Page 17 of Working for the Mountain Man

I pick the phone back up, my hands not quite steady. I block the account that tagged me and I mute the thread. I sit there for a second with my thumb over Daniel's contact, and then I block that too, something that I should have done a long time ago.

"Being hurt by someone doesn't make you stupid," Hugo says.

"You don't know that."

"Elsie,” he says, almost like a growl. "He used what you felt against you," he says. "On a podcast, to strangers, that says more about him and nothing about you."

I don’t say anything because if I open my mouth right now, something is going to crack inside of me, and I’m not ready to crack in the middle of a workday. I didn’t realize he looked into me, that he found out everything online. Crap.

He doesn’t push further, just goes back to looking at whatever he was doing on desk, but within ten minutes there’s a fresh coffee at my elbow, the cold one quietly swapped out, and somehow he’s managed to make me feel steadier than I have felt in a long time.

Daniel talked beautifully and made me feel small, whereas Hugo barely talks at all and somehow makes me feel like the ground is solid again.

I don’t know what to do with that and I have no idea what to do about the way my heart skips when I catch Hugo watching me.

By the time I’m getting ready to leave, it’s sleeting. I can hear it hitting against the window, it’s heavy, judging by the way it slams against the glass. Hugo has checked the weather report twice in the past twenty minutes.

"I'm driving you back," he says as I get to my feet and pack my bag up.

"I have a car," I remind him. I have a very reliable vehicle that I trust.

"Leave it here. The shoulder near your road is icy on top of soft. I'm not putting you on it in this."

"I drove through worse to get here."

He crosses his arms over his chest. "Not at night, in sleet, on a road I already told you was unstable."

I glare at the man. "Hugo, I am a grown woman who has been driving since I was sixteen."

"The road doesn't care how independent you are and neither does the snow or ice."

God, I hate that he’s right, ugh, why does he always have to be right?

I get in his truck and sit in silence in the cab; it’s dark and quiet. Hugo has the radio on low, his jaw is tight and his hands are clasped on the steering wheel. Sleet ticks against the windscreen.

The journey to my cabin is silent, but it’s a comfortable silence that allows me to just relax, knowing that I’m safe with Hugo.

He pulls up at the cabin, and the porch is on, lighting the way, it’s set on a timer, Hugo gets out before I can, comes around, checks the steps, which have a thin glaze of ice forming already.

"Careful," he says, offering a hand as I step down.

I take it, I don’t need to, but I take it anyway. We get to the door, where he checks it’s locked properly, checks the porch rail, glances back toward the road like he is already thinking about the drive back.

"You don't have to keep doing this," I say.

"I know."

"Then why do you?"

He does not answer right away. The sleet keeps hitting against the porch roof.

"You can't keep acting like I'm your responsibility," I say. "I'm not. I'm just a temporary admin help. I'm not your problem to manage."

"I know," he says again.

"Then stop."

"I'm trying."