Page 6 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

Rhett finishes with my bandages and helps me sip more water. Despite his gruffness, his hands are gentle. He’s handsome, rugged, so different from the people at the resort.

"You should rest." He straightens up, adjusting the blankets around me. "Radio if anything happens."

"Radio?"

He places a small two-way radio on the side table. "Push to talk. I'll be monitoring."

"Where are you going?"

"To check perimeter. Make sure we're not snowed in completely." He pulls on a heavy jacket. "Aspen, stay."

The dog settles next to the couch, her eyes watching me with unnerving intelligence. The door opens, letting in a blast of cold air, then closes behind him.

Left alone with my thoughts and a very attentive rescue dog, I close my eyes and try to process the situation. I've been rescued by the human equivalent of a grizzly bear—growls and judgment on the outside, but capable of surprising gentleness.

And I can't stop thinking about those eyes.

The fever hits sometime in the night. One minute I'm dozing fitfully, the next I'm burning up, my skin on fire while I shiver uncontrollably.

"R-Rhett?" I fumble for the radio, but my coordination is shot.

Aspen whines, then barks sharply. Moments later, a door opens, and hurried footsteps approach.

"What's wrong?" Rhett's voice. Concern has replaced the earlier judgment.

"C-cold. But hot. Everything's spinning." I can hear how nonsensical I sound, but can't seem to form better sentences.

Cool hands touch my forehead. "Damn it. You're burning up."

What follows is a blur—Rhett on the radio with someone, medical terms I don't understand, cool cloth on my skin, pills I'm coaxed to swallow.

"Stay with me, Jade." His voice anchors me as I drift in and out of coherence. "Focus on my voice."

"Why are you so angry with me?" The question tumbles out, unfiltered by fever. "You don't even know me."

A pause. "I'm not angry at you specifically."

"Feels specific."

He sighs, changing the cloth on my forehead. "I've pulled too many bodies from these mountains. People who thought the warnings didn't apply to them."

"Is that...how you lost your leg?" I wouldn't dare ask this if I weren't half-delirious with fever, but the filter between my brain and mouth has completely dissolved.

Another, longer pause. "Yes."

"I'm sorry." And I am—not just for asking, but for everything. For being exactly the kind of person he resents.

"It was a long time ago." His voice is distant now, as if he's traveled back to that moment. "Five years."

"Were you rescuing someone like me?"

"I was acting like you." There's no bite in the words though, just a quiet sadness.

"Yet you still do this. Why?" I force my eyes open, trying to focus on his face through the haze of fever.

His expression softens almost imperceptibly. "Because the mountains have taken enough. And some people are worth saving, even from themselves."

Something about the way he says it—the raw honesty—touches me deeply. Or maybe it's just the fever breaking down all my walls. Either way, I feel tears sliding down my cheeks.

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