Page 8 of Her Mountain Man Rescuer

She’s still sitting where I left her, dozing by the fire. Her eyes are closed, mouth open slightly, and I stare at her like I haven’t seen her for years. I shut the front door as quietly as possible, but she starts awake when it clicks, blinking up at me.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

She smiles, her eyes a little sleepy. “It’s okay.”

“I found your car. Towed it here with me.”

“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver…literally.”

The gratitude in her eyes makes something stutter inside me. Audrey is looking at me like I’m some kind of hero, and I suddenly feel twenty feet tall.

“Don’t mention it. Glad I could help.”

Audrey pushes herself up from the armchair, moving gingerly toward me. “Can I help you with putting the groceries away? Or making dinner?”

“No. Stay there and rest your knees, okay?”

“They don’t hurt as much anymore. And it’s my left wrist that’s sprained—I can still use the right one.”

She hobbles toward the kitchen, grimacing slightly in pain. Before she can reach it, I close the space between us and rest my hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back into the armchair. “I’m not letting you lift a finger, Miss Denver. You need to look after yourself.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

I give her a firm look, and she softens, relaxing against the armchair. “Okay, you win. But will you at least let me go get the luggage out of my car?”

“I’ll do it. Where are your keys?”

Those pretty blue eyes glitter at me as she reaches into her pocket and hands me her car keys. My gaze flickers to her full red lips as she says, “It’s in the trunk. Just a small suitcase.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you, Weston.”

I nod, forcing myself to tear my gaze away and head outside, blood pounding in my ears.

“This is delicious,”Audrey says, spearing a cheesy slice of potato onto her fork.

The table is laden with dishes—steak, several types of potatoes, roasted vegetables, and crusty bread. I cut Audrey’s meal into pieces before I brought it out so she wouldn’t have to use her bad wrist, and she seems to appreciate the gesture. Her wrist still looks red and swollen, but she doesn’t look as pained, and there’s more color in her cheeks than when I found her at the bottom of the slope.

“Glad you like it,” I tell her.

“I love it. God, I’m so hungry. Falling down a cliff really gives you an appetite.”

There’s humor in her tone, but as I think back to the ledge, the long sloping drop, my stomach rolls over. I quickly change the subject.

“So, Miss Denver…what do you do back in the city?”

She finishes chewing and says, “I’m a social media manager.” She must read the cluelessness on my face because her mouth stretches into a grin. “I didn’t think you’d know what that was. Especially after you called it Instachat instead of Instagram earlier.”

“So, enlighten me. What is a social media manager?”

Audrey launches into an explanation of her job—how she creates content and videos for various companies in Denver and runs their social media accounts. It’s all gibberish to me, but I listen intently, desperate to hear more about her world.

“I really like it,” she says brightly. “It lets me be creative and use my marketing background all at once. It can be a lot of work though—lots of clients, high expectations.” She contemplates me. “You don’t use social media for your rental cabins?”

“No. We have a website and an email address, but that’s about it.”

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