Page 30 of Mountain Man Summer

By the time I pulled up to our neighboring cabins, sweat dampened my uniform shirt. Didi was waiting on her porch, aglass of iced tea in hand, relief washing over her face when she saw me.

"Did you talk to the sheriff?" she asked as I unloaded the equipment.

"He's coordinating with Chicago PD." I carried the supplies onto her porch. "We'll have additional patrols during the celebration tomorrow, but they'll be discreet. No need to alarm other guests."

"Thank you." She stepped closer, her floral scent mingling with the pine-scented air. "I know this puts you in an awkward position. By the way, the resort maintenance fixed my AC while you were gone. At least one problem solved today."

"That's good news," I replied, glad she wouldn't have to endure another night in the stifling heat. "Let's secure your cabin, then I want to show you something."

***

An hour later, we'd installed new deadbolts, window locks, motion-detecting lights, and a basic security camera system. I'd walked her through basic safety protocols—keeping curtains drawn at night, varying her routine, maintaining awareness of her surroundings.

"One more thing," I said, leading her to the small clearing behind her cabin. "You should know how to defend yourself."

Didi raised an eyebrow. "You think I can fight off a stalker?"

"Self-defense isn't about winning a fight. It's about creating enough space to escape." I positioned myself in front of her. "I want to teach you a few basic moves. Just in case."

She nodded, determination replacing skepticism. "Show me."

I guided her through simple techniques—how to break a grip on her wrist, where to strike for maximum effect with minimum force, how to create distance between herself and an attacker. Her skin warmed beneath my hands as I positioned her arms, adjusted her stance, demonstrated the proper pressure behind each movement.

"Like this?" She practiced a palm strike against my chest, the impact controlled but firm.

"Good. Remember, aim for the nose, throat, or solar plexus—vulnerable areas." I caught her hand before she could pull away. "And always be aware of escape routes. Don't stay to fight if you can run."

Our bodies were close now, my hand still holding hers against my chest. I could feel her heartbeat quickening to match mine. The air between us seemed to crackle with unspoken tension.

"What about this grip?" she asked softly, her free hand sliding up my arm to my shoulder. "How would I break free from this?"

My training vanished like morning mist on the lake. "You wouldn't need to," I murmured, voice rough. "I'd already let you go."

"What if I didn't want you to?"

Her green eyes locked with mine, challenging, wanting. Three days of knowing this woman, and already she'd dismantled defenses I'd spent years building.

"Didi," I began, uncertain what I even wanted to say. Warning her? Warning myself?

"You're scared," she observed, her insight cutting through my hesitation. "Not of Preston. Of this—of us."

I stepped back, needing distance to think clearly. "I'm not good at this."

"At what? Teaching self-defense?" Her attempt at lightness faded when she saw my expression. "Or letting someone get close?"

The question hit too close to home. "The last woman I let myself care about packed her bags and left with her executive boyfriend. Said Hope Peak was too quiet, too predictable." I turned toward the mountains that had always been my anchor. "Before that, my parents were taken without warning. One patch of black ice, and suddenly they were gone."

Her hand touched my back, gentle but grounding. "Noah, I'm sorry."

"Everyone leaves eventually," I said quietly. "That's just how it goes."

"Not everyone." Her voice was soft as she moved around to face me again. "Some people stay."

I laughed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "You? You have a career in Chicago, a life a thousand miles from here. Even without the stalker situation, you'd be gone by August."

"Maybe." She didn't deny it. "Or maybe not. The world is changing, Noah. Remote work, digital connections—distance doesn't mean what it used to."

Hope flickered in my chest, dangerous and warm. I tamped it down, too aware of how quickly it could turn to disappointment. "We barely know each other."

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