Page 17 of Mountain Man Summer

"Planning to stick around for a while, then?" he asked, his tone deliberately casual.

The question prodded at the lie I'd been maintaining. "I'm... flexible with my return date," I hedged.

Noah nodded, not pushing further, though I could practically see the gears turning behind those observant eyes.

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the whisper of wind through the pines and the occasional birdcall. The peacefulness was something I rarely experienced in Chicago and I breathed deeply, sensing the new awareness of my inhales and exhales.

"My mom was a nurse’s aide by day and waited tables at night," I said, surprising myself with the disclosure. "My sister and I basically raised ourselves."

Noah turned toward me, giving me his full attention without interrupting.

"Emily—that's my sister—she took after Mom. Practical, organized, always had a plan. Got a scholarship to nursing school, married a doctor, now has two perfect little girls and a house in the suburbs." I tried to keep the hint of envy from my voice and failed. "Meanwhile, I chased a communication degree and ended up with student loans and a broken engagement."

"Your sister sounds like she found her path early," Noah said carefully. "Not everyone does. Doesn't make your journey less valid."

I plucked a wildflower growing near the log, twirling it between my fingers. "Try telling that to my mother. In her eyes, Emily did everything right, and I'm just... still figuring things out."

"At thirty-one?" Noah asked with a small smile.

"Ah, you were paying attention during the bonfire introductions," I noted, returning his smile. "Yes, at thirty-one. Pathetic, right?"

"Not at all," he said, his voice softening. "Some of us take detours before finding where we're meant to be."

Something in his tone made me look up, catching an expression of understanding that made me wonder about his own detours. Before I could ask, he stood, offering his hand again.

"Come on. Waterfall's just around the bend, and we've earned that picnic."

I took his hand, letting him pull me up, noticing how he didn't immediately let go as we began walking again. Our fingers remained loosely intertwined, a casual intimacy that felt simultaneously new and completely natural.

The sound reached us before the sight—a rhythmic rushing that grew louder with each step. Then the trail curved, and the waterfall revealed itself in all its glory. Water cascaded down a series of stone ledges, creating a multitiered fall that dropped at least fifty feet into a crystal-clear pool below. Mist rose from the impact point, catching the sunlight and creating fleeting rainbows.

"Noah," I breathed, momentarily speechless. "This is incredible."

Pride flashed across his face. "Worth the hike?"

"Absolutely worth it," I confirmed, drinking in the scene. "How is there no one else here?"

"It's not on any tourist maps," he explained, leading me toward a flat rock outcropping near the pool. "Local secret. Most visitors stick to the designated park trails."

We settled on the sun-warmed rock as Noah unpacked our lunch—thick sandwiches from the resort deli, apples, and homemade cookies that Howard from the bonfire last night had contributed when he'd heard about our hike.

"So," I said, biting into my sandwich, "since I've shared my family dysfunction, it seems only fair you reciprocate. What made the son of Hope Peak become its protector?"

A shadow crossed Noah's face, but he didn't deflect. "My parents died in a car accident during my sophomore year at Montana State. Black ice, semi-truck couldn't stop in time. They were gone instantly."

"Noah, I'm so sorry," I said, immediately regretting my question.

He shook his head slightly. "It's okay. It was twelve years ago." He took a breath before continuing. "I was studying environmental sciences, thinking I might work for the Forest Service or National Parks. But after they died, everything changed. I came back to handle the funeral, never really left. Dropped out and joined the local Police Academy instead. Sheriff Callahan had known me since I was born—took me under his wing. Said Hope Peak needed someone who cared about it."

"And you do," I observed. "Care about it, I mean. It shows in everything you do."

He met my eyes. "This place, these people—they're all I have left. Worth protecting."

The intimacy of the moment wrapped around us, neither of us looking away. I understood suddenly why Noah had never left Hope Peak, why he threw himself into his work, why he maintained such careful distance from relationships. Loss had shaped him just as surely as my family dynamics had shaped me.

We were both interrupted by a distant rumble. Noah glanced up, frowning at the sky where dark clouds had begun gathering over the peaks behind us.

"That's not good," he muttered, quickly repacking our lunch. "Montana thunderstorms can move in fast, especially during heat waves like this. We should head back."

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