Page 16 of Hunted By the Mountain Man
"Smarter than I expected. Braver than you know. More beautiful every time I look at you." His voice drops to that rough whisper that never fails to make me melt. "And apparently insane enough to choose a life in the wilderness with a damaged ex-soldier."
"Not damaged." I trace the line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of his beard. "Different. Stronger. Perfect for me."
When he kisses me this time, it's with the promise of forever. No more running, no more hiding, no more looking over our shoulders. Just us, these mountains, and whatever future we choose to build together.
"So what now?" I ask when we finally break apart.
Cole's smile is pure contentment. "Now we go inside, and I spend the rest of the day showing you exactly how much I love you."
"And after that?"
"After that, we start planning our life together. Figure out how to make remote forensic accounting work from a mountain cabin. Maybe expand the communications array. Definitely winterize the secondary positions."
I laugh at his practical approach to romance. "Very romantic, Mr. Manning."
"I'll show you romantic later." His eyes promise exactly that. "Right now, I'm just grateful you're staying. That you're mine."
"Always yours," I promise, and mean it with every fiber of my being.
As we walk toward the cabin—toward our home—the mountains stretch endlessly around us, beautiful and eternaland safe. For the first time in two years, I'm not running toward an uncertain future.
I'm walking toward the life I choose.
With the man I love.
5 Years Later
Anna
Iwaketothesound of voices carrying across the clearing—Cole's deep rumble mixed with the lighter tones of the men who've come to Darkmore Wilderness Retreat for healing. Through our bedroom window, I can see him leading the morning group session around the fire pit, his patient gestures and calm presence working the same magic that first drew me to him.
"Mama, baby's awake," three-year-old Amber announces from the doorway, her dark curls wild from sleep and her father's hazel eyes bright with mischief.
"I can hear that, sweetheart." I smile as eighteen-month-old Benny gurgles from his crib, chubby fists waving at the mobileCole crafted from carved wooden animals. "Want to help me get your brother ready for breakfast?"
Amber nods enthusiastically, padding over in her footed pajamas to peer through the crib rails. "Hi, Benny! Mama, he's got messy hair like Daddy."
She's right—Benny inherited Cole's dark hair that sticks up in all directions, along with his father's stubborn chin and my nose. Amber got my coloring but Cole's steady temperament, though she shows flashes of the determination that got me into trouble with crime bosses.
"Let's get you both dressed and fed," I say, lifting Benny into my arms and breathing in his sweet baby scent. "Daddy's got veterans arriving today, and we need to help him get ready."
The Darkmore Wilderness Retreat has been Cole's passion project for three years now. What started as a few ex-military friends camping on our property has grown into a thriving program that brings struggling veterans to the mountains for healing. They come broken and isolated, much like Cole was when I found him, and leave with tools for managing PTSD and a support network that spans the country.
"The Rice-Manning Foundation," our lawyer had called it when we established the nonprofit. "Serving those who served." Cole had wanted to name it something simpler, but I insisted on honoring both our journeys to this place.
I change Benny while Amber picks out her clothes—mismatched but enthusiastic choices that make me smile. My forensic accounting practice has evolved too, specializing in fraud cases for nonprofits and veteran organizations. I work remotely most days, though I travel to Calgary once a month for court testimony and client meetings.
"Anna?" Cole's voice carries up the stairs. "The Thompson group just arrived."
"Coming!" I call back, settling Benny on my hip while Amber clomps down the wooden steps in her favorite boots.
Cole stands in our kitchen—expanded twice since my arrival to accommodate retreat meals—talking quietly with a man who has the hollow-eyed look I've learned to recognize. The new arrival's wife hovers nearby, her own exhaustion evident in the lines around her eyes.
"Anna, this is Staff Sergeant Mike Thompson and his wife Sarah," Cole says, moving to take Benny from my arms with the unconscious ease of five years' practice. "They drove up from Colorado."
"Welcome to Darkmore," I say warmly, shaking Sarah's hand while Amber peers shyly from behind my legs. "How was the drive?"
"Long," Sarah admits with a tired smile. "But beautiful. This place is incredible."
