Page 11 of Mountain Man Rescue
She was made for me.
She shifts, resting her chin on my chest, those bright green eyes watching me like she can see straight down to my soul. “Tell me about Lucky.”
She’s not talking about the cat. No one’s ever asked me about him before, not really.
I stare up at the ceiling, following the lazy swirl of light from the fire. “He was a bright-eyed kid with a head full of dreams. Joined the Army because he loved his country. Loved these mountains, too. When we were in Afghanistan, and things got bad, he’d tell stories about this place. He always said the mountains were heaven’s front porch.”
My throat tightens. “When he got hit… he knew he wasn’t going to make it. He made me promise I’d come here to see the mountains for him. So, I did. And I never left.”
She presses a hand to my chest. “You loved him.”
“Like a brother.”
“And you love the mountain now too, don’t you?”
“I do.” I let out a slow breath. “When I first got here, I was angry, battered, and bruised from everything I’d seen. I didn’t think peace existed anymore. But up here… it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that heals a man if he lets it.”
“I think Lucky would like that for you.” She lifts her head and kisses my chest, right over the tattoo of the eagle and flag.
“I think he would, too.”
The sadness that’s lived in me for years doesn’t feel so heavy when I share it with her. It’s still there—grief never really leaves—but she softens the edges of it.
She traces the ink over my heart, following the lines of the eagle with her fingertip. “He must have meant a lot to you.”
“He did.” My voice comes out rough. “We talked about what we’d do when we got home. He wanted to build a cabin right here on this ridge. Said he’d fill it with music, laughter, babies, and too many cats. I guess I kept part of his dream alive, minus the babies and the extra cats.”
Her lips curve into a sleepy smile. “I think he’d be proud of you, Wyatt.”
“I hope so,” I say quietly.
The silence between us stretches, easy and full of unspoken things. Her fingers keep tracing slow patterns over my chest. I could stay like this forever.
But forever’s a risky word.
Outside, the snow is falling softer now, slower. Soon, the roads will open. The plows will come. And she’ll drive away, back to her city world of lights and noise.
I tighten my hold around her, just a little.
“Don’t think,” she whispers, like she can hear the storm in my head.
I kiss the top of her head. “Trying not to.”
She sighs, nestling closer. Within minutes, her breathing evens out again. I stare at the window until the fire fades to embers, the weight of everything I can’t say pressing down like the snow on the roof.
When she leaves, I’ll never be the same.
But for now, I’ll hold her until the morning light.
Chapter Eight
Gina
The cabin is still and warm when I slip out of bed. Wyatt’s arm falls to the empty space where I was, and he lets out a low, sleepy sigh that makes my heart twist.
Lucky lifts his head from the hearth rug and gives me a slow blink, then pads after me into the kitchen.
“Morning, handsome,” I whisper. “How about some breakfast?”
