Page 19 of Branded Mountain Man
Her phone buzzed with a text message, and for a split second, her heart jumped. But it was just her supervisor, asking about the status of her report.
Almost finished,she typed back, then stared at the screen until the words blurred.
She'd checked her phone approximately five hundred times in the last two weeks. Had jumped every time it rang, hoping to hear a familiar rough voice on the other end. But Colt hadn't called. Hadn't even sent a smoke signal.
Maybe he'd thrown the card away the moment she'd turned her back. Maybe he'd decided she really was just another clueless professional trying to fix what couldn't be fixed.
Or maybe he was exactly where she'd left him—sitting in that fire tower, staring out at the mountains and convincing himself he didn't deserve anything good.
Her computer chimed with an email from the Forest Service. Another assignment, another isolated worker who needed checking on. She opened it automatically, scanning the details with professional detachment.
Then she saw the location, and her blood went cold.
Bitterroot Ridge Fire Tower. Follow-up assessment requested for C. Ramsey. Complainant reports unusual activity—construction sounds, vehicle traffic. Possible unauthorized personnel on site.
Sloan was out of her chair and reaching for her pack before she'd finished reading.
Construction sounds. Vehicle traffic.
Either Colt had finally snapped completely, or something was very wrong on that mountain.
She was two hours into the drive to the trailhead when she realized what she was really afraid of. Not that Colt was in trouble.
That he wasn't.
That he'd moved on, found someone else to share his carefully rebuilt world. Someone who didn't come with professional obligations and ethical boundaries.
Someone better suited to the life he'd chosen.
But as Sloan pulled into the empty parking area and shouldered her pack for the hike up to the tower, she knew the truth. She wasn't driving up here because of the report. She wasn't even driving up here because she was worried about Colt's safety.
She was driving up here because two weeks without him felt like two years, and she was tired of pretending she didn't care what happened to the broken, beautiful man who'd branded himself into her heart.
The trail seemed longer this time, each switchback a reminder of the last time she'd made this climb. But when she finally crested the ridge and saw the fire tower, Sloan stopped dead in her tracks.
Someone had been busy.
The structure looked the same from a distance, but as she got closer, she could see the additions. A small cabin nestled against the base of the tower, its walls fresh-cut timber that gleamed golden in the afternoon sun. A covered porch with two chairs side by side. A garden plot, carefully tended and protected by chicken wire.
It looked like a home. Like a place where two people might build a life together.
And carved into the support beam near the cabin door was a symbol she recognized—the same mountain outline she'd traced in the condensation on his window weeks ago.
Sloan's heart was hammering as she climbed the last few yards to the clearing. The sound of construction was coming from behind the cabin—rhythmic hammering that suggested someone working with steady concentration.
She rounded the corner and found Colt building what looked like a workshop, his back to her as he fitted boards together with practiced precision. He was shirtless despite the cool air, his skingleaming with sweat, and Sloan could see the brand clearly now in the afternoon light.
But there was something different about the way he carried himself. Less hunched, less guarded. Like the weight he'd been carrying had shifted somehow, become something he could bear instead of something that was slowly crushing him.
He must have sensed her presence because he turned around slowly, his eyes meeting hers across the small distance between them.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Colt set down his hammer and straightened, and Sloan saw something in his face she'd never seen before.
Hope.
"You came back," he said, his voice rough with surprise and something that sounded dangerously like relief.
"Got a report about unusual activity up here." Sloan gestured toward the cabin, the garden, the clear evidence of someone planning to stay. "Care to explain?"
