Page 24 of Challenged By the Mountain Man

"Yeah, alright. Hold on."

I pull on my boots and jacket and let him out. He bounds into the pre-dawn darkness, disappearing into the trees to do his business. I stand on the porch, hands shoved in my pockets and look down at the mountain toward where I know Hannah's cabin sits.

There's no smoke rising from her chimney.

I stare at the empty sky above the trees, waiting. Maybe she's just not up yet. It's early. Most people don't wake up at 0500 unless they're damaged or disciplined, and she doesn't strike me as either.

I wait another minute.

Still no smoke.

"Fuck," I mutter.

Bear comes trotting back, and I let him inside, then stand there in the doorway trying to decide what to do. She's fine. She must be fine. I gave her enough wood to last days. I showed her how to build the fire. She's not an idiot. She'll figure it out.

But what if she didn't wake up to feed it? What if it died overnight and now she's freezing in there, too stubborn to admit she needs help again?

What if something happened?

The thought sends a spike of something sharp through my chest. Not quite panic, but close enough that I don't like it. I don't panic. Haven't panicked in years, not since I learned to lock it all down so tight nothing could get through.

But I'm standing here staring down the mountain, and there's no smoke, and my brain is already analyzing possibilities. Carbon monoxide poisoning from a generator running wrong. Hypothermia if the cabin got too cold. A fall, an injury, something that left her unable to call for help.

"She's fine," I say out loud, trying to convince myself.

Bear looks at me.

"She is."

He tilts his head.

"I'm not going down there."

His tail wags once.

"I'm not."

I last fifteen minutes before I'm pulling my boots back on and whistling for Bear.

"Just going to check," I tell him as we head down the road. "Make sure the fire's still going. That's all."

Bear doesn't comment on the fact that I'm lying to myself.

The walk takes less than ten minutes at the pace I'm moving. The sun is just starting to lighten the sky, turning it from black to deep blue, and the air is cold enough to sting my lungs. My breath fogs thick in front of me, and I can see frost forming on the pine needles.

It's cold as hell. Too cold for that cabin if the fire's been out all night.

When I come around the bend and see her place, I stop. There's still no smoke from the chimney. The generator is silent. She must have turned it off to save fuel, which is smart but means no lights. The cabin looks dark and still, and for a second my brain does that thing where it jumps straight to the worst-case scenario.

I shake it off and walk up to the porch.

I should knock. That's what normal people do. But if she's hurt or hypothermic or…

I try the door handle. It's locked.

Okay. That's good. That's actually good. If she locked it, she was conscious enough to do that. She's probably just asleep with the fire out, which is still a problem but not an emergency.

I knock. Three strong raps that sound too loud in the quiet morning.