Page 20 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

"Good, because I'm not letting you go that easily, Rhett Sullivan." Her expression turns serious. "I know we have things to figure out. I know it won't always be easy. But when I was buried in that snow, I thought I'd never get a second chance to really live. And then you gave me one."

"You gave me one too," I realize. "I've been half-living since the accident. Going through the motions."

"Then let's figure it out together." She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. "I'd rather face the challenge with you than play it safe without you."

In that moment, looking into her eyes with the mountain rising behind her, I understand something fundamental: some risks are worth taking. Some leaps of faith lead not to disaster, but to salvation.

"I think," I say slowly, "that might be the most sensible thing you've ever said."

Her laugh rings out across the snow, bright and clear. "Don't get used to it. I still plan to make plenty of reckless decisions."

"As long as they don't involve going off-trail in avalanche conditions."

"Deal." She squeezes my hand. "Though I can't promise I won't occasionally need rescuing."

I pull her close again, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me. "Lucky for you, I'm pretty good at that."

As we walk toward the lodge, hand in hand, I glance back at the mountain that nearly took her from me before I ever found her. But I did. And we rescued each other.

Rhett

Two Years Later...

Themissionlastedthirty-sixhours. Three hikers caught in an unexpected early autumn storm, trapped on Darkmore's north face with dwindling supplies and hypothermia setting in. Standard procedure turned complicated when the weather worsened, visibility dropped to near zero, and temperatures plummeted to dangerous lows.

But we got them. We always do.

As I pull up to our cabin—not my old SAR outpost that Jade flatly refused to call home—"It's like living in a very rustic office, Rhett"—exhaustion weighs on every muscle. The new place sits on five acres at the base of the valley, close enough to town and the resort for Jade's work, remote enough to satisfy my need for space. The best compromise we've made in two years of compromises.

Aspen, who'd been dozing in the passenger seat, perks up as we approach. Despite being older now, her excitement at coming home never diminishes. She knows who waits inside.

The porch light glows warmly against the gathering dusk. Through the front window, I catch a glimpse of movement—Jade. My heart does that familiar stutter it always does when I see her.

I kill the engine but sit for a moment, savoring the anticipation of homecoming. Two years together, and this feeling hasn't faded. If anything, it's deepened, like a river carving its essential path through stone.

The front door opens before I reach it. Jade stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the warm light behind her, wearing one of my flannel shirts that barely covers the tops of her thighs. Her hair is longer now, falling in waves past her shoulders. Her body has changed too—before her pregnancy she was all lean muscle and sharp angles, she's now softer, fuller, with curves that my hands have memorized in the darkness of countless nights.

"You're home," she says simply, and those two words contain everything. The anxiety leaves her body in a visible rush.

"I'm home," I confirm, dropping my gear bag on the porch and reaching for her.

She comes into my arms without hesitation, her body fitting against mine in that perfect way that still amazes me. She smells like baby powder and the lavender soap she makes herself and something uniquely Jade that I've never been able to describe, only crave.

"Everyone okay?" she asks against my chest.

"Everyone safe. No serious injuries." I press my face into her hair. "Cold as hell, though."

She pulls back, eyes scanning my face with the assessment that's become second nature to her since completing her emergency response training last year. "You look exhausted."

"Thirty-six hours will do that." I smile, brushing my thumb across her cheek. "How are my girls?"

Her face softens. "Lilybeth went down about an hour ago. Should be out for a while—she was fighting sleep all day."

Our daughter, six months old and already displaying the stubborn determination of both her parents. Sometimes I look at her tiny face and see Jade's eyes, my jawline, and feel such overwhelming love it's almost painful.

"And how's this one?" I place my hand gently on the small swell of Jade's stomach, where our second miracle is growing. Just starting to show at four months, this pregnancy is somehow even more miraculous than the first.

"Active today." She covers my hand with hers. "I think we've got another future rescue specialist in there. Or maybe an extreme snowboarder."

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