains.
They were pretty and all, but also dirty, and spider-y, and worst of all, a long way from the city.
But there I was, heading up Deep Water Mountain, the highest peak in the state, in my struggling little VW Bug. I knew I should have bought the turbo model.
I also should have filled up on gas before I’d left the main road.
But it was all good. I hadn’t been to the mountain to visit my Uncle Bo since I was a kid, but I did recall it wasn’t all that isolated. There were gas stations and stores all over.
Right?
But proof that my memory might not be what I thought it was, the ‘low fuel’ warning on my dash had been screaming for fifteen minutes. Initially, I’d been sure a gas station would be right around the corner, but as I moved through the mountain’s switch-back roads and rounded one empty corner after another, I got nervous.
Real nervous.
And to make matters worse, I’d poorly estimated how fast my car would go through the remaining gas it had. Climbing the mountains in it sucked up gas faster than in the city, where the roads were pretty much flat.
My lousy calculations hadn’t taken that into account.
And now I had a problem.
The Bug, which had been sputtering for the last minute or so, gasped one last time, lost power, and finally died. I had enough momentum to pull over onto a skimpy gravel shoulder, but on the narrow mountain road, there wasn’t much room. I was right in the way of traffic. If there were any traffic, that was.
Well, shit.
I looked ahead, then behind me, and all I could see was an endless tunnel of trees that disappeared into the far reaches of my view.
Great. Just great.
I’d run out of fucking gas in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Because I was a fucking idiot.
And my cell phone had no signal because that’s exactly how my day was going. Another reason to dislike the mountains—unreliable cell service. It was the freaking twenty-first century. Why couldn’t cell phones work everywhere?
I pounded on the horn, not because anyone would hear me but because it felt good to have a grown-up temper tantrum. There were only so many options when you were stuck inside a car.
I could see the news story now.
Woman found dead in her VW Bug on a remote road on Deep Water Mountain.
A young life cut short by poor planning.
I hadn’t been to the mountain since I was a kid of maybe ten or so. I couldn’t be sure. But I did remember being enchanted by Uncle Bo, his cabin, and the woods that surrounded it.
Of course, that was back before I had issues with any place not within a ten-mile radius of civilization.
And now Uncle Bo’s place was mine. Not sure yet whether that was a good thing or bad.
The rumble of a truck pulling up startled the shit out of me. The driver pulled over, and in my rear-view mirror, I watched him approach my car in a rugged I chop wood sort of way.
I double-checked that my doors were locked and grabbed the pepper spray out of my purse just as he rapped his knuckles on the passenger side window.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice muffled through the closed window.
Holy crap. When did they start making mountain men so hot? Not that I’d ever known any for comparison. But still.
I opened the passenger window about two inches.
“Hello. I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
I returned to my phone, scrolling intently, as if I were about to make contact with another human who would be able to get me out of my shitty situation.
Yeah, right.
But in spite of my dismissiveness, he stayed there, looking in my window.
I sneaked a glance and saw him rubbing his face and frowning. He looked up and down the road.
And that’s when I realized I was probably about to die.
I tucked the pepper spray up my sleeve with shaking hands. It would be only a matter of seconds before he busted through my window with a giant axe or some such, unlocked the door, and dragged me off to wherever crazies living in the mountains took their victims.
Oh, why hadn’t I just stayed home? I didn’t need to see the little cabin Uncle Bo had left me in his will. It wasn’t like I was going to live there, or even visit aside from this one trip to check it out and meet with a real estate agent. I could have handled everything over the phone without a single trip to the mountains.
But no. I had to see it for myself. Figure out how much money I’d pocket after its sale.
Because I had plans. I knew the sale of the cabin would not be a windfall of staggering amounts of cash, but it had to be some sort of tidy sum—enough to help me buy a nice condo in an apartment complex with a pool and pretty landscaping.
Was that too much to ask? To get out of my crummy little rental?
But before I could even get started, here I was, the perfect subject for one of those crime shows my mother watched every night.
What a way to be remembered. My mother would watch a melodramatic TV ‘documentary’ about how her only daughter had met her untimely end. It was one thing to die in my car of starvation and dehydration, but another altogether to be taken by a murderous maniac.
My presumed abductor knocked at the window again, this time leaning down enough that I could see his entire face.
His handsome ruggedness was scary and brutish, accented by a shaved head, heavy brow, and facial scruff.
