To Claim the Mountain Man

Chapter 19

ISLA

I tried not to allow my disappointment to overcast the rest of my week and, for the most part, succeeded.

Every morning, I woke up early to complete a quick yoga practice before showering and driving to the school. I continued to arrive an hour before the first bell, meticulously studying the day's lesson plans out of fear that I might somehow mess them up. And each morning, like clockwork, Alex came to my room, cup of coffee in hand, to talk.

In just a week, I'd learned a great deal about him. His family lived thirty minutes away in Telluride. His house was a five-minute walk from my parent's place, and he lived alone with three rescue cats. He preferred Marvel to DC and secretly adored romantic comedies, though he'd never seen Austenland, so I didn't know whether to believe him. He'd watched The Office at least five times through, and we made plans to have a day-long Lord of the Rings marathon in the near future. Although I knew that my mother had pulled strings to introduce us, our budding friendship felt real.

Throw in my lunch dates with Alessandra Gomez, the art teacher, and at least a handful of students passionate about literature in each class, and, by Friday, I felt like I was settling into my new position. Even the other English teachers hadn't caused any more problems.

All in all, by the time I pulled into my gravel driveway in the evenings, I felt satisfied and proud and exhausted. And I supposed that was all I could ask for.

And yet... Every night after work, I held onto the silly, girlish hope that Heath would knock on my door again to finish what we'd started. And every night, that disappointment threatened to creep in again when he didn't come.

At first, I figured he was simply busy. He ran his own business, after all. He'd come by when time permitted.

Tuesday came and went. Then Wednesday.

I began to wonder if I'd done something wrong. Maybe he decided I was a lost cause, or he had found someone else. Someone like that waitress from Rex's, who oozed with sex appeal and confidence. More than once, I warned myself that it was bound to happen, and I shouldn't be surprised. A man like Heath would naturally gravitate toward someone like that, and I held no claim on him.

But then, as time passed, I caught myself watching his cabin, searching for any sign or sound of him in his workshop or Smokey perusing the property, snout to the ground.

Day after day, there was nothing. Not even his truck in the driveway.

On Friday evening, as I sat on my back porch and stared absently at his quiet workshop, worry gnawed at my stomach. As far as I could tell, he hadn't been home in four days. What if something had happened?

Did our little arrangement give me the right to check in on him? Several times in the last hour, I'd scrolled to his contact in my phone and hovered my thumb over the text icon. Fear of overstepping kept me from sending any message.

I knew I could call Garrett and ask if he'd heard anything from his best friend. Heath was undoubtedly more likely to inform my brother of his comings and goings than me, but I worried how my concern might be perceived by Garrett. Did I want my brother to know how closely I was keeping tabs on his friend?

At a loss, I groaned and threw my head back over the top of my lounge chair.

"You're overthinking this, Isles," I muttered to myself, annoyed by my own cowardice. It was a simple text message, not a declaration of undying love.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled my cellphone from my pocket, found Heath's contact, and typed a quick, casual message.

Me: Hey! One of my pipes is leaking. Do you have a wrench I can borrow to fix it?