Page 1 of Her Mountain Rescuer

One

Hailey

The gravel of the path crunches beneath my boots as I hike deeper into the woods, immersing myself in the shadowy greens of the pine trees soaring above me. The sound of my steps mingles with the faint birdsong coming from above, the crisp autumn breeze ruffling the leaves and branches. Somewhere nearby, a stream babbles softly.

Normally, nature soothes me. I hike these woods and the surrounding mountain trails on a weekly basis, finding my sense of peace and calm within them.

But not today. Today, all I can think about is the sight of Beau Cameron—my dad’s best friend and the object of my pathetic pining for far too long—sitting at a small bistro table with a beautiful woman I’ve never seen before. I can still see the way the candlelight flickered over their faces, the way he smiled at her, lines fanning out around his green eyes.

In all the time I’ve known him, Beau has never smiled at me like that. And why would he? I’m his best friend’s kid. A little girl in his eyes, despite the fact that I’m a university grad nowworking full time as a project manager at my dad’s construction company

A branch creaks above me, and I slow my steps, glancing up and taking in the riot of colour that makes up the forest canopy. Fiery reds, brilliant yellows, and cozy oranges brush together, weaving a pretty autumnal tapestry overhead. Fall has always been my favourite season. The colours, the cooler weather, Halloween, the sheer coziness of it. I’m a homebody, through and through, and fall is the time when I can nestle in. I like when it starts to get dark early because it’s an excuse to cozy in at home.

I wish I’d been more of a homebody last night. If I hadn’t gone to the bistro to pick up a dessert to go, I never would’ve seen Beau on a date. I wouldn’t have spent the night tossing and turning, my stomach in knots, my heart a painful lump in my chest.

I have to face reality: Beau Cameron will never be mine. He’ll never want me the way I want him. He’ll never see me as anything other than Logan Armstrong’s kid.

My eyes sting, and I blink furiously, trying to stem the tears. I cried enough last night. I cried so much that my eyes still feel puffy and raw this morning. My throat hurts.

I force myself to suck in a deep breath, pulling the crisp forest air into my lungs. I’m not out here to cry. I’m out here to get myself together.

I let my steps guide me up a familiar path, weak sunshine breaking through the clouds above and painting a dappled picture of light and shadow on the forest floor. The wind picks up slightly, a chill ghosting over my cheeks.

I walk and walk, leaves crunching, breath sawing in and out of my lungs, my thoughts swirling and swirling. Overhead, clouds start to obscure the sun, and I don’t mind. The slightgloom matches my mood. Matches the heaviness in my chest. Can I outhike jealousy? Can I outhike the way my heart aches?

I’m determined to find out.

I hike farther and farther along the trail, only stopping for water before powering onward. Maybe if I exhaust myself, if I drench myself in nature, I’ll somehow stop hurting so damn much.

But try as I might, the thoughts won’t stop.

Beau will never be yours.

You’re just a silly girl with an even sillier crush.

Beau loves someone else, someone better. Someone older who’s actually done something with her life.

Beau doesn’t love you. Beau will never love you.

But then, as usual, my thoughts about Beau slowly morph from maudlin to straight up horny. I call up the memory of him shirtless at the lake last summer, his massive body roped with muscle, his skin covered in tattoos. He’s a beast of a man—at least 6’5, probably over 250 pounds with arms and legs like tree trunks—with short, dark hair threaded through with gray and a neatly groomed beard that I’m desperate to feel between my thighs.

I want to climb into his lap and let him solve all of my problems. I want to be his good girl and take care of him in every single way. I want to have his massive babies and make a home with him. A life.

But it’s all just a foolish, silly fantasy. Clearly.

I don’t know how much time has gone by when I stop, leaning against the trunk of a towering pine, sweat beading along my hairline, lungs heaving, thoughts no less tangled. The sky has grown darker, the light gray of the earlier clouds giving way to a deeper, angrier purple. Wind blows through the trees, sending colourful leaves spiraling to the ground. Another gust follows it, making the branches overhead clack together.

“Shit,” I breathe, chugging some more water. I hear a faint pattering sound, and I grimace. It’s raindrops on the leafy canopy above.

I’d been so eager to get out on the trails that I’d seen the sun shining and headed out. I hadn’t thought to check the weather for later in the day. I check my watch, grimacing again. I also hadn’t planned to hike for so long. I glance around, orienting myself. I’m still on the same trailhead, marked with light blue strips of paint. I pull out my phone, praying for a signal, enough to check the weather forecast so I can make a plan. Should I try to hike out, knowing that the rain will pass, or should I try to find shelter somewhere?

No signal. Not even a measly half bar. I hold my phone above my head, pacing away from the tree as I sweep my arm back and forth. But it’s useless. I head back to the pine, taking shelter against its thick trunk as the rain starts to fall a bit harder. I still have my Garmin InReach, but I’m reluctant to use it for two reasons.

One: Beau gave it to me for Christmas last year, insisting I keep it charged and with me whenever I hike.

Two: It works as a two-way radio, and guess who’s on the other end? The man who gave it to me, of course.

Of course.

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