Page 16 of Mountain Man Rescue
“I’m puttin’ you in my truck, Red.” He growls. “You had no business leaving without a proper goodbye.”
“What? Put. Me. Down!”
He doesn’t slow down. Snow crunches under his boots as he stalks through the drifts. Gus chuckles behind us.
When we reach Wyatt’s truck, he sets me down in front of him. His chest rises and falls, his eyes burning like storm clouds about to break.
“When I got out of the shower and found you gone,” he says, voice low, “it gutted me. Right down to the damn bone.”
“Wyatt—”
He grips my shoulders, leaning in close. “I want you with me. Every day. Every night. Winter, spring, summer, fall—whatever you want, I’ll make it happen. I don’t ever want to be without you again.”
He rests his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. “Please say you’ll stay.”
Tears spill over, running down my cheeks. “Do you mean it? Do you really want me to stay?”
He nods, his eyes fierce and unflinching. “I never say anything I don’t mean. And trust me, I mean every word. You make me feel alive. You make me want things I thought were gone for good. You finding this mountain was a gift.” He brushes my tears away with his thumb. “Please say you’ll stay.”
My heart nearly bursts. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, yes, yes.”
I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him—hard, laughing through the tears.
Somewhere behind us, Gus honks the horn. “Told you it was love!” he shouts, then waves and starts the plow back up the road.
Wyatt laughs, pulling me tighter. “It’s crazy, but Gus is right—I’m in love with you.”
“I love you, too.”
And right there, with snow swirling around us and his lips on mine, I realize?—
I didn’t just find love.
I found home.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Wyatt
The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting gold light across the cabin walls. Snow drifts steadily and softly outside the big windows, the kind that makes the whole world feel hushed and holy.
A pine tree stands in the corner — the first I’ve ever put up here—the scent of fresh spruce blends with cinnamon candles and wood smoke. I step back, studying the lights, and realize I hung every ornament crooked. But it doesn’t matter. Later, Gina will add her magic touch to the tree.
Behind me, Lucky is sprawled out in front of the fire, his paws twitching in some kind of cat dream. I smile down at him.
On the couch, Gina’s curled up under her favorite fur blanket, fast asleep. Her hair spills over the armrest in a tumble of red, her lips parted slightly in that peaceful way that still wrecks me every time I see it.
Tucked in the crook of her arm, our son, Henry, sleeps, too — one tiny fist wrapped around her finger, the other resting on his chest. He makes these soft little baby sounds that get me right in the chest.
My life is so complete that sometimes I don’t know what to do with all the joy.
A year ago, this cabin was just the place where I lived. Now, it’s a home filled with laughter and lullabies. It’s Gina humming in the kitchen, and Henry’s cries at two in the morning, and Lucky sulking because he’s no longer the center of the universe.
To me—it’severything.
I walk over, kneel beside the couch, and brush a strand of hair from Gina’s cheek. She stirs but doesn’t wake. Her face is peaceful, soft with sleep, and my heart does that thing it always does — beats with the strong, steady, quiet ache of gratitude that never goes away. She’s my heart and my soul. And there isn’t a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for her.
