Page 29 of Mountain Defender

“Well.” I think for a second. “Since you have your laptop here, would you mind showing me one of the flight simulators you work on? If it’s okay? I’ve heard you talk about them so much, and I looked up some examples online…”

“You want to try flying?” Gage brightens. Though I know he’s thirty-eight, for a moment, he looks twenty years younger than that. “I could show you how to do it. If you’d like.”

A beat later, he amends. “Well. It might not be a good idea for you to actuallytrythe simulator while you have a concussion. But I can show you how it works. And in a few days, if you’re feeling okay, then you could try it for yourself.”

A flare of excitement kindles in my chest. Ever since Gage told me about being a Night Stalker, I’ve been fascinated by it. I have this mental image in my head of Gage piloting a helicopter—maybe a Black Hawk, like I read about online—all intense and sexy and totally in control. And I know a flight simulator isn’t the same, but it’ssomething.

“I’d love that,” I tell him, feeling more enthusiastic than I have in days. “And I’d definitely like to try flying.”

“It’s incredible,” he replies. His gaze goes distant for a moment. “The feeling of it is just… indescribable. The sim I have on my laptop isn’t the same, of course, but there’s one that uses VR goggles that feels really close. Once your concussion is better, I could show that one to you, too.”

“That would be amazing. If you don’t mind?”

Gage stares at me, an unreadable emotion working in his eyes. “I’d love to show you how to fly, Ror. I think you’ll love it.”

As we look at each other, something moves between us.

A frisson of electricity.

A magnetic pull.

My heart does that flipping over thing again.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach.

I know we’re just friends.

But I wish…

I wish we were more.

CHAPTER 6

GAGE

I’m not thrilledabout bringing Rory back here already.

When she brought up the idea of coming to visit the dogs over breakfast this morning, my immediate response was that it’s too soon.

After all, it’s been less than seventy-two hours since she was attacked, her blossoming bruises a violent reminder of just how close to dying she came. She’s still wincing when she swallows and flinching at bright lights. Her movements are slow and cautious. And her nightmares… Well, I had a front-row seat to one of them, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

I hated leaving Rory last night, but I knew it was well-past time that I spent some actual time at home. I needed more than a fifteen minute break in the shower to give my raw and aching leg a chance to recover.

CouldI have taken my prosthetic off at Rory’s cabin? Yes.

Did I want to? No way.

Intellectually, I know my missing foot is nothing to be ashamed of. That anyone who judges me for it isn’t someone I want to spend time with. I have friends who proudly runmarathons with their prosthetics on full display; who wear shorts in public without worrying about what people think of it.

Though it’s been four years since the accident. I’m still not there yet. And especially not when it comes to Rory.

Call it vain, but I don’t want Rory to see me as broken.

So I reluctantly went back home last night, leaving her with instructions to call if she needed me for anything. “I’m literally minutes away,” I reminded her, “and I can come any time. In an hour, the middle of the night, whenever. Just call.”

She didn’t call, though she did text a couple of times to let me know she was okay.

I worried all night, going as far as walking down the road after midnight so I could see if her lights were still on or if she’d gone to bed.

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