Page 31 of The Silent Mountain Man

Footsteps.

Dropping everything, I race off in the direction of the sound. Yep, somebody is definitely on my property.

I give chase.

The thing about running barefoot in a forest is that it kills your feet. As keen as I am to find out who my intruder is, a few prickly twigs spike painfully into my soles, quickly putting an end to things.

Dammit. They're getting away.

I scan my surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever it is. Suddenly, in the gap between two massive trees, a person comes into my line of sight.

They're hightailing it out of here as fast as they can, but for a few brief seconds, I get a clear, unobstructed view.

It's a man.

Wearing a navy blue shirt with a black backpack flung over his shoulders.

But it's not what he's wearing that captures my attention.

No.

The detail my eyes fixate on is the mop of red curls on top of his head.

I have my answer. I know who my unexpected guest is.

He slips out of view, but I stand there, grinning like an idiot.

A naked idiot.

But it looks like this naked idiot is about to pay a visit to the local library.