Page 4 of Her Mountain Man Protector

"I'm not kidnapping you."

"You're driving me into the woods against my brunch plans. That's a gray area."

"You can get out at the next pull off and wait for the nice men with the loaded guns to come for you."

I fold my arms. "I'm good here."

His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. He kills it on purpose.

We climb. The truck rattles over washboard ruts. Fog smears the windshield. He flicks the wipers once and they smear it worse. I think about my little white sedan parked somewhere down the mountain and if those men with the patches will find it.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Somewhere they don't know."

"That's not an address."

"Cabin. Off grid. You'll stay long enough for me to figure out why they opened fire with a civilian on the ridge."

"Civilian. You make me sound like extra furniture."

"Furniture doesn't talk this much."

"Furniture also doesn't take award winning photos, so I win."

He exhales through his nose. "You always like this?"

"Only on days I get chased. Other days I'm delightful."

"Hard to tell the difference."

The cabin shows up after another ten minutes of road that barely qualifies as a road. Small. Dark timber. A porch that sags on one side like it's tired of standing. No neighbors. A woodpile stacked with military neatness.

Colt kills the engine and sits there listening. I sit there too, because if the mountain man is listening, I'm not about to start a podcast.

"Clear," he says.

Inside smells like cedar and old coffee. One room downstairs. Wood stove. Tiny kitchen. A table covered in maps, printed photos, and two phones lined up like they're in trouble. A loft ladder. One bed visible up there. Of course there's one bed. The universe has a sense of humor and it's cheap.

I set my camera on the table and flex my hands. They're shaking a little. I busy them with the lens cap.

Colt locks the door, checks a window, then another. He grabs a phone out of his pocket and places it next to the other two. He shrugs out of his pack and starts pulling items with the same economy he used on the ridge. Extra magazine. Radio. A first aid kit he doesn't need yet.

"Take off the yellow," he says.

"Excuse me?"

"Jacket. It reads like a flare in the trees. You got a darker layer?"

I peel the jacket off. Underneath I've got a faded navy hoodie with a tiny embroidered sun on the pocket. I bought it because it made me laugh.

He looks at the sun, then at me. "Figures."

"Don't start with my merch."

He nods at the camera. "You take pictures of the ranger station this morning?"

My stomach drops. "I take pictures of everything. That's the job."