Page 27 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

"Why would you refuse?" The question hung between us, quiet but insistent.

I sighed, searching for words to explain my reluctance to re-enter a world that had no place for damaged ex-Marines with questionable social skills. "It's complicated."

"It's only complicated because you're making it complicated," she countered gently. "You're capable of so much more than you allow yourself to believe."

Her faith in me was simultaneously comforting and terrifying. What if I disappointed her? What if the man she believed in existed only in her imagination?

"I'll think about it," I conceded, the same non-promise I'd given Ian.

"Good." I could hear her smile through the phone. "Because you deserve purpose, Mack. Everyone does."

The next morning, against every instinct urging retreat, I called Mrs. Lindstrom.

Two days later, I stood among apple trees heavy with early fruit, listening as the silver-haired orchard owner outlined a proposition I hadn't anticipated.

"Operations manager," she repeated when I failed to respond. "Full-time, decent salary, housing included if you want it—though I suspect you prefer your mountain."

"I don't have any experience in orchard management," I pointed out, still processing the offer.

Harriet waved away my objection with a weathered hand. "Calvin's been running the orchard operations for thirty years. He knows every tree by name and talks to them when he thinks no one's listening. You won't be handling the agricultural side."

"Then what exactly would I be managing?"

"Security. Infrastructure. Emergency procedures." She gestured toward the levee system we'd reinforced during the flood. "Staff coordination during harvest season. Building maintenance. Equipment oversight." A pause, then pointedly: "Things you're actually qualified to handle, unlike staring at trees all day wondering why you feel so damn purposeless."

I blinked, caught off guard by her bluntness. "That obvious?"

"To anyone with eyes." She surveyed me with the frank assessment of someone who'd lived long enough to dispense with social niceties. "Look young man, I need someone who can think clearly during a crisis, who understands how to move people and resources efficiently, who notices potential problems before they become disasters. Sound familiar?"

It did. Uncomfortably so. The skills she described formed the backbone of my military training—abilities I'd relegated to my past life, convinced they held no place in civilian existence.

"Why me?" I asked finally. "Plenty of qualified candidates who don't live like hermits."

"Because I trust you, Mackenzie Thornton." The simple statement, delivered without embellishment, struck deeper than any elaborate reasoning could have. "You had no obligation to help during the flood. You could have stayed up at your cabin, safe and uninvolved. But you didn't. That tells me everything I need to know about your character."

I stared across the orchard, absorbing her words while trying to quell the instinctive resistance rising within me. Taking this job meant reentering society, abandoning the isolation that had become both prison and protection.

"You don't need to answer today," The woman added, misinterpreting my silence for indecision rather than internal conflict. "Think about it. Talk to that wonderful girlfriend of yours if you need to."

My head snapped up. "How did you—"

She smirked. "I saw how you looked at each other after the flood. Not exactly subtle."

Heat crawled up my neck, and I found myself grateful for the beard that concealed at least some of my discomfort.

"I'll think about it," I promised, the third time I'd offered those exact words in as many days.

Mrs. Lindstrom nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good. Now come see the equipment barn. It's a disaster area that I want you to help organize."

I spent the remainder of the day touring the orchard's facilities, mentally cataloging inefficiencies and potential improvements despite my unresolved decision about accepting the position. By the time I left, tentative plans for reorganizing the maintenance shed and upgrading the irrigation pumps' housing had already taken shape in my mind.

Scout greeted me enthusiastically upon my return to the cabin, as if I'd been gone weeks rather than hours. I knelt to ruffle his fur, thoughts still lingering on Harriet's unexpected offer.

"What do you think, boy?" I asked. "Ready to become an orchard dog?"

His tail thumped against the wooden floor, apparently approving the concept of regular visits to a place filled with interesting smells and wildlife to track.

When Brynn called that evening, I described the meeting, attempting to present the proposal with neutral detachment. She saw through it immediately.

---