Page 12 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

"Always prepared. Mountains don't forgive lack of preparation." The words carry weight beyond their literal meaning.

Working methodically across the shelves, I reach a section that seems more personal—books, a compass, a few tools, and—partially concealed behind a manual