Page 4 of Tension with the Mountain Man
The thought bothers me more than it should.
I've lived in this town my entire life, and I've never been particularly social. After my brother died, I retreated into work and solitude. Dating seemed pointless when I had nothing to offer except baggage and a dangerous job. The few women I've been with over the years were casual encounters, nothing serious enough to complicate either of our lives.
But something about Dr. Jacobson makes me want to complicate things.
Maybe it's the way she challenged me, assuming things about me that were completely wrong. Or maybe it's just that I recognize something in her—the same drive to prove herself, the same weight of responsibility she carries alone.
Over the next few days, I find myself noticing her around town. Always alone, always reading something on her phone. She eats lunch at Juniper's when she has time, usually salad and soup, never lingering to chat with other diners.
She works too much. I can see it in the tiredness around her eyes, the way she moves like someone carrying invisible weight. When was the last time she took a real break? When was the last time someone looked after her?
I can't stop thinking about her. About the way she looked when she touched my skin, like she'd been hit by lightning. About the loneliness I glimpsed in her eyes. About how it might feel to hold her, to be the one she turns to when the weight gets too heavy.
Mine.The thought comes again, stronger this time. More certain.
I don't know what I'm going to do about it, but I know I can't just let her slip away. Not without trying.
One day, she's sitting alone in a corner booth, picking at a salad while reviewing what looks like lab results. Even from across the room, I can see the exhaustion in her posture.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I walk over.
"Dr. Jacobson."
She looks up, and for a moment I see surprise flicker across her features. Then awareness, interest, a spark of the same electricity I felt in the clinic.
"Tucker. How's the shoulder?"
"Good as new, thanks to you." I gesture to the empty seat across from her. "Mind if I join you? Looks like you could use some company."
She hesitates, and I brace myself for polite rejection. Instead, she closes the file and nods toward the seat.
"Just Sally is fine," she says as I sit down. "When I'm not stitching people up, I'm just Sally."
"Tucker works for me too." I flag down Juniper for coffee, noting the way Sally's gaze follows the movement of my hands. "Busy day?"
"Are there any other kind in Silver Ridge?" She takes a sip of what looks like her third cup of coffee. "Four stitches, two potential concussions, and one very stubborn woman who insists her chest pains are just heartburn."
I don’t press for info, because of patient confidentiality and all that, but I have a solid guess of who she’s talking about. "Can't blame them for being cautious. Dr. Walsh was here for thirty years before you came. He knew everyone's family history, their quirks, their fears. People trusted him because he understood them."
Something defensive flashes in Sally's eyes. "And they don't trust me?"
"They don'tknowyou," I correct gently. "There's a difference."
She's quiet for a moment, considering that. "I suppose it doesn't help that I'm younger than half their children."
"Age is just a number. Competence is what matters." I meet her gaze directly. "And you're very competent, Dr. Jacobson.Sally."
Pink touches her cheeks at the compliment, and I smile back. When was the last time someone told her she was good at her job? When was the last time she had anyone in her corner?
"Thank you," she says quietly. "That actually means more than you know."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, and I find myself studying her face.
"Can I ask you something?" I say finally.
"Sure."
"Why Silver Ridge? You could work anywhere with your skills. Why here?"
