Page 26 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

Now she was gone, and I was left with the uncomfortable awareness of how thoroughly she'd changed me. Before Brynn,isolation had been a choice, a protective measure against a world I no longer fit into. Now it felt like punishment, a hollow mockery of the life I'd convinced myself I wanted.

Her calls helped. Each evening at precisely 8:30 Mountain Time, my phone rang, her voice bridging the two thousand miles between us with stories of editorial meetings and marketing strategies I barely understood but pretended to follow. What mattered wasn't the content but the connection—the reassurance that whatever had sparked between us hadn't been extinguished by distance.

But calls weren't enough to fill the days. I resumed my pre-Brynn routine—chopping wood, maintaining the property, taking Scout on increasingly lengthy hikes. Yet every activity felt mechanical, purposeless, each task merely a way to exhaust my body enough that sleep might come without the accompaniment of dreams featuring hazel eyes and tentative smiles.

A week after her departure, Ian's truck rumbled up my driveway, unusual enough that I met him on the porch, Scout alert beside me.

"Didn't expect to see you," I said as he climbed out.

"Thought I'd check in." He surveyed me with the assessing gaze that had annoyed me since childhood. "You look like hell."

"Always the diplomat."

"Officer, not diplomat." He grinned, some of the professional facade dropping away. "Seriously, though. You okay?"

I shrugged, unwilling to admit the extent of my restlessness. "Fine."

"Right." The skepticism in his tone matched his expression. "That's why you haven't been to town since droppingBrynn at the airport. Even Greg noticed, asking if you'd gone back to hermit mode."

"Just busy." The lie felt flimsy even to my own ears.

"Busy brooding, maybe." He followed me inside without waiting for an invitation, a habit from childhood he'd never outgrown. "Got a message for you, actually. Harriet Lindstrom's been trying to reach you."

That caught me off guard. "Why?"

"Something about an opportunity. Said to tell you to call her when you're done pretending the phone doesn't exist."

The accuracy of Mrs. Lindstrom’s assessment hit uncomfortably close to home. I'd been screening calls, answering only Brynn's.

"I'll think about it," I offered, already calculating how long I could reasonably delay before Ian would report back to the persistently meddlesome orchard owner.

"You do that." Ian settled at my kitchen table, making it clear he wasn't leaving immediately. "She's not the only one asking about you, you know. Ross wants to know if you'd consider joining the volunteer fire department. Half the flood response team mentioned how you organized the sandbagging."

"It wasn't anything special." I busied myself making coffee, back turned to avoid his scrutiny.

"Bullshit." The rare profanity from my straight-laced brother made me turn. "You stepped up when it counted, Mack. People noticed."

"I did what anyone would have done."

"No." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You did what a trained leader would do. There's a difference."

The coffee maker burbled, filling the silence that stretched between us. I didn't know how to respond to praise I wasn't convinced I deserved.

"Anyway," Ian continued when it became clear I wouldn't reply, "call Mrs. Lindstrom. She doesn't take rejection well, and I'm tired of being your answering service."

He left thirty minutes later, extracting a grudging promise that I'd contact her within the week. I watched his truck disappear down the mountain road, conflicted emotions settling like sediment in still water.

That night, when Brynn called, I finally mentioned the conversation.

"The orchard owner—Harriet Lindstrom—wants to talk to me about something," I said after she'd finished describing a particularly painful meeting with her marketing team. "No idea what."

"Really?" Her voice brightened. "Mack, that's fantastic! You really impressed her during the flood."

"Or she needs cheap physical labor."

Her laugh warmed me from two thousand miles away. "Call her and find out. What's the worst that could happen?"

"She could offer me a job I'd have to refuse."

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