My heart flutters wildly as I scan each face, not really sure what I’m looking for. Then I hear the crunch of a heavy footstep to my right. Stones skittering.
That’s when I see him.
The owner of the voice.
I know it’s him as soon as he strides into my line of vision, towering like a redwood over the rest of the group. A giant mountain man in blue plaid and dark brown canvas pants, thick muscles filling every inch of fabric. His sleeves are rolled up, and I spy dark ink swirling up his arms, which look thicker than tree trunks as he folds them over his chest.
My mouth turns to sand as I stare at him.
He’s not facing me or the lake. Instead, he’s turned to the left, and I can make out his side profile: strong nose, thick black beard, the weathered skin of a man who lives his life outdoors. Even from this angle, I can see that he’s scowling, brows drawn down. The grooves in his forehead make me think it’s something he does a lot.
I wish I could get a closer look.
I’m leaning so far around the pine tree that it feels like I’m about to tip over. Righting myself, I take a step closer to the tree line. Then another.
Crack.
I go still, wincing as the twig snaps beneath my feet. It wasn’t loud. None of the hikers heard it. Buthedid. Of course he did. Mountain men have keen ears, and he whips around just as I duck back behind the pine tree. My breathing is ragged, skin buzzing with electricity as I peer through the dark green needles. He can’t see me. I know he can’t. But his eyes are fixed on my hiding spot…like he can sense me…sense that something is watching him.
“Quiet,” he says, signaling to the group. “Stop talking.”
That voice again. It sucks the breath from my lungs, my nerves jangling as the man takes a step toward the trees.
“Someone out there?” he calls.
The hikers are watching him, looking nervously toward the forest. But the mountain man doesn’t sound afraid—just irritated. He takes another step, and I can see him more clearly now. Those scowling eyes. The huge expanse of his shoulders. His burly chest.
Oh God.
I’m praying the man will look away. Shrug off the noise and move along with the rest of the group. But he doesn’t. He keeps moving closer, and I know I need to show myself before he finds me spying on him like a schoolgirl with a crush.
Act natural,I tell myself.
He doesn’t need to know I was watching him. For all he knows, I’m just a runner who stopped for a break to admire the view. I definitely wasn’t ogling his thick muscles…or thinking about how he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen.
Deep breath.
My legs tremble as I creep out from behind the pine, my heart racing way faster than when I was running earlier. The whole group watches as I step through the tree line and onto the rocky lakefront. Ten pairs of eyes on me, but I barely register them. Their stares are nothing compared to the colossalmountain man standing just a few feet away. His gaze is fierce and hot as the sun blazing overhead, and for a moment, I swear the forest holds its breath.
The man doesn’t look away.
Neither do I.
2
GUNNAR
I seta steady pace along the forest trail, shortening my strides just enough for the group to follow. There are ten of them today—mostly tourists—their too-loud voices carrying through the trees and bouncing off the trunks in a way that sets my teeth on edge. I stay quiet and keep walking, adjusting the pack on my back, letting my good shoulder take most of the weight.
The path is flat here, deceptively safe looking in the warm afternoon light. But sunshine brings snowmelt, and snowmelt brings mud—the thick, squelching kind that sucks at your boots and doesn’t let go easily. Ankle-snapping mud.
“Keep left,” I call as we pass a thick patch of it, which slopes down toward the swollen creek like a lethal Slip n’ Slide.
As we clear the mud, I shoot a glance over my shoulder. I don’t look back often. Just enough to make sure nobody is straggling behind or wandering too far to take photos. Satisfied that they’re all still in tow, I quicken the pace, the can of bear spray at my hip swinging with each step as we make straight for the lake up ahead.
Hikers don’t request this trail often. It’s long and heavily forested, with trees blocking the view most of the way. But it’s one of my favorites. The rustling leaves, the babbling creek, thefresh scent of pine and moss in the air—it beats a wide-open vista for me every time.
But I’d like it a whole lot more if I were alone.
