Page 6 of Tracked By the Mountain Man
He takes a step closer, and I can see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, the fine lines that speak of years spent squinting against the mountain sun. There's recognition passing between us, a shared understanding born of parallel guilt.
"Tyler," I whisper.
He reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and when I don't, his calloused fingers brush the tears from my cheek. The touch is gentle, careful, but it sets my skin on fire.
"Leah," he says.
I don't know who moves first. Maybe we both do, drawn together by gravity and grief and the desperate need for human connection. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that tastes like salt and sorrow and the promise of healing.
His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones as he deepens the kiss. I clutch at his shirt, needing an anchor asfive years of carefully controlled emotion threatens to drown us both.
When we break apart, gasping, Tyler rests his forehead against mine.
"This is probably not—" he starts.
"Don't," I interrupt. "Don't analyze it or rationalize it away. For once in my life, I just want to feel something that isn't grief."
He searches my eyes, and when he speaks again, his voice is gentle but firm.
"Leah, you've been through hell today. You're exhausted, emotionally wrung out. This isn't the time to make decisions about this." He gestures between us.
Part of me wants to argue, to insist that I know what I want. But the rational part, the part that's kept me functioning for five years, recognizes the wisdom in his words.
"You're right," I whisper, though it costs me to admit it. "I'm not thinking clearly."
"That's understandable. Grief does that—makes everything feel urgent, like we have to fix everything right now." Tyler brushes a strand of hair from my face. "But some things are worth waiting for. Worth doing right."
The tenderness in his voice makes my chest ache in a different way. When was the last time someone looked after me instead of the other way around?
"I should get you back to town," Tyler continues, glancing at the darkening sky. "You need rest, food, time to process everything that's happened."
I nod, though the thought of returning to my empty hotel room makes me feel hollow. "Could you drive me? I don't think I trust myself behind the wheel right now."
"Of course." Tyler stands and offers me his hand. "We can get your car tomorrow. I'll pick you up in the morning, if you want. Help you plan a proper attempt at Katie's Trail."
"You'd do that?" The question comes out smaller than I intended.
Tyler's smile is soft, understanding. "Leah, I've been carrying your sister's memory for five years. If helping you find peace with it helps me find some too, then yeah. I'd be honored to do that."
Tyler hands me his headlamp and adjusts his pack. "Ready?"
I take one last look at the meadow where we shared our grief and that perfect, healing kiss. Where I felt, for the first time in five years, like I might actually want to be alive.
"Ready," I say, and mean it.
Katie wanted me to live. Walking back through the forest with Tyler's steady presence beside me, I think I might finally be ready to learn how.
four
Tyler
ThedrivebacktoDarkmore Lodge passes in comfortable silence, broken only by the soft hum of my truck's engine and the occasional direction from Leah. She's curled against the passenger door, exhausted but no longer fragile. The woman who nearly walked off a cliff this afternoon has been replaced by someone stronger, more present.
More dangerous to my peace of mind.
I keep stealing glances at her profile in the dashboard light: the determined set of her jaw, the way her fingers trace patterns on the window as we pass through town. She looks like Katie, but the resemblance stops at the surface. Where Katie was all fire and impulse, Leah burns quieter, deeper. More controlled.
Until she kissed me back in that meadow like she was drowning and I was air.
