Page 15 of Mountain Man's Surrender

I’m saved from responding when Derek stands abruptly, checking his watch. My senses sharpen, focusing on Aspen, wholooks flustered, a pink flush spreading across her cheeks. And she’s twisting that pendant again. He says something to her, and she nods, picking up the folder. I think that’s it. That he’ll turn and leave, but the bastard hesitates then leans in closer and says something more before laying a hand on her shoulder.

I surge to my feet, fists clenched at my sides, as he releases her then strolls by. A younger me would have trailed him outside, itching for a fight, but I've learned over the years that’s not the way to handle things. Plus, the concerned expression on his face gives me hope. It’s the look of a man who’s unsure he’s closed the deal. The frigid blast of air that hits me as he exits feels fitting for the chill he’s left in his wake.

Aspen sits for a long moment, staring at the folder in her hands, before she finally looks up and meets my gaze across the room. She rises and makes her way toward me, sliding onto the barstool at my side.

“How’d it go?” I ask, already knowing the answer from the tension in her shoulders but trying not to read too much from her body language.

“It was…informative,” she says carefully, setting the folder on the bar, and glancing up at Rhys, who shoots her a kind smile.

“This is Rhys Wilder,” I say by way of introduction. “He owns this place along with his wife, Piper.” I nod toward Piper, who’s chatting with customers at the far end of the bar.

“Welcome to Wildwood,” Rhys says. “I knew your father. A good man.”

“Aspen Taylor,” she replies, her voice shaky. “Everyone around here knew Simon, it seems. This is a beautiful brewery. And your apple brandy is delicious, by the way.”

Rhys grins. “You’ve tried it?”

“Landry had a bottle at his cabin.” A hint of pink colors her cheeks. “It got us through the storm.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rhys replies, exchanging a knowing look with me that makes me want to punch him now, too. “Can I offer you something from the tap? On the house.”

“Sure,” she replies with a sigh. “I could use a drink.”

“And some food,” I add. “She hasn’t eaten much today.”

Rhys cocks an eyebrow at me but wisely doesn’t comment.

“Pizza sound good?” he asks.

“Sounds great.”

He heads toward the other end of the bar to put the order in. Aspen and I sit in silence for a moment, the hum of conversation around us creating a bubble of privacy.

Finally, she speaks, her voice low. “The offer’s good. Really good.”

My heart sinks, but I keep my expression neutral.

“I’m torn, Landry,” she confesses quietly.

My fingers tighten around my glass and I’m grateful as Rhys slides a beer on a Wildwood Brewing coaster across the bar to her place.

Aspen takes a sip, her eyebrows lifting in appreciation. “This is delicious.”

“Heritage Apple Ale,” he explains. “It’s made with the same apples as the brandy. Grown right here in the area at a handful of local orchards. Your food will be out soon. Best pizza around, if I do say so myself.”

“You do know I’m from New York, right?”

He winks at her.

“The city ain’t got nothing on this small town,” he says before moving away to help another customer, giving us space.

Aspen traces the condensation on her glass with one finger, her voice soft when she continues. “The money Derek’s offering would change everything for me. I could start fresh, quit my job, open a real studio, and finally focus on my jewelry fulltime.”She looks up at me, her green eyes filled with conflict. “But then there’s the garage. The town. Everyone who depends on it.”

There’s us,I want to say but don’t. Whatever happened between us at the cabin, whatever spark ignited in that storm-bound isolation, I can’t ask her to factor it into a decision this important. Not when I don’t know what I’d offer her.

“He gave me twenty-four hours to decide,” she continues. “Said if I don’t take it, they’ll look elsewhere. There’s a property on the edge of town they’re considering as an alternative.”

The classic sales pressure tactic is so transparent it makes my blood boil. He’s forcing a quick decision before she has time to consider alternatives, to understand what she’s really giving up. But it’s not my place to call it out, not my decision to make. Still, every protective instinct in my body screams to step in, to shield her from being manipulated. And to keep her here.

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