Page 25 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

He nodded, his expression somber. "Your life is there, Brynn. Your career, your apartment, everything that matters."

"Not everything," I countered softly. "Not anymore."

We spent the morning in strangely comfortable silence, each processing the imminent separation in our own way. Mack used the landline to call Greg's garage, explaining the situation with my car still crumpled in the ditch where I'd crashed it.

"He says he can tow it today now that the roads are clear," Mack informed me, hanging up the phone. "But the damage is extensive from what he could see when he drove past it yesterday. Parts will take at least two weeks to arrive, maybe longer."

"Two weeks," I repeated, finding unexpected comfort in the timeframe. It gave tangible structure to my promise to return, a concrete reason beyond my feelings for Mack. "That works perfectly. I can finish the manuscript, handle the initial press, and be back in time to pick it up."

Mack's expression lightened slightly, as if he too appreciated the practical anchor for my return. "Greg says to leave the keys with me. He'll need them for the tow and repairs."

I nodded, digging through my purse for the rental car keys. The small gesture felt significant—leaving something of mine behind, creating a thread that would draw me back to this place, to him.

As I packed my belongings, reality intruded with increasing insistence. My laptop with its half-finished manuscript. My phone, now constantly buzzing with notifications. My city clothes, hopelessly wrinkled but representing a life I'd built over years of determination and hard work.

Mack watched from the doorway, Scout at his feet, as I zipped my suitcase closed. "You should go," he said finally. "Your career matters. Don't sacrifice it."

The selflessness of his encouragement made my throat tight. "I'm coming back," I insisted, crossing to stand before him. "Once the book is submitted, the promotional tour finished. I'll come back for the car...and for you."

His hands settled on my waist, warm and steady through the fabric of my sweater. "This mountain will be here," he said. "I'll be here."

But would he? The uncertainty in his eyes mirrored my own fears. What if distance revealed our connection as merely circumstantial—the product of forced proximity, shared crisis, and physical attraction rather than something lasting?

"I'm falling in love with you," I confessed, the words escaping before prudence could contain them. "I think maybe I started falling the moment you pulled me from that car."

His breath caught audibly. For one terrifying moment, I thought I'd misjudged everything between us. Then his arms enfolded me, drawing me against the solid warmth of his chest.

"I've never believed in second chances," he murmured against my hair. "But you make me want to."

We drove to town in silence, the mountain roads now considerably less treacherous under clear skies. As we passed the site of my accident, I glimpsed my crumpled sedan still nose-down in the ditch, stark evidence of how close I'd come to disaster—and how fortunate I'd been that Mack had found me.

The town of Ashwood came into view, its modest buildings showing signs of the recent flood but standing nonetheless. Resilient, like its inhabitants.

At the small regional airport, Mack helped me check in for the hastily booked flight, my suitcase seeming inadequate to transport me between these disparate worlds. How could I possibly contain Montana's vastness, Mack's quiet strength, within such limited confines?

The boarding announcement came too soon. We stood awkwardly in the tiny terminal, surrounded by strangers but isolated in our private emotion.

"Call when you land," he said, hands shoved in his pockets as if restraining himself from reaching for me. "Let me know you're safe."

I nodded, throat too tight for speech. Then, uncaring of public scrutiny, I stepped into his space, hands framing his face as I kissed him with all the tangled emotions words couldn't express.

"I'll be back," I whispered against his lips. "I promise."

His arms tightened briefly before releasing me. "I'll hold you to that."

Walking away from him required physical effort, each step toward the boarding gate creating greater distance between the woman I'd been and the one I was becoming. As the small plane lifted above Montana's rugged landscape, the flood of emotion finally overtook me and I didn’t even try to stop the tears as they came.

The mountain would wait. The question that followed me eastward, was whether I could find my way back to the home I'd discovered in Mack’s arms.

Chapter Ten

Mack

The house felt wrong without her.

Seventeen days since Brynn's departure, and the cabin had transformed from sanctuary back into prison—four walls that held nothing but emptiness and echoes. Even Scout sensed the shift, his mournful gaze following me as I moved restlessly through rooms that suddenly seemed both too large and suffocatingly small.

I'd driven straight home from the airport, her scent lingering in my truck's cab, her absence an almost physical presence beside me. That night, I'd lain in bed—our bed—surrounded by sheets that still held traces of her and contemplated the brutal simplicity of what had happened: I'd known her less than two weeks, yet somehow she'd breached defenses I'd spent three years constructing.

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