Page 13 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

"Shouldn't that be my choice?" I ask, stepping closer.

His expression softens. "It should. But I want you to make it with clear eyes. Not in the afterglow of survival, not caught up in..." he hesitates, “this.”

The helicopter is much closer now. Corbin's face hardens with resolve.

"Go back," he says, the words clearly difficult for him. "See if your life still fits. If it doesn't..." He trails off, leaving the invitation unspoken but unmistakable.

"How will I find you again?" I ask, panic rising as the helicopter's beating rotors become deafening.

He pulls me close, his lips brushing my ear. "My cabin is northwest of Blackridge Trail. About two kilometers in, there's a lightning-struck pine split down the middle. Turn west there and follow the creek upstream."

I memorize every word, clinging to them like a lifeline. "I won't forget."

"You should signal them," he says, nodding toward the helicopter now visible in the distance. "They might not see us under the tree cover."

I reluctantly disengage from his embrace, moving to a clearing where I can wave my arms. I wave my blue jacket like a flag. The helicopter spots me almost immediately, hovering lower, searching for a place to land or drop a line.

When I turn back to Corbin, there's a new distance in his eyes. He's already preparing to let me go. It's too much. I rush back to him, pulling his face down to mine for a kiss that tries to say everything words can't. His arms wrap around me fiercely, desperately, before he slowly, deliberately releases me.

"They're going to think I was lost alone," I say suddenly. "That's easier for you, isn't it?"

He nods, gratitude flickering across his features. "Thank you." He retreats into the trees as the helicopter descends.

The rescue team rappels down, dressed in bright orange uniforms. "Miss, are you Tessa Bennett?" one rescuer asks, approaching cautiously.

“Yes,” I say. I was hiking two days ago and got lost.

“It’s a miracle you’re in one piece,” my rescuer says. “We found your car in the parking area crushed by a fallen tree. I’m sorry it took us so long to find you.”

“I’m not,” I say too quietly for them to hear over the whooshing helicopter blades.

They usher me toward the harness they've brought, explaining the extraction procedure in voices that sound impossibly loud and artificial after days of Corbin's quiet rumble. I follow their instructions mechanically, strapping in and listening to safety protocols.

Before they lift me away, I look back one last time.

Corbin stands motionless at the edge of the clearing, his stance powerful and solitary against the backdrop of the mountains he calls home. He blends in so perfectly that even Search and Rescue doesn’t notice him. But I do. Our eyes lock across the distance.

"Thank you," I mouth silently.

He gives a single, solemn nod. Then I'm rising into the air, the distance between us growing with every second, the wilderness that briefly embraced me already receding below.

The clock on my office computer shows 3:47 PM. I've been staring at the same spreadsheet for twenty minutes, unable to make myself care about quarterly projections or client acquisition metrics.

It's been two days since my return to the city. Two days of hot showers, comfortable beds, cell phone service, and the constant cacophony of urban life. Two days of concerned friends, my worried parents on FaceTime, and a boss who's both relieved at my safety and impatient for me to "get back in the groove."

Two days of feeling like I'm sleepwalking through a life that no longer fits.

I pick up my coffee mug, grimacing at the cold, over-sweetened liquid inside. After drinking pure spring water caught with my own hands, nothing compares.

My colleague Dana pokes her head into my cubicle. "Conference call in five, Tess. Johnson account."

"Right," I nod, though I can barely remember who Johnson is or why we're having a call.

"Are you okay?" she asks, lingering. "You've been different since you got back."

Different. Such a small word for the seismic shift that's happened inside me.

"I'm fine," I say automatically. "Just readjusting."

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