Page 25 of Branded Mountain Man
"Maybe," he said finally. "Maybe that's exactly what should go there."
Sloan smiled, the kind of smile that lit up her whole face. "I think he'd like that. Being part of something beautiful instead of just something painful."
"Yeah." Colt touched the smooth wood, already imagining Marcus's name carved into it with the same care he'd used for the mountains. "I think he would."
Later that night, as they lay in bed with the fire crackling in the wood stove, Sloan traced lazy patterns on Colt's chest. Her fingers found the brand through his shirt, as they often did, and she pressed her palm flat against it.
"Does it still hurt?" she asked.
"Sometimes. When the weather changes, or when I move wrong."
"I meant emotionally."
Colt considered the question. Four months ago, the answer would have been yes, always, like a wound that never healed. Now...
"Different kind of hurt," he said finally. "Less sharp. More like... remembering."
"Good remembering or bad remembering?"
"Both." He covered her hand with his, holding it against the scar. "But mostly good. Because it brought me here. To you."
"To us," Sloan corrected softly.
"To us."
Outside, the first snow of winter was starting to fall, dusting the mountains in white. But inside their cabin, warm and safe and together, Colt felt something he hadn't experienced in years.
Peace.
The medallion was finished a week later, Marcus's name carved into the back with the same care Colt had used for everything else. When he gave it to Sloan, she cried—the good kind of tears, the kind that meant healing instead of breaking.
She wore it to the Christmas gathering, the wooden pendant resting against her heart. And when Josh asked her about it—his voice carefully casual, like he was trying not to care—she told him the story. About the brand, about the mountain, about the man who'd learned to transform his scars into something beautiful.
Josh listened with the intensity of someone who understood more than he was saying. And when Sloan mentioned that she was a wilderness therapist, something shifted in his expression.
"Wilderness therapy," he repeated. "That's a real thing?"
"Very real. Why?"
Josh glanced around the room, taking in the crew scattered around the bunkhouse—Sawyer telling an elaborate story, Nash tending the fire, Colt watching it all with quiet contentment.
"No reason," he said finally. "Just curious."
But Sloan was a professional, and she recognized the signs. The careful questions, the guarded interest, the way Josh held himself apart even in a room full of people who clearly cared about him.
She tucked it away—not for her notes, not for a file, but for something quieter. The way she'd offered Colt a mirror instead of a rescue. The way she'd stayed.
After the holidays, maybe she'd hike up to Josh's cabin. Not to fix. Just to see if someone else needed to be seen.
After all, that's what she did. That's who she was.
And if there was one thing she'd learned from loving Colt Ramsey, it was that the most broken people often just needed someone willing to see past their scars to the whole person underneath.
Someone willing to stay long enough to watch them heal.
EPILOGUE
One year later, Sloan stood at the window of their cabin, watching Colt work in the garden they'd expanded together. He moved with easy confidence now, the haunted tension that had marked him when they'd first met replaced by something that looked suspiciously like contentment.
