Page 23 of Hot for the Mountain Man

Understanding softened her features. "I'm glad."

We found a quiet corner away from the main activity, where Peyton insisted I eat something while she updated me on the evacuation efforts. She'd been at the center all day, helping coordinate accommodations, distribute supplies, and provide whatever comfort she could to displaced residents.

"Everyone's been amazing," she said. "The whole town pitched in—bringing food, offering spare rooms, donating clothes. I've never seen anything like it."

"That's Ashwood," I replied, watching her face as she spoke. The passion there, the genuine care for people she barely knew—it moved something in me I thought had calcified years ago.

"What happens now?" she asked, her hand finding mine on the table between us.

"Fire crews will monitor for hotspots. Most evacuees should be able to return home tomorrow, once safety assessments are complete." I squeezed her fingers gently. "Then things go back to normal."

She tilted her head, studying me. "And what's normal for you, Grant?"

The question caught me off guard. What was normal? My solitary cabin? Long shifts followed by quiet evenings alone? The careful distance I'd maintained from everyone and everything not directly related to my job?

It all seemed hollow now, looking at the woman across from me. The woman who'd crashed into my carefully constructed isolation with her green eyes and terrible cookies and unshakable determination.

"I don't know anymore," I admitted. "Normal used to be hiding away on that mountain. Keeping to myself. Staying safe." I met her gaze directly. "But I don't think I want that anymore."

"What do you want?" Her voice was soft, hopeful.

"To stop hiding. To live more fully." I took a deep breath, words I'd never thought I'd say forming on my tongue. "With you, if you'll have me."

Her eyes widened. "Grant—"

"I know it's fast," I continued, needing to get the words out before courage failed me. "I know we haven't known each other long. But today, fighting that fire, all I could think about was getting back to you. And that's not something I've felt in a very long time."

Peyton's fingers tightened around mine. "I feel it too," she whispered. "When I thought about you out there, in danger, I realized how much you've come to mean to me in such a short time." A smile curved her lips. "Maybe it's time I stepped outside my own comfortable walls too. Into something unknown."

"Not completely unknown," I pointed out. "You know me. You know the people of Fire Mountain now."

"I do," she agreed. "And I want to know more. So much more."

The last of my resistance crumbled in the face of her certainty. I leaned forward, cupping her face in my hands. "Then let me come down from that mountain," I murmured. "Let me stop hiding from what I want."

"And what is it you want, Grant McAllister?" she asked, her breath warm against my lips.

"You," I answered simply. "Just you."

I kissed her then, not caring who might see. Her arms wound around my neck as she pressed closer, returning the kiss with equal fervor. Someone nearby whistled, followed by scattered applause that quickly spread through the room. We broke apart, Peyton laughing against my shoulder as I felt heat climb my neck.

"Guess we're official now," she murmured, eyes dancing with amusement.

"Small towns," I replied dryly, though I couldn't muster any real regret. "No secrets."

"Good," she declared, surprising me again. "I don't want to be a secret."

Looking at her—beautiful, brave, and somehow mine—I realized I didn't either. For too long, I'd hidden away, nursing old wounds and avoiding new connections. But life, like the forest after a fire, found ways to renew itself. To grow stronger from the ashes of what was lost.

I pulled Peyton close again, ignoring the continued attention from onlookers. "Not a secret," I promised. "Just the beginning."

And for the first time in years, I looked toward that beginning without fear—ready to embrace whatever came next, as long as she remained by my side.

Epilogue

Peyton

Snow drifted lazily past the frosted windows of our cozy A-frame home, piling in soft mounds against the porch railings. From my vantage point by the living room window, I could just make out the silhouette of Fire Mountain, partially obscured by winter clouds. The mountain that had once seemed so intimidating now felt like an old friend—a constant, reassuring presence in our lives.

---