Page 18 of The Mountain Man's Runaway Bride

“Sorry.” She gives a light giggle. “I sometimes forget that people can’t read my mind. I was wondering if you moved to Alaska because nature helps clear your thoughts.”

“Usually it does.” Right now, nothing seems to be helping me think about anything besides devouring the delectable woman walking at my side. “But even when it doesn’t, it’s still where I most feel like myself.”

She gives a light “hmm” at that. “Did you always know you wanted to be a wilderness guide?”

“I always knew I wanted to join the military. My great grandpa was in the Army. My grandpa was in the Air Force. My uncle was in the Navy.”

“Let me guess, your dad was in the Marines?”

“I wish.” My jaw ticks. “My dad was never really in the picture. He always floated from job to job. Wherever he could get a quick buck. Wherever he could find a woman or score his next fix.”

“Oh.” She chews on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You’re fine. You didn’t know.”

“No, but I still brought up a sensitive subject. I’m so?—”

“I said you’re fine.” I wince at how stern my voice sounds. “Now, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just… I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be careful around me.”

“I don’t think there’s any worry of that. If anything, I’ve let myself be too comfortable.”

I’m gut clenches. “Does that worry you?”

“No. It probably should.” She gives a shaky laugh. “The fact that it doesn’t worries me more than anything. But…”

“But?” I urge.

“I can’t explain it. I know we’ve only known each other for a few days. But I feel like I can trust you with anything. I feel like I can just… be. And you won’t make me feel like I have to be anything else.”

My gut unclenches. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“You’re perfect.” For me.

She opens her mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. Jaw slack, she gapes at the view in front of us.

“Oh my God.”

We’ve reached the point where our winding path through the trees opens to a waterfall.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

I nod. There aren’t any more words besides that.

It’s not the tallest in the world. It’s not even the tallest in Alaska. But with the towering boulders and trees around, you can’t see it until you’re there. It’s a private, bubbling flow of water. And it’s only yours to see if you know where to look.

Like an oasis. That’s always made it more special to me.

Now, somehow, sharing this with Quincy makes it more than a stunning spot. She’s made it magical.

The awe on her face. The way her lips are still parted. The way the sunlight through the trees is no match for the brightness in her eyes.

She’s like the sun. Radiant. Warm. Essential for life.

Essential for me.

She catches my stare. “What?”

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