Page 17 of Branded Mountain Man
"I'll file it when I get back to town." She finally looked at him, and her expression was carefully neutral. "Standard assessment. You're physically healthy, mentally competent, able to perform your duties."
"That's it?"
"What else would there be?"
Everything, he wanted to say. The way you touched my scars like they were beautiful. The way you called me on my bullshit. The way you made me believe, for just a few hours, that I might be worth saving.
"Nothing," he said instead.
Sloan nodded and moved toward the door. "Take care of yourself, Colt."
The words were professional, polite, completely devoid of the warmth that had been in her voice two days ago when she'd traced his brand with gentle fingers. When she'd told him it didn't define him.
He should let her go. Should watch her walk away and be grateful that she wasn't going to put his failures in some government file. Should go back to his carefully constructed isolation and pretend the last three days had never happened.
Instead, he found himself getting up, pulling on boots and a jacket, following her down the stairs.
"What are you doing?" Sloan asked when she noticed him behind her.
"Making sure you get down safe."
"I don't need an escort."
"I know." But he kept following, maintaining distance but staying close enough to help if she needed it. Close enough to pretend he was still protecting something that mattered.
They hiked in silence for the first mile, the only sounds their boots on the trail and the rustle of wind through the trees. The path was clear, the storm damage minimal this high up. She'd have no trouble making it to her car.
Halfway down the ridge, Sloan stopped and turned to face him.
"Why are you here, Colt?"
Because I can't let you go. Because watching you walk away feels like dying. Because I'm a selfish bastard who wants what he can't have.
"Making sure you're safe," he said.
"I told you, I don't need?—"
"I know what you told me." He stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. "But I'm here anyway."
"Why?"
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with everything they hadn't said. Everything they'd shared and thrown away in the space of a few hours.
"Because I'm going to miss you," he admitted.
Sloan's face went soft, and for a moment, she looked like the woman who'd touched his scars with reverent fingers. Who'd kissed him like he was worth saving.
"Then why did you push me away?"
"Because missing you is better than getting you killed."
The words came out harsh, desperate, and Sloan took a step back like he'd slapped her.
"You really believe that, don't you? That everyone you care about gets hurt."
"I know they do."
"Marcus again."
