Page 8 of Tension with the Mountain Man
"Thank you," I whisper.
"For what?"
"For seeing me. The real me, not just the doctor."
Something intense flickers in his eyes. "I'd like to see more of the real you, if you'll let me."
The words hang between us, heavy with implication. This is my chance to back away, to maintain professional boundaries, to focus on my career and the Vancouver decision.
Instead, I hear myself saying, "I'd like that too."
"Good. How about dinner tomorrow night? My place. I promise to cook something that doesn't require medical attention afterward."
I laugh despite myself. "That's quite a promise."
"I aim to exceed expectations."
four
Sally
Thenextevening,Ifind myself standing on Tucker's porch, holding a bottle of wine and feeling more nervous than I have since my first day of residency. I've changed clothes three times, settling on a simple green dress that brings out my eyes and makes me feel feminine in a way my scrubs never do.
Tucker opens the door before I can knock, and the appreciation in his gaze makes me glad I made the effort.
"You look beautiful," he says simply.
"Thank you." I hand him the wine, trying not to notice how the simple button-down shirt he's wearing emphasizes his broad chest. "I wasn't sure what to bring."
"This is perfect." He steps back to let me in, and I get my first real look at his home.
It's not what I expected. The cabin is modest but comfortable, with dark furniture and shelves lined with books. Safety manuals, yes, but also literature, history, philosophy. A chess set sits on a small table by the window, a game in progress.
"You play?" I ask, nodding toward the board.
"With myself, mostly. Hard to find opponents in Silver Ridge who enjoy thinking several moves ahead."
"I play."
His eyebrows rise. "Really?"
"Medical school was stressful. Chess helped me think strategically, plan ahead." I study the board, noting the sophisticated positioning. "You're good."
"We'll have to play sometime."
"I'd like that."
He leads me to the kitchen, where something delicious is simmering on the stove. "Hope you like stew. It's about the extent of my culinary skills."
"It smells amazing."
We work together to finish dinner preparations, and I'm struck by how easy it feels. Natural. Like we've done this dozens of times before. Tucker moves around his kitchen and I find myself watching his hands as he work—strong, capable hands that are surprisingly gentle.
"Tell me about your brother," I say as we sit down to eat.
His expression grows somber. "What about him?"
"You mentioned he died young. Is that why you became the safety coordinator?"
