Page 13 of Rugged Mountain Man
Chapter Five
Sadie
Waking up in one of Cole’s cabins this morning felt like stepping into a dream. The sunlight had spilled through the window, painting everything in soft gold, and the view outside—jagged peaks, endless sky, and trees dusted with morning mist—was the kind of picture postcards wish they could capture. For a moment, I hadn’t cared about work or the city or the boss waiting to chew me out. In fact, I’d forgotten all about it. My real life is suspended for these precious few days. I wanted to immerse myself in this world, wholeheartedly.
Now, standing in his stable, the scent of hay thick in the air and the sound of the horses shifting in their stalls, I feel like my entire world has tilted. Spending the day with Cole—watching him, listening to him, feeling his presence—has done something to me. Making question everything about my life till this point.
Every moment near him is charged, like the air between us is holding a secret neither of us is ready to say out loud. He’s quiet, sure, but there’s a steadiness in his silence that makes me want to lean in, to get closer.
I’m twenty-three, and my experience with men? Pretty much non-existent. I always told myself there’d be time later, that it wasn’t a priority. But now, with Cole, I wonder if I was just waiting for him. Because he’s made me feel things—things Ididn’t even know I was capable of feeling. And now I don’t know what to do with it. Or with him.
But right now I need to feed a horse.
I have a full bucket and edge towards the horse.
I knew I wasn’t going to be a horse whisperer right away, but I didn’t think I’d be this bad.
“Easy,” I murmur, holding out the bucket toward the chestnut mare, named Winnie. She doesn’t even flinch. Her ears twitch back, and then she snorts, stepping away like I’m holding a bomb instead of a feed bucket. “Oh, come on. I’m not that scary.”
From the corner of the stable, Cole chuckles. A low, deep sound that makes the hair on my arms stand up. “You’re holding it wrong.”
“How can you hold a bucket wrong?” I grumble, glancing over my shoulder. He’s leaning against the stall door, arms crossed, watching me with that half-smirk that’s equal parts frustrating and unfairly attractive.
“It’s not the bucket,” he says, stepping closer. “It’s you.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, heat rising to my cheeks. “Real helpful.”
“You’re nervous. She feels it.” He moves beside me, his sheer size making me feel tiny in comparison. “Here, let me show you.”
He takes the bucket from my hands, his fingers brushing mine. It’s such a light touch, but it’s enough to send a spark straight up my arm. I step back, swallowing hard as he crouches in front of the mare.
“See how I’m holding it steady?” His voice is low, steady. “You need to be calm. Confident.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The way his broad shoulders stretch under his shirt, the way his hands—strong and rough—move with such care, has my stomach doing flips.
The mare sniffs the bucket, then takes a tentative bite. Cole doesn’t move, his patience unshakable. Slowly, she warms to him, eating without hesitation.
“Your turn,” he says, standing and handing the bucket back to me.
I hesitate, glancing at the mare, then at him. “What if she runs off?”
“She won’t,” he says firmly. “You’ve got this.”
And that’s what I do for much of the day—cleaning stables, feeding horses, getting my hands dirty in ways I never thought I’d enjoy. It’s hard work, no doubt about it, but there’s a rhythm to it that feels grounding. The sound of hooves shifting in the straw, the occasional soft nicker from one of the horses—it’s a kind of peace I didn’t even know I needed.
Somewhere in the quiet, it hits me. I’ve been so busy running on autopilot—selling houses, chasing quotas, sitting behind a desk day after day—that I forgot what it felt like to actually live. To breathe. To do something because it feels right, not because it’s expected.
How did I ever think that was enough? A life of deadlines and stress, of constantly scrambling to meet someone else’s expectations. How do I go back to that after this? After watching the sunrise over the mountains, after feeling the honesty of this place seep into my bones, after being part of something real?
The answer is simple: I can’t.
For so long, I’ve been stuck in my own head, playing it safe, afraid to take risks or make waves. But out here, surrounded by the wild beauty of this life, I feel something shift inside me. Like I’ve been asleep, and now I’m finally waking up.
I want more.
More of this, more of life, more of everything I’ve been too scared to chase. I want to be bold. I want to take chances, to stop overthinking every decision and just… leap.
Maybe it’s the mountains. Maybe it’s Cole. But whatever it is, I’m starting to believe I’m capable of more than I ever let myself imagine.
