Man of the Mountain

She survived a cougar attack after being left with nothing but a note. She’s way too small to have already been through hell and back.

“Everything’s okay now. I’m Kutter,” I say as the woman steps past me into the house. “You Katie?”

I was given the name of social worker who would be coming.

Katie nods. “Where’s the baby?”

“She’s right here,” I say, showing her the way. “I made her a little bed in a drawer.”

Katie kneels down to the baby, who is nested in my flannel shirts — figured they’re the softest things I own — and close enough to the wood-burning fireplace to warm up. Who knows how long she’d been left out in the cold?

A shudder passes through me again, the horror I felt when I found her at the ranger station, left all alone.

The cougars were so fucking close.

Katie pushes off her soaked jacket — the rain is coming down so damn hard. And my cock twitches as I take in the view of her in a white tee shirt, snug in all the right places, and wet in the right places too. Fuck, her tits look good.

Which is not what I should be focusing on. Right now, it’s about making sure this sweet baby is safe. Though I swear to god, one look at the sweet pea’s face and I made a vow: to protect this little one as if my life depended on it.

Katie picks up the baby girl, examining her quickly, looking for any indication of harm. I run a hand over my beard, not able to fathom Katie’s job — the breadth of her responsibility. I’m in awe.

“She looks okay,” I say. “I didn’t have diapers, so I made one from a dish towel… and I didn’t have any formula. I tried to call my buddy down the road, he has a little girl, but the reception is shit during storms and I couldn’t get through.”

“She does look all right, though probably pretty hungry,” Katie says, pulling open the bag she brought in. “But you don’t look fine. You look…” She shakes her head. “What happened to you?”

“A cougar who was a little close for my liking.” I press the towel to my forehead, telling her how I came upon the wild cats in the woods, how they were inching closer to the baby carrier, how I had to fight them off to keep this little girl safe.

“Oh my god,” she says, her eyes wide in surprise. She walks to the kitchen and begins preparing the bottle, the baby nestled in her arm. “You could have been killed.”

I shrug. “But I wasn’t.”

“You’re still bleeding.” She screws the top on the bottle and eases it into the baby’s mouth. The little one begins suckling immediately. “You need stitches.”

“Not gonna get those tonight,” I say, my eyes fixed on the baby, the way she is nestled so sweetly in Katie’s arms. It’s like they’ve been together since the beginning.

“Why not?” she asks as the wind howls around us.

“It’s only gonna take a few more gusts and the power is gonna go out.”

“Then I should go, now.” The baby is still eating, but Katie carries her to the living room and turns to me. “Can you hold her for a second?”

I take the baby gingerly. For the last ninety minutes, when it was just the two of us, I sang her every song I could remember my ma singing when I was a kid.

Katie opens the bag and grabs diapers and wipes, a change of clothes. “And I need to get you to fill out some paperwork.” She reaches into a second bag and pulls out a tablet. She turns it on and flips it to face me. “I just need you to fill out everything you remember, for the report. And you mentioned a note?”

“Yeah, it’s on the kitchen table.” We swap; she takes the baby and I take the tablet. “It didn’t say much.” I hand it to her. I memorized the words: I can’t do this. Please take care of her.

“God,” Katie says, shaking her head, her bottom lip trembling as she reads the note. She kisses the top of the baby’s head. “She is all alone in the world.”

Just then, another swirl of wind rattles the cabin and a large crack breaks the howl. “Lightning?” she asks.

I shake my head, stepping toward the big front window overlooking the driveway. “No. That was the cedar tree. Splitting in two.”

Katie stands beside me. I feel the heat of her skin, and I want her to step in closer. “The driveway,” she whispers. “It’s blocked.”

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” I say, knowing there’s not a chance of moving that tree in the dark without a truck to help clear it.

“What do you mean?” Katie shakes her head, eyes widening. “I can’t say here.”