Page 24 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

“This place,” I say after the first bite, “might be magic.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pie’s that good?”

“Pie. Cat. View. Company.”

His eyes catch mine. Something in his expression shifts—just slightly. Like maybe he heard what I didn’t say out loud.

I set my plate down. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why animals?”

His hand rests loosely on his bowl. “I used to be a smokejumper. Wildfire firefighter. I did it to pay for school.”

I blink. “You fought forest fires?”

“Mostly.” His eyes darken. “It was a tough job. So when I was done, I came back home. This used to be our grandparents land, but Jesse gave me his blessing to turn it into a rescue.”

“I’m glad you did.”

His jaw twitches like he’s holding something back. Guilt, maybe. Or pain. “It was a good place to hide out.”

“You’re not hiding,” I say. “You’re healing. There’s a difference.”

He blinks like I’ve caught him off guard.

Whiskey stretches, then hops into his lap without a second thought.

I laugh. “Wow. That’s new.”

“He’s been watching me. Waiting for his moment.”

“He doesn’t sit with just anyone.”

Gage scratches behind Whiskey’s ears. The cat purrs like they’ve been best friends forever.

“He likes you,” I say softly.

He glances at me. “That makes two of you.”

The air changes again.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t shift.

I can feel it humming between us. That pull we keep pretending isn’t there.

I set my glass down. “I should probably go to bed.”

We both look at the clock. It’s barely seven. “You don’t have to.”

“But I should.”

“Do you want to?”

I look at him.

He’s still, like the forest before a storm. Controlled. But his eyes are anything but.

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