Page 17 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

The transition hasn't always been easy. There were moments in those first few winter months when doubt crept in, during snowstorms that trapped us inside, when I yearned for takeout and movie theaters and wondered if I'd made an impulsive mistake.

But then Corbin would teach me to identify owl calls in darkness, or we'd eat pickled vegetables we'd grown ourselves, or simply read by lantern light with his solid presence beside me—and those doubts would dissolve like morning mist under sunlight.

I work steadily for an hour before shutting my laptop. The balance I've found still amazes me—maintaining connections to my professional world while being fully present in this one.

Outside, Corbin is splitting wood, his ax rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. I watch him, appreciating the focus in his expression. He's beautiful in his element, completely present. I could watch him chop wood all day and never get tired of the view.

He senses my gaze and looks up, a smile transforming his serious features. "Ready?"

The hike to the ridge is familiar now—my body is stronger and more capable on uneven terrain. We move together through the forest, pointing out things to each other—a hawk circling overhead, the season's first blackberries, a deer and fawn disappearing into the underbrush.

"Dana might quit her job," I mention as we navigate around a fallen tree. "She says my blog updates are making her rethink her priorities."

"The city works for some people," Corbin responds thoughtfully. "Not everyone needs this."

"I told her that. I think what resonates isn't specifically mountain life—it's finding what actually matters to you, not what you're told should matter."

He nods. "That's what your writing does well. It's not about convincing people to live like us. It's about encouraging them to listen to themselves." His insight still surprises me sometimes—this man of few words who observes so deeply.

We reach the ridge as the sun fully clears the distant mountains. The valley stretches below, mist clinging to its lowest points, Darkmore barely visible in the distance. We visit the town every couple of weeks now—for supplies, mail, and occasionally dinner at the small café where they know us by name.

Corbin spreads a blanket on a flat rock, and we sit side by side, shoulders touching. He passes me his water bottle, another small intimacy we share without thinking.

"I've been considering something," he says after a while, his voice holding a note of thoughtfulness.

"What is it?"

"When I left the city, I thought I was leaving behind all the conventions that felt hollow to me. The benchmarks people use to measure a life."

My heart beats a little faster, sensing this conversation is about to get serious. "And now?"

"Now I'm wondering if it's time for more than just us." His dark eyes meet mine, serious and searching. "A family, Tessa."

The word hangs between us, full of possibility. We've touched on this before, abstractly. But something in his voice tells me this is different.

"You want to have a baby?" I ask directly, my breath catching.

He nods, his expression vulnerable in a way few people ever get to see. "I never thought I would. But with you..." He takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my wedding band. "I find myself thinking about teaching a child what my father taught me. About seeing the mountain through new eyes."

Tears prick behind my eyes as I squeeze his hand. "I've been thinking about it too. Wondering what our child would be like. If they'd have your quiet strength or my impulsiveness."

"Both, probably," he says with a small smile. "Poor kid."

I laugh, leaning against him. "When? I mean, should we start trying?"

He looks at me with such tenderness it makes my heart ache. "Whenever you're ready. The cabin expansion is nearly finished. The winter garden is taking shape. But only if you're sure."

"I'm sure," I say without hesitation. "I've never been more certain of anything." I hold his gaze, feeling bold. "We could start right now. Right here."

His eyes darken instantly, pupils dilating with desire. "Here? On the ridge?"

"Yes," I breathe, already reaching for him. "I want you to take me here, under the open sky. I want you to fill me, to give me your child."

The raw need in my voice transforms his expression. He pulls me to him with newfound urgency, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that's all heat and promise. His tongue slides against mine, tasting, demanding, as his large hands grip my hips.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he growls against my mouth. "How many times I've thought about having you like this, out in the open?"

His fingers make quick work of my shirt buttons, exposing my skin to the mountain air and his hungry gaze. When he pushes my bra aside and takes my nipple into his hot mouth, I cry out, arching toward him.

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