Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
“Where are we going!?” I call out to him. Without turning, he calls back.
“You’ll see.”
Wow. So helpful.
“So what do I call you?” I ask. There’s a long silence with no response. “My name is Penny!”
“You can call me Tyson,” he finally responds.
“Nice to meet you, Tyson,” I reply. If he’d actually turn around, he’d see me smiling.
“Nice to meet you, city girl.”
City girl. Is he just going to keep calling me that?
Clearly, he’s not from the city. I sure would like to know what his story is though. I can’t help but feel anxious as we walk through the trees. Who knows where he’s taking me? Nobody even knows that I’m out here, not even my parents.
I don’t even have anything on me to protect me. As far as Tyson here is concerned, I’m just fresh meat for the taking. That is, if he so desires it.
The rain continues to pour down on us as I follow him up the mountain. My thighs are burning. This has to be the most intense leg workout I’ve had in over a year. At least that’s one upside to today’s events.
Finally, we reach an enormous slab of what looks like gray granite on the top of a ridge. And on the other side, where the mountain slopes down, is a cozy-looking cabin built from logs.
It sits in a very small valley, looking like something on a postcard. The land has been cleared around it, and there’s a green lawn just out front.
Firewood–chopped and unchopped–is stacked by the porch, and the skeleton of what looks like a barn stands about a hundred feet away from the house.
“You live here?” I ask as I come up beside him.
“Home sweet home,” he replies.
“I didn’t know anyone lived in Adirondack Park. I thought it was all nationally owned.”
Tyson nods. “A lot of people think that. But there are privately owned parts within the park. Come on in. Let’s get you inside and dry.”
I follow him to the base of the stairs. He leans down and scoops up an armful of firewood and nods to the stack. “Grab some. We’ll need to take as much as we can to get us through this storm.”
The chopped wood sits under an overhang, covered by a blue tarp strung over it to keep it dry. I quickly bend down and fill up my arms with as large of a load as I can carry, then head up the stairs and follow Tyson inside.
The cottage is nice and cozy, and it feels good to be out of the rain. You can definitely tell a man lives here, but it looks like it’s been decorated with a delicate touch. Exposed timbers, homemade table and chairs, the back wall of the living room made from some kind of gray rock, a little bit of art hanging, some books, candles, but nothing modern. I don’t even see a television.
“Shut that door behind you,” he growls. I don’t know why, but I immediately obey him, as though he was my master. I kick the door shut behind me and scurry up to his side by the large open hearth.
I set my wood down on the bricks beside his just as he strikes a match to light an oil lamp on the mantle. And for the first time since we met outside on the mountain, I get a good look at his face.
His features are strong. His cheekbones are high and his eyes penetrating, a striking green that seems to see right through me. As he pulls back his hood and I see the shaggy mane of hair running down his neck and shoulders, I get the distinct feeling that I’m staring at a wolf.
“Get the fire started,” he says, as though it’s expected of me. “And get out of those soaked clothes, city girl. Before you catch a cold.”
My heart skips a beat as he turns away from me. I feel as though I’ve taken an order from my boss, Jerry, only this order I don’t know how to fulfill. I glance down at the stack of firewood, a pile of newspapers, and the open hearth.
“I, um…” I mutter. “I don’t know how to start a fire.”
I feel so terribly embarrassed admitting that to this man, who clearly lives up here all on his own. I’m even wondering if he built this place himself.
He turns and laughs. “Don’t know how to make a fire? Never did Girl Scouts, city girl?”
“My name is Penny,” I tell him.
“Sure it is.” He nods, chuckling. He hangs his jacket on a peg by the hearth, and it’s then I see just how enormous he really is. A worn off-white T-shirt is stretched over his gigantic frame. Despite being out here on his own, he looks like he hits the gym every single day. He probably chopped down every log for this house with a single swing from an axe.