Page 23 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

Gently, I pulled the blankets over us, tucking her into my side. She let out a drowsy hum, already half-asleep. My eyelids felt heavy, exhaustion from the day’s ordeal returning in force.

“I love you, Brynn,” I heard myself whisper right before I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Nine

Brynn

Sunlight streamed through the familiar curtains, casting a golden glow across the bed I'd occupied for the past week. This morning, however, everything felt different. The sheets, the room, even the air itself seemed transformed by what had transpired between Mack and me last night.

I stretched carefully, body pleasantly sore in places I'd never felt before. Beside me, Mack slept peacefully, his features softened in slumber, the perpetual vigilance temporarily banished. His arm draped possessively across my waist, our legs entangled beneath the quilt as if even in sleep he feared I might slip away.

My heart swelled as I studied him—the stubble shadowing his jaw, the scar bisecting his right eyebrow, the surprisingly long eyelashes that any woman would envy. In sleep, the hardened warrior gave way to the man beneath, vulnerable and beautiful in ways I'd only glimpsed before last night.

His eyes fluttered open, dark gaze focusing immediately on mine with an intensity that sent heat rushing through me. The smile that followed transformed his normally shuttered features, creating creases at the corners of his eyes that hinted at a version of Mack that existed before the trauma of war.

"Morning," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," I echoed, suddenly shy despite our newfound intimacy.

His fingers traced my cheekbone with a gentleness that belied their strength. "Last night was..."

"Real," I finished when he hesitated. "Very real."

We lay facing each other, neither rushing to break the cocoon of warmth and connection enveloping us. Outside, birds called to one another in the clear mountain air—the storm had finally passed, leaving renewed life in its wake.

"I need to say something," Mack began, his expression growing serious. "About your notebook."

My stomach tightened, the perfect moment fracturing slightly. "Mack, you don't—"

"I do." His thumb brushed across my lower lip, silencing me. "I reacted badly. Too harshly."

"You had every right," I whispered. "I should have been honest from the beginning."

"Maybe." His eyes held mine, unwavering. "But I understand now why you weren't. And I'm sorry for making you feel like your feelings weren't genuine."

The apology, unexpected and undeserved, brought tears to my eyes. "They are genuine. So genuine they terrify me."

His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing away moisture at the corner of my eye. "Same here."

"I promise," I said, covering his hand with mine, "I will never use your pain, your experiences, as material. Not without your knowledge and permission. What's between us is separate from my work."

"I believe you." Three simple words that healed something that had been fractured inside me.

"Really?"

His mouth quirked in that almost-smile I'd come to cherish. "Really. Besides, what happened last night isn't something I'd mind reading about someday."

Heat flooded my cheeks at the memory of those hours in his arms, of discoveries made and boundaries crossed. "It might make a decent chapter."

"Just decent?" His mock offense drew a laugh from me before his lips claimed mine, morning breath forgotten as desire rekindled between us.

Later, wrapped in his discarded flannel shirt, I padded to the kitchen to make coffee. My body felt different somehow—not just the physical changes from our lovemaking, but a deeper, cellular-level alteration. As if I'd finally become fully present in my own skin after years of existing slightly adjacent to it.

The shortwave radio crackled to life as I measured coffee grounds, Ian's voice cutting through the morning quiet.

"Base to Fire Mountain, you there, Mack?"

Mack emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips and crossed to the radio. "Here. Go ahead."

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