Page 24 of Branded Mountain Man
"What's that?"
Colt looked up to find Sloan in the doorway of the workshop, her hair caught in the afternoon light. She was wearing one of his old work shirts over leggings, and the sight of her still made his chest tight with wonder. Four months, and he still couldn't quite believe she was real. Still couldn't believe she'd chosen to stay.
"Nothing," he said, covering the medallion with his hand.
"Liar." She stepped closer, trying to see around his arm. "Come on, show me."
"It's not finished."
"I don't care."
Colt hesitated, then moved his hand away. Sloan's eyes went wide when she saw the carved symbol, the careful detail of the mountains and trees. But when she reached for it, he pulled it back.
"Don't touch it yet. The finish is still wet."
"It's beautiful." Her voice was soft, wondering. "You made this?"
"Yeah."
"With your brand."
It wasn't a question, but Colt nodded anyway. "Seemed fitting. Taking something that was meant to mark failure and using it to create something else."
"What is it for?"
Colt felt heat creep up his neck. "You. It's for you."
"Colt—"
"I know it's not much. I know you could buy something better in town, something that didn't come with so much baggage attached. But I wanted to make you something that was mine. Something that came from here." He touched his chest, over his heart.
Sloan's eyes were bright, suspiciously bright, and when she spoke, her voice was rough. "It's perfect."
"You haven't even touched it yet."
"I don't need to. I can see how much love went into it."
Love. Such a simple word for something that had turned his entire world upside down. Colt still wasn't used to hearing it, wasn't used to believing he deserved it. But every day with Sloan made it a little easier.
"The back isn't done yet," he said, turning the medallion over to show her the smooth, uncarved surface. "Thought maybe you could tell me what to put there."
Sloan studied the blank wood, then looked up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "What do you want to put there?"
"I don't know. Your name, maybe. Or the date we met."
"What about his name?"
Colt went very still. "Whose name?"
"Marcus." Sloan's voice was gentle, careful. "He's part of this story too, isn't he? Part of what brought us together?"
The suggestion hit him like a physical blow. For four months, they'd barely talked about Marcus anymore, about the guilt that had driven Colt to the mountain in the first place. It was still there, would always be there, but it had transformed somehow. Become something he could carry instead of something that carried him.
"I don't know if I can," he said quietly.
"You don't have to. It was just a thought."
But the idea had taken root, and Colt found himself considering it. Marcus, whose death had led to the brand, which had led to the exile, which had led to Sloan. Marcus, who'd saved his life and inadvertently given him a chance at happiness he'd never thought he deserved.
