Page 7 of Craving the Mountain Man

I roll my eyes, ignoring the warmth in my chest at her smile. "Don't push it, Hayes. Can you stand?"

She nods, and I help her to her feet. She tests her weight gingerly, wincing but staying upright. I turn to address the rest of the group, explaining the situation and our plan to continue.

As we resume our climb, I stay close to Skylar, one hand hovering near her elbow in case she stumbles again. She's moving slowly but steadily, her face set in a mask of determination. I find myself oddly impressed by her grit.

"You're doing well," I mutter gruffly as we pause for a water break. "Most people would be demanding a helicopter rescue by now."

Skylar takes a long drink, then grins up at me. "What, and miss out on more quality time with you and your mountain man scowl? Never."

I blink, taken aback by her teasing tone. Most people tiptoe around me are intimidated by my gruff demeanor. But Skylar seems entirely unafraid to poke fun at me.

"I don't scowl," I grumble, which only makes her laugh.

"Oh please, you've practically got resting grizzly bear face," she says, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "But don't worry, I find it oddly charming."

I feel heat creep up my neck at her words, and I turn away, muttering something about checking on the rest of the group. As I move down the line, making sure everyone is hydrating properly, I can't shake the unsettling feeling Skylar's words have stirred in me.

Charming? Me? The thought is absurd. I've cultivated my stern demeanor for years, using it as a shield to keep people at arm's length. It's safer that way—for me, and for them. The mountain is no place for softness or distraction.

And yet I find my eyes drawn back to Skylar as we resume our climb. Despite her injury and obvious fatigue, she's chatting animatedly with Mr. Donovan, her laughter floating back to me on the mountain breeze. I watch as she gestures excitedly, pointing out a soaring eagle to the group.

Her enthusiasm is infectious. I notice the rest of the team seems to have a bit more spring in their step, energized by her positive attitude. Even I feel the corners of my mouth twitching upward as I listen to her gleefully butcher the Latin names of wildflowers we pass.

We reach a particularly tricky section of the trail—a narrow ledge with a sheer drop-off to one side. I move closer to Skylar, my hand instinctively going to the small of her back to steady her.

"Careful here," I murmur, hyper-aware of her warmth beneath my palm. "Take it slow."

She nods, her earlier bravado fading as she eyes the precipitous drop. "Right. Slow and steady wins the race. Or, you know, avoids plummeting to a gruesome death."

Despite the gravity of the situation, I find myself chuckling at her humor. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

The words slip out before I can stop them, and I feel Skylar stiffen slightly beneath my hand. She turns her head, meeting my gaze with an intensity that makes my breath catch. For a moment, the rest of the world fades away, and I'm lost in the depths of her green eyes.

"I trust you," she says softly, and the simple statement hits me like a physical blow.

I clear my throat, breaking eye contact. "Right. Well, let's get moving then."

We make our way carefully across the ledge, my hand never leaving Skylar's back. I tell myself it's just to ensure her safety, but I can't deny the comfort I find in the contact.

As we reach wider, safer ground, Skylar lets out a relieved laugh. "Well, that was exhilarating! Nothing like a near-death experience to really get the blood pumping, huh?"

I shake my head, unable to suppress a small smile. "You have a strange definition of fun, Hayes."

She grins up at me. "Says the man who climbs mountains for a living. Pot, meet kettle."

Her playful jab catches me off guard, and I find myself chuckling despite my best efforts to maintain my gruff exterior. "Fair point," I concede.

We continue our ascent, the group's spirits lifted by the successful navigation of the treacherous ledge. I notice Mr. Donovan watching Skylar with obvious admiration, and I feelan unexpected surge of... something. Jealousy? Protectiveness? I push the unsettling feeling aside, focusing on the trail ahead.

As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, we finally reach our campsite for the night—a small plateau with a breathtaking view of the valley below. The group lets out a collective sigh of relief as we begin to set up camp.

I help Skylar lower her pack, noticing how she winces as she puts weight on her injured ankle. "Sit," I order, pointing to a nearby log. "Let me take another look at that."

She complies without argument, which tells me just how much pain she must be in. I crouch down, gently removing her boot and sock. Her ankle is swollen and mottled with bruises.

"You should have said something if it was getting worse," I growl, angry at myself for not noticing sooner.

Skylar shrugs, trying to maintain her cheerful facade. "It's not so bad. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."

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