Page 7 of Charming Mountain Man

She nods, her gaze warm. “Thanks for finding me, Garrett. Really.”

My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Anytime, Callie.”

Settling against the tent’s wall, I close my eyes, aware of her presence mere inches away. The storm rages, but inside this cramped shelter, something feels oddly right, despite the circumstances.

Callie’s soft breathing eventually steadies into sleep, her quiet murmurs oddly comforting. As I drift off, I can’t shake the realization that this stubborn, cheerful woman is slowly breaking through my carefully constructed barriers—and I’m surprisingly okay with that.

Chapter Five

Callie

When I wake up, sunlight filters gently through the tent’s fabric, painting the small space in soft, muted gold. Beside me, Garrett still sleeps, his breathing steady and deep. He looks younger, somehow less guarded in sleep, the rugged lines of his face softened by the peace of slumber. My heart gives an involuntary flutter, and warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the rising sun.

I shift carefully, testing my ankle gingerly. The sharp ache from yesterday has dulled somewhat, though it’s still tender and swollen. A soft groan slips out before I can stifle it, and Garrett’s eyes flicker open instantly, alert and focused on me.

“Morning,” I whisper sheepishly, caught off guard by the intensity of his sleepy gaze.

He rubs a hand over his face, sitting up with a grunt. “How’s the ankle?”

“Better, but still not great.”

Garrett leans closer, gently inspecting my ankle. The heat of his fingers seeps into my skin, sending a pleasant shiver up my spine. I watch his careful movements, mesmerized by the subtle flex of his strong hands.

He sighs softly, his eyes meeting mine. “Looks like we’ll have to stay put another day. That ankle needs rest, and the trails will be a mess after that storm.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling guilty for complicating things.

He shakes his head, a gentle half-smile curving his lips. “Don’t be. It could have happened to anyone. Besides,” he adds with mock seriousness, “this gives me a chance to teach you some real wilderness skills. God knows you need them.”

I chuckle, grateful for his humor to ease my embarrassment. “I thought I was doing pretty well.”

“You were,” he admits, eyes softening. “Better than I expected. But there’s always more to learn.”

After a quick breakfast of granola bars and water, Garrett helps me outside, carefully supporting me as I hobble toward a nearby clearing. The woods around us glisten in the storm’s aftermath, vibrant green and freshly washed.

“First lesson,” Garrett announces, kneeling to gather twigs and dry leaves. “Building a proper fire, even when everything’s damp.”

I watch closely, captivated not only by his obvious skill but by the quiet confidence he exudes with every movement. My heart speeds up slightly as I study the focused set of his jaw, the firm strength of his arms and shoulders beneath his flannel shirt.

He catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “Paying attention?”

“Absolutely,” I reply quickly, warmth flooding my cheeks.

Garrett’s eyes twinkle knowingly, a rare playful edge in his expression. “Good. Your turn.”

With his patient guidance, I attempt my own fire. He corrects me gently when needed, and despite my initial fumbling, the dry tinder eventually sparks to life under my hands.

“See?” Garrett’s voice is warm with genuine pride. “Not bad for a city girl.”

“Careful,” I tease lightly. “You’re dangerously close to giving me a compliment.”

His low chuckle stirs a pleasant warmth in my chest. “Just don’t let it go to your head.”

Throughout the day, Garrett patiently shows me wilderness techniques—how to navigate using natural landmarks, basic first aid for injuries, and even simple survival knots. With each lesson, I grow more impressed by his expertise, drawn not just to his skill but to the quiet strength and reliability he radiates.

By afternoon, the sun has warmed the clearing comfortably, casting dappled shadows through the trees. Garrett settles beside me, brushing our shoulders as he demonstrates a knot again. My pulse quickens at his proximity, his clean, earthy scent intoxicating.

“Like this,” he murmurs, guiding my hands with his own. His fingers are warm, roughened by years outdoors, and I’m hyper-aware of each point of contact.

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