Her Grumpy Mountain Man (Mountain Men of Willowbrook Ridge #1)

Chapter 1

Emery

No one warned me about how tough it is to hike up a mountain. My legs are on fire with each step up the incline, and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve lifted my water bottle to my lips, trying to combat this relentless thirst.

Maybe I’m not really cut out for this.

Trying to bat away the discouraging thoughts, I keep going forward, set on completing my goal.

The camera hanging around my chest thumps uncomfortably against my body with each step.

Everything will be worth it in the end. A little sweat and discomfort won’t be enough to hinder me. I’ve got this in the bag.

Just imagining my portfolio filled with animals other than squirrels or rabbits is enough to keep me going strong.

Unsure of what kind of animals I’d even find up here, I’ve heard stories of bears and mountain lions spotted on occasion, sometimes even large wolves, and those feel like they’re a little above my skill level, but I’d be happy to snag a few shots of deer or foxes.

Anything, really. As long as I can call the image I capture my own.

It would be pretty neat to be able to show something off worth seeing. Getting a little praise wouldn’t be too bad, either.

Continuing my hike and snagging gulps from my water bottle, I finally come across something worth capturing.

Up on a tree branch sits an owl, watching me closely. I can almost sense its piercing gaze, as if it’s judging me from above.

“Just what I was looking for…”

As I raise my camera, I pause, feeling a catch in my throat.

I focus on the owl, just as it takes flight, capturing the moment it spreads its wings and glides away, searching for another place to find tranquility.

Lowering my lens, I’m left watching it disappear in the trees before checking out my work.

After saving up too many paychecks to afford this expensive device, I can only expect such wonderful quality.

For a few seconds, I stare in amazement at the realization that I’m the one who captured it. Now, the question is, what else is there to see?

As I continue my hike, I inadvertently startle a group of deer, their graceful forms quickly disappearing into the underbrush at the sound of my crunching boots.

It’s a bittersweet moment, reminding me that I’m going to have to be quieter.

The birds I encounter are breathtakingly beautiful, each one a vibrant piece of the tapestry surrounding me.

Just like the awe-inspiring views of this mountain, they fill my heart with a sense of wonder and gratitude for the career path I’ve chosen.

Choosing to pursue a career as a wildlife photographer has been a dream come true. Ever since I was little, I was always engrossed with the magazines my dad would bring home with wildlife from different countries. Sure, this may not be Africa, but it’s got to be a close second.

Taking a small break to breathe everything in, I’m relieved to be wrapped in silence. Around this time of the year, I wouldn’t be surprised if tourists were swarming the hiking paths, scaring away my future subjects.

Stepping off the path was a good decision. It’s what has me pushing off a rock and continuing on my way through bushes and trees.

I don’t know how long I end up hiking. Enough time for the sun to lower a little.

I still have a handful of hours left before it gets dark, but the trek down will take at least an hour. Maybe I can do just a little bit more.

One more mile. Even if my body is starting to ache, I can do that much. And thankfully, just when I think I’m pushing my body too hard, I get rewarded for my patience.

Coming across two small black bears rolling around with each other, I freeze to not make a sound. Bringing my camera up, I snap them rolling downward before they fall apart. It’s the cutest sight and hardly threatening.

A little voice in the back of my mind encourages me to approach and pet them. Of course, I don’t follow suit. Especially when I spot a much larger bear in the distance. Momma bear.

Is this my lucky day or what?

Bringing up the camera, I zoom in to take in the fine details. Snapping her photos, I watch as she goes from sniffing the ground to looking right at me. Suddenly, I get a chill up my spine.

My luck is starting to feel a little less good. This can’t be good at all.

Without warning, Momma Bear starts trotting straight in my direction, for whatever reason, deeming me a threat.

I’m supposed to make myself big, right?

Heart racing, I do what I think is best and raise my arms, crying out as loud as I can. I’m below average height, so I can’t really see how big I really am. It would explain why the bear is still moving toward me.

When the first method fails, run. That sounds about right.

Twisting around, I make out a whole plan to sprint down this mountain. Despite how much I’ve already hiked and how much my body hates the idea, it’s the best one I’ve got to survive.

Unfortunately, I think nature believes I’ve overstayed my visit.

Rocks beneath my feet shift, making me lose my footing. Unable to catch myself, and knowing that I’m about to fall, I do the only thing that seems smart. Hugging my camera close to my chest, I tuck and roll, yelping in the process.

Bear completely forgotten, the amount of distance I cover is impressive compared to running. Unfortunately, it’s far more painful than sprinting would’ve been.

By the time I finally come to a stop, smacking into a boulder of all things, I’ve decided that maybe I’m a bit over my head.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Letting out a low groan, I can’t contain the grimace that forms on my face as I look down at my legs.

Thankfully, none of my limbs are broken despite the pain aching in my bones, but that’s not the problem.

It’s the gash on my thigh, the color red soaking where my shorts are torn. I don’t do well with blood, not even with my own.

Tearing my eyes away before they start watering, I look over to see if I’ve got any company. Thankfully, the bear is nowhere to be seen. Must’ve realized this clumsy hiker is hardly much to be considered a threat.

Unsure if I should call out to see if anyone is around, afraid of telling the bear where it can find me as a meal, I opt for the more painful option.

Gritting my teeth and forcing myself up to my feet, I use the boulder as support. Putting weight on my legs makes them feel like jello, but I can stand. Refusing to look at the cut, I can’t stop my stomach flipping when I feel the wetness dragging down my thigh.

“You’re not going to throw up, Emery. You’re going to find a trail and get help.” Pulling out my phone, I grimace at the lack of signal. “Maybe find some service out here, too, while you’re at it.”

What I’m not going to do is die. Even if my leg hurts and walking is hard, I’m going to keep going.

Maybe I should rethink my career after all. Landscapes aren’t sounding too bad now…

Can my luck get any worse?