Page 13 of Broken Mountain Man

But I didn’t want to be smart anymore.

I wanted to be brave.

I heard the door opening behind me but didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. My heart did that stupid fluttery thing it had been doing since I’d first seen him. Just the sound of his footsteps made me want things I’d never let myself want before.

He didn’t say anything either. Just settled on the steps beside me. Close enough to catch his scent that had surrounded me all night. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

Close enough to make me remember exactly what we’d shared last night.

“I don’t want to go back.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, raw and honest and desperate. I couldn’t look at him when I said it, just kept staring straight ahead like the admission had been torn out of me.

I felt him go still beside me.

“Back where?” His voice was careful, neutral.

“To the retreat. To my life. To pretending I’m someone I’m not.” I finally turned to face him, and his expression gave me thecourage to continue. “They’re probably out looking for me right now, thinking I’m lost or hurt or—”

“They’re not looking for you.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I called it in yesterday. Let the retreat organizers know you were safe.”

“How?” I gestured around us. “There’s no cell service up here.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking awkward. “Satellite phone. For emergencies.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or affronted that he hadn’t offered me the chance to call someone. “You have a satellite phone and didn’t tell me?”

“Figured you needed time to think without outside pressure. You were pretty shaken up when I found you.”

I stared at him, processing. “So they know I’m okay?”

“They know you’re with me.” He paused, and the weight of those words settled between us. “Question is, do you want to be?”

This was it—the moment of truth.

The silence stretched between us, and I could feel him holding his breath, waiting for my answer. When had this become so important? When had this man become so essential that the thought of walking away felt like tearing off a piece of my soul?

“Am I?” I asked softly. “With you?”

Something flickered in his eyes—hope, fear, something raw and vulnerable. He reached out, cupping my face in his hands, and I leaned into the touch automatically. “If you want to be. But you need to know what that means.”

“Tell me.”

“It means choosing this. Choosing me. Choosing a life that’s nothing like what you had before.” His thumb stroked across mycheekbone. “It means staying here, with a man who’s spent the last few years hiding from the world.”

The vulnerability in his voice made me almost not ask the next question. But we needed everything out in the open—or as much as he was willing to give me. Could give me. “Why? Why were you hiding?”

I watched him struggle with the question, saw the moment he decided to trust me with the truth.

“Because caring about people gets them killed,” he said simply. “Because I used to be the guy who saved people, and then I almost lost one of the people who matter most to me.”

My heart clenched, but I didn’t say anything. I let him tell me in his own way.

“I worked for search and rescue in Colorado. My partner became my best friend. We met on the first day on the job. Our last rescue went sideways. Three people trapped on the mountain, no shelter. No safe way down. We went up—and he almost didn’t make it back down. Because of me. Because I made a bad decision.”

Understanding crashed over me. This was why he lived alone, why he’d been so reluctant to help me, why he held himself apart from everyone.

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