P.D. Singer - Mountain 01 - Fire on the Mountain by P.D. Singer

Author:P.D. Singer [Singer, P.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

IF I continued to sit at the top of the ridge, scanning for fires in a big

circle, I’d lose my mind in short order. The restlessness overwhelmed me every time I thought of us in the cave, whether I recalled Kurt’s cock in my hand, mine in his mouth, or holding on to him, watching the creeping flames. I wanted to touch him again in every way, I needed to feel his body against mine, and I was desperately afraid Kurt didn’t want the same.

Round and round my head, thoughts chased each other. What would I do? Where would I go? While running had sounded good a few days ago, now I thought I’d rather have teeth pulled.

Don’t hurt him. Abigail’s words rang in my head. She meant well, and she’d known Kurt longer than I had, maybe, but how well did she really know him? Well enough to speak for him? I didn’t want to hurt him; I wanted to believe that night was more than the product of fear and impending death. I didn’t want to be the last novelty before oblivion.

If that was all it would be, I’d have to live with it. Not sure how but, worst case scenario, maybe leaving would be best after all.

Don’t hurt him. Did she mean that if he made a pass, I should accept it, or at least not punch his lights out? Did she know something I didn’t about how close Kurt liked to get to his partners? This was his third season with the Forest Service. Did he make a habit of seducing his wingman? How or why would Abigail know?

If I was one in a long list, there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. Maybe he’d keep me until the end of the season.

“Don’t hurt him,” she’d said. What about him hurting me?

I spent a lot of time running from the ridge to the archery range. I’d scan the surrounding terrain, then run back down to shoot another three quivers’ worth of arrows. The quiver had eleven arrows in it after Fat Boy rode off with number twelve, now slightly bent and useless for shooting but proudly displayed on the cabin wall. Trying to remember everything Kurt had coached me about shooting kept my mind off other things, sort of. The aspen tree and I had two interludes on that first day back, in between firing and fetching arrows.

My aim improved, even if my mental health didn’t. Kurt and I had shared the archery before the fire; we could at least have that after, no matter what. Without him nearby, I could concentrate as I never had before. I had to be good at this, for Kurt, for us, and for my own selfrespect. I shot the last quiver with every arrow in the target, and two in the red, stopping only when my hand hurt too much to draw another bowstring.

Dinner wasn’t much fun. I didn’t have the heart to cook something, or even run back and forth to the bear box and the lake for some variety.

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