“Well, okay,” he said through the small window opening. “If you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll be on my way. But be careful. The shoulder here is narrow and you’re half parked in the road. Not a lot of cars come by these parts and I’d hate for someone to plow right into you.”
I looked back at my phone. My mother always said not to stare at scary people. “Okay. Thanks. See ya.” I waved.
In my mirror, I watched him return to his truck, his gait heavy and confident. He must have been over six feet tall and with his plaid flannel shirt blowing in the wind, a nicely muscular ass appeared to be underneath his blue jeans.
Gross. Was I crushing on a mad man?
He got behind the wheel, looked at his watch, and pulled back out onto the road.
“Wait!” I screamed, jumping out of the VW and right into his path.
His brakes squealed and even though the truck windows were closed, I heard him swear.
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
I ran to his window, which he slowly opened.
Who was the crazy now?
“Hi, I'm so sorry. But I do need help. I’m out of gas,” I blurted, wringing my hands.
He scowled and rolled his window down the rest of the way. “Miss, I almost ran you down with my truck.”
I stood on my toes, the truck was so high. “Yeah, that was stupid. I’m sorry.”
His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel, and he looked straight ahead, avoiding my pleading gaze.
Of course, I could make him understand. “I just… I just am not familiar with this area, and was afraid. You know. Of you.”
His eyebrows rose and he looked back at me. “Okay. You’re out of gas?”
I fluffed my hair and gave him my best smile. “Yeah, can you believe it?” I giggled.
He looked at me like he could easily believe it. And that he thought I was a nutcase. Couldn’t really blame him.
First, he offered help and I sent him packing.
Then, I changed my mind and jumped in front of his moving truck.
And last, I’d admitted to running out of gas in the middle of freaking nowhere.
He sighed and nodded. “All right. Let me pull over.”
I stepped out of the way while he maneuvered the truck back to the side of the road.
This time when he got out, he kept a safe distance, probably assessing my mental state. “How’d you run out of gas, anyway? This place is pretty desolate. You didn’t see the signs saying ‘no more gas for fifty miles?’” He’d used finger quotes to emphasize his point, in case I had missed it.
Which I hadn’t.
And what signs was he talking about anyway? I didn’t see any freaking signs.
“I must have missed them,” I said sheepishly. “I thought for sure there’d be a gas station around the corner, but I kept driving and driving and never came across one.”
“That's because there aren’t any.” He reached into the cab of his truck and pulled out a gas can.
Ohthankgod.
“There used to be.”
His head whipped in my direction. “I thought you said you weren’t familiar with the area.”
Shit. I did say that.
“I visited here when I was a kid. Long time ago. And I could swear there were gas stations.”
He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and headed to my gas tank, shaking his head.
No need to tell him my whole story. He was kind enough to help, but when it came down to it, I still didn’t know him from a hole in the wall.
Even if he were freaking gorgeous and saved me with his can of gas.
“How long you up here for?”
Damn. I knew there would be questions.
“Oh, just a quick trip,” I said breezily.
He screwed the gas cap back in. “Where you staying? You got a house up here?”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Oh, over at the motel.”
He frowned. “What motel?”
“Um. The new one.” I pointed in some random direction. Like that would throw him off.
“There’s no new motel.”
I nodded. “Yes. There is. It might be so new you don’t know about it.”
He shook his head at me. “Um, okay. I gave you a couple gallons. Plenty to get to a gas station safely. Now can you start your car, please?”
I jumped behind the wheel and my baby started right up. Thank god.
He looked satisfied. “All right. You’re good to go. But do me a favor. Don’t come up here again with less than a quarter tank of gas.”
Seriously. The next person who stopped to help might not be as nice.
Or as good looking.
I nodded. “You’re right. Great advice.”
He stood there like he wanted to chat.
“Oh my god. Where are my manners?” I reached in my purse and pulled out a twenty, which I thrust at him. “Will this cover it?”
He waved his hand at me. “You don’t have to pay me. Please be more careful next time.”
He continued standing there. Was I missing something?
I thrust the money at him again. “Then take this as a tip. I mean, you work for a gas station, right? Isn’t that why you have gas?”
The corner of his mouth turned up, but I wouldn’t call it a smile. “No. I do not work at a gas station. And thank you for the offer, but I'm good.”
Turning, he headed for his car, and without looking back, he hit the road.
