Page 5 of Mountain Man's Surrender

“For what it’s worth,” I say finally, my voice barely audible over the wind’s howl, “I didn’t know Simon didn't know about me.” I swallow hard, fighting for composure. My chest rises andfalls with a deep breath before I can continue. “My mom always said he wanted nothing to do with me.”

The admission hangs in the air between us, twenty years of misunderstanding compressed into a single sentence.

For a long moment, our eyes lock. Something shifts in the air. Not just the unmistakable spark of attraction between us I’m trying desperately to ignore, but a fragile bridge of understanding beginning to form. Then I turn away, climbing the metal stairs, each step echoing through the garage.

At the top, I pause and glance back. Landry still stands where I left him, staring at the empty space where I’d been.

Landry

Thewipersstruggletodisperse the thickening snow as my truck crawls along the winding Forest Service road. Beside me, Aspen sits frozen stiff. The girl’s barely moved an inch since I pulled out of the garage lot while I, on the other hand, have been struggling to sit still. The cab of this four-by-four has never felt as small as it does right now. And I’m acutely aware of every breath she takes in the thick silence.

I hadn’t planned on insisting she come with me. Hell, bringing this tempting girl to my cabin is the last thing on earth I want to do. But when I climbed those metal stairs with her suitcase in hand, expecting to drop it outside the door and be done with it, something stopped me. Her. Standing stock still in the open doorway of Simon’s apartment, shoulders tight, looking lost. The sight cut through my defenses like a hot knife through butter.

“You okay?” I’d asked, and when she turned, the raw vulnerability in those wide green eyes, the same damn shade as her father’s, made the decision for me.

I shift gears as we climb in elevation.

“Storm’s coming in faster than they predicted,” I say, for no other reason than to break the suffocating silence.

Aspen nods, her gaze fixed on the swirling snow beyond the windshield. “Thank you.” The words are barely a whisper. “For…not leaving me.”

“Simon would’ve—” I stop, noticing how she twitches at the mention of his name.

“Would’ve what?” she presses, turning those piercing eyes on me.

I return my focus to the road.

“He would’ve done the same for my daughter. If I had one.” I clear my throat. The truck cab falls silent again, save for the rhythmic swish of wipers and the rumble of chains on packed snow.

Minutes later, out of nowhere, comes, “Do you? Have children?”

The question catches me off guard. “No.” My grip tightens on the wheel. At least, none that I know of. “Never married. Military life and what happened made that…complicated.”

“The scars,” she breathes, and I feel her eyes tracing the thick cords of twisted tissue running down my neck.

I nod once, sharply. “Two tours. The second one ended early.”

I don’t elaborate. Don’t tell her about the IED that sent our vehicle flying, the fire that followed, the months of surgeries and rehabilitation. The nightmares that still wake me some nights.

“I’m sorry.” Fortunately, there’s not a hint of pity in her tone.

I shrug. “A medical discharge and I came back here.” I pause, debating whether to say more, then add, “It took a long time, but Simon helped me put the pieces back together.”

She shifts in her seat, hitching up a knee. The movement sends a waft of her scent in my direction. My mouth goes dry.

“What was he like? My…father.”

It's the first time she's referred to Simon that way. I choose my words carefully, conscious of the emotional minefield I’m navigating. “Your father was…” I search for a way to describe the man that will do him justice. “Solid. The kind of man who never gave up on anything or anyone he cared about.”

I glance over to find Aspen picking absently at a loose thread in the seat seam. I watch as her expression transforms from troubled to confused and back. She opens her mouth as if to speak then closes it again, swallowing hard. I wait.

“That doesn’t sound like the man my mother described,” she says finally, the steel back in her tone for a second before it softens. “Not that she spoke of him much. Just said he wasn’t ready to be a father.” A muscle works in her jaw as she continues to fiddle with the thread. “If what you’re saying is true…” She hesitates. “Was she lying?”

I didn’t know Jodie, the woman Simon cursed to hell and back when he got the letter three months ago, but I want to confirm her hunch. To drag out the envelope I grabbed from Simon’s desk moments ago and tucked into my jacket pocket, to thrust it toward her, but the vulnerability in her voice stops me. Now’s not the time. Not when she’s grappling with the crumbling of a foundation she believed was true about her life. About her parents. She shakes her head, as if clearing unwanted thoughts.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter now,” she insists, as if the matter is resolved, though it’s clearly far from finished.

I glance at Aspen’s left hand. She’s wearing two rings, but neither are diamonds, although she doesn’t strike me as a diamond kind of girl. And neither is on her ring finger. “Anyone you need to call? You know, to let them know you’re okay?”

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