Page 22 of Branded Mountain Man
BRANDED
SLOAN
Four months later, Sloan woke in the cabin Colt had built for them to the sound of voices outside. Male voices, unfamiliar, and definitely not supposed to be there.
She rolled over, reaching for Colt, but found only empty space and cold sheets. Through the window, she could see him standing in the clearing with three other men, all of them wearing the same rugged uniform of flannel and work boots that marked them as trail crew.
One of them—a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair—was gesturing toward the cabin with obvious approval. Another, younger and dark-haired, was grinning at something Colt had said. The third looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, his arms crossed and his expression carefully neutral.
Sloan pulled on jeans and one of Colt's flannels, then stepped out onto the porch they'd finished just last week. The conversation stopped as all four men turned to look at her.
"Morning," she said, suddenly self-conscious about her bed hair and bare feet.
Three years alone, and now this. A woman who moved through his space like she belonged there.
"Sloan." Colt's voice was warm, proud, and when he looked at her, she saw something in his eyes that made her chest tight with happiness. "Come meet the crew."
The older man stepped forward first, extending a calloused hand.
"Nash. Trail boss. Heard a lot about you."
"All good, I hope."
"Mostly." Nash's weathered face cracked into a grin. "Colt says you're the reason he's not living like a hermit anymore."
The dark-haired man behind him stepped up with an easy smile that was pure trouble. "Sawyer. Nash's right hand and the crew's comic relief." His grin was infectious, the kind that made you want to know what mischief he was planning. "Also single, charming, and available for anyone who might know similarly qualified women."
"Subtle," Nash said dryly.
"I don't do subtle. Life's too short." Sawyer's eyes twinkled. "Plus, someone's got to balance out all the brooding mountain man energy around here."
"You thinking about coming back to the crew?" Nash asked Colt.
Colt glanced at Sloan. "Maybe. Part time. If someone can handle me being less than perfectly reliable."
"Hell," Sawyer said, "reliable's overrated. What matters is showing up when it counts." His grin widened. "Plus, we could use someone to teach the new guys how to build things right instead of fast."
"Sounds like you might have found your next project," Sloan said, squeezing Colt's hand.
As the crew prepared to leave, Nash turned back. "Trail work starts up again in spring. If you ever want to see what we'rebuilding down there..." He gestured toward the valley. "Door's always open."
"They came to check on the tower," Colt explained, his hand finding the small of her back. "Make sure I haven't completely lost my mind up here."
"Have you?" Nash asked, looking around at the cabin, the workshop, the neat garden plot that was already showing green shoots.
"Probably." Colt's arm tightened around Sloan's waist. "But in a good way."
Nash nodded approvingly. "Place looks good. Solid work."
"Thanks."
"You thinking about coming back to the crew?" Sawyer asked. "We could use someone with your experience."
Colt glanced at Sloan, and she could see him weighing the question. They'd talked about it—about what came next, how they'd build a life that worked for both of them. Her job was flexible; she could work remotely, make trips into town for the clients who needed face-to-face sessions. But Colt's future was still uncertain.
"Maybe," he said finally. "Part time. If Sloan's okay with it."
"It's your choice," she said, meaning it. "I'm not going anywhere."
