Page 1 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

Chapter1

Warning Signs

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The quaint signfor Angel's Peak emerges through my windshield, wooden and hand-carved, dusted with a light powder of early morning snow. A bubble of excitement rises in my chest—finally, after three years of writing cookie-cutter travel pieces about overpriced tourist traps, I've landed an assignment with actual substance.

My editor's words replay in my mind:"Make this good, Matthews, and we'll talk about that staff position."The validation I've craved since joining Pathfinder Magazine dangles just within reach.

I ease my rental car into the small town center, where buildings with timber facades and pitched roofs line a single main street. Christmas lights still twinkle in shop windows despite January being well underway. The kind of place where everyone knows everyone—exactly what my urban readers will eat up.

My growling stomach guides me to Maggie's Diner, a chrome-and-red establishment that could have been plucked straight from the 1950s. The bell above the door announces my arrival, and heads turn—outsiders clearly a novelty here. The warmth inside fogs my glasses instantly, carrying scents of coffee, bacon, and something sweet.

A waitress with silver-streaked hair pulled into a neat bun approaches as I slide into a booth. Her name tag reads "Darlene," and smile lines frame kind eyes.

"Coffee, honey?" She brandishes a pot without waiting for my answer.

"Please. And whatever that amazing smell is." I unwrap my scarf, savoring the heat against my chilled cheeks.

"Cinnamon rolls. Just out of the oven." Darlene pours the steaming coffee into a mug with mountains etched into the ceramic. "Haven't seen you around before."

"Just got in. I'm writing an article about hidden gems in the Rockies." I pull out my notebook, eager to start collecting details. "Places tourists overlook but shouldn't."

Darlene's eyebrows lift. "Well, you picked a risky time to visit. Storm's coming in tonight. Big one, by the looks of the sky."

"I checked the forecast before driving up. It said we’d just get a dusting." My phone sits on the table, and the weather app suggests nothing more than light snow.

"Those forecasts are set for the valley." A man's gruff voice carries from the counter. He's beefy, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a park ranger uniform. "Up here, weather's got a mind of its own. Pete's station's picking up a serious system moving faster than expected."

"Serious as in...?" I try to keep my tone casual.

"Serious as in twenty inches and sixty-mile winds by midnight." Darlene slides a massive cinnamon roll in front of me, steam carrying its spicy sweetness upward. "You might want to gather what you need today and hunker down at your hotel tonight."

Disappointment curdles in my stomach. I only have four days here, and my deadline looms next week. A lost day means trouble.

"I'll be careful." I drizzle icing over the roll, watching it melt into the swirls. "But I really need to get some preliminary shots of the trails today. Any recommendations for something with a great view that won't take too long?"

The diner grows oddly quiet.

"Lookout Point's your best bet," the ranger finally offers. "Three miles up, well-marked trail. But be back down by two, no exceptions."

"Absolutely." I scribble the name in my notebook. Three miles is nothing. With my new hiking boots and the trail guide, I should be fine. The worried glances exchanged around me seem excessive.

City girl stereotyping at its finest.

The bell above the door jingles, and the atmosphere shifts instantly. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees despite the cozy warmth. Curious, I turn slightly in my booth.

A man stands in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair dusted with snow and a jawline that could cut glass. His presence fills the small diner, though he hasn't said a word. Clad in well-worn hiking gear and a heavy jacket, he stomps snow from his boots with precision.

No one speaks. Even Darlene hesitates before approaching him.

"Morning, Jackson. The usual?" Her voice carries forced cheerfulness.

He nods once, sharp and efficient, scanning the room with eyes as blue and cold as glacial ice. When his gaze lands briefly on me—the obvious outsider—something like irritation flickers across his features.

I straighten my spine instinctively. Something about his dismissive assessment rankles.

"Coffee to go, Darlene. And two of those." He points to my cinnamon roll.

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