Page 22 of Working for the Mountain Man

The fire is warm and I’m so grateful that I’m stuck in this cabin with someone who knows what they’re doing. Hugo got it lit in under five minutes, while I stood in the middle of the room with my arms wrapped around myself trying to not panic.

I’m not fine with this situation. The cabin is one room and Hugo is very large, and the kiss from last night is still between us, and it’s like a giant elephant in the room.

"Radio signal's patchy," he says, crouching at the hand-crank unit on the shelf. "I got enough information through to Darnell. He knows where we are."

"Great," I say. "So, people know we're trapped in this creepy cabin. Excellent."

"It's not creepy."

"There's a jacket on that hook that has cobwebs on it, how do I know if they left it here and forgot about it, or if they were murdered."

"That's Reilly's jacket, he left it behind, he keeps saying he has to get it but forgets."

"That makes it worse, Hugo."

He almost smiles, but turns back to the radio and I watch him work. The wind is serious now, the door rattles hard, as the gusts hit against it, I can also hear the snow falling harder against the ground, windows, and cabin.

Hugo checks the door, checks the woodbox, and counts the emergency rations on the shelf, before he turns back to me. "We're fine for the night," he says.

"That must be your favorite word, we’re fine."

He shakes his head. "It's been true whenever I say it." He picks up the folded blanket from the cot and holds it out.

"I'm fine," I say.

He glares at me. "You're shivering."

Damn the man, he’s watching me too closely. How does he manage to do that without me knowing? "I'm just cold."

"That's what shivering is," he says and I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not.

"Hugo."

"Elsie."

I take the blanket, and wrap it around my shoulders, and sit on the edge of the cot. I try to think about this situation like it’s normal: we’re just two people in a one-room cabin on a mountain with a storm outside that’s shared a kiss. Completely normal and fine.

"We should eat something," he says, already opening a tin on the shelf.

"So are we pretending last night didn't happen," I say, "or are we pretending it was a mistake again?"

He goes still.

"Because I've done both already and I'm tired."

He sets the tin down but doesn’t turn around right away. When he does, his face has a blank expression on it. "It should not have happened," he says.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"Tell me again."

He crosses his arms, it’s not aggressive, instead it seems as though he’s trying to contain himself. "You work for me. You're twenty-four, you came here hurt, and I don't want to be another man who makes that worse because he couldn't keep his hands to himself."

I look at him. "I was hurt," I say. "I'm not helpless."

Something shifts in his face. "That's not what I meant."