Page 30 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

"Brynn," I began, voice rougher than intended.

"Too much?" she asked, uncertainty flickering across her features. "I wanted you to know what you mean to me, how much you've changed me as a writer and as a person. But if it makes you uncomfortable—"

I silenced her with a kiss, pouring into it everything I couldn't articulate about what her words meant to me. When we separated, both slightly breathless, I kept her close.

"It's perfect," I assured her. "I just don't know what I did to deserve it. To deserve you."

"You were yourself," she said simply. "Authentic and flawed and trying. That's all anyone can ask." She hesitated, then continued: "I meant what I said before I left. I've fallen in love with you, Mack Thornton. Completely and irrevocably."

The declaration hung between us, her courage in speaking it outright challenging me to equal honesty.

"I love you too," I said, the words simultaneously terrifying and liberating. "Have since... hell, maybe since I pulled you from that car. Definitely since before you left."

Her smile could have illuminated the darkest night. "So what happens now?"

"Now?" I considered the question, acknowledging the challenges still facing us—her career in New York, my new life here, the geographic and lifestyle divide that might have seemed insurmountable weeks ago. "Now we figure it out together. You mentioned writing from Montana might be possible..."

"More than possible." Her enthusiasm was contagious. "My editor says I've never written better than what I produced here. They're already talking about a series set in a small Montana town."

"Imagine that," I deadpanned, earning a playful swat against my chest.

"Very funny. But seriously, there's nothing keeping me in Manhattan. I can write anywhere. And here..." She gestured toward the window, the orchard beyond, the mountains framing the horizon. "Here inspires me. You inspire me."

"And the cabin?" I asked, referring to discussions we'd had about potential living arrangements. "It's small. Remote. Not exactly equipped for a professional writer."

"Nothing a satellite internet connection and some bookshelves won't fix." Her confidence in our compatibility bolstered my own. "Besides, I hear the owner’s pretty great. Bit of a recluse, but he's working on it."

I laughed, the sound still unfamiliar but increasingly frequent since she'd entered my life. "Sounds promising."

"It is." She stood on tiptoe to kiss me again, brief but full of promise. "It really is."

For the first time since returning from Afghanistan, I looked toward the future and saw not emptiness, but possibility. Purpose. Connection.

Home.

Epilogue

Brynn

The August sunset painted Fire Mountain in shades of amber and gold, transforming the familiar landscape into something magical. From our porch—no longer just Mack's, but ours—the view stretched endlessly, wilderness and possibility unfolding in equal measure.

"What about here?" Mack traced a line on the blueprint spread across our laps. "The deck could wrap around this section, give us a better view of the creek."

I leaned against his shoulder, studying the plans for our cabin expansion. Three months of cohabitation had proven what we both suspected—the cabin, while perfect for a solitary mountain man, needed more space for a romance novelist with entirely too many books and a former Marine gradually rediscovering his place in the world.

"I like it," I agreed, picturing morning coffee on that deck, laptop open as mountain inspiration fueled my next novel. "And it would let in more natural light for the office."

Scout dozed at our feet, paws occasionally twitching in pursuit of dream rabbits. The German Shepherd had adapted to our changed dynamic with characteristic resilience, though he still claimed the prime spot between us on cold nights, a furry chaperone who snored louder than either of us would admit.

"Ian knows a good contractor," Mack said, setting the blueprints aside to pull me closer. "Man by the name of Carson Brooks. Says he could start in September, have the second story framed before first snow."

"Perfect timing." I traced the simple diamond ring on my left hand, still unaccustomed to its weight and meaning. "That gives us plenty of time to finish before the wedding."

Mack's proposal had caught me gloriously off-guard. We'd gone into Ashwood for the Fourth of July celebration – my first since moving to Montana permanently. As fireworks illuminated the small-town gathering, he'd dropped to one knee, offering a ring and future I hadn't dared imagine when I'd first crashed on these mountain roads.

"Still can't believe you said yes," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"Still can't believe you doubted I would." I turned to face him, cataloging the changes of recent months. The perpetual tension that had marked him when we met had eased. He smiled more readily, laughed without self-consciousness. His job at Lindstrom Orchards had expanded to include emergency management coordination for the entire valley – his military experience finding the perfect civilian application.

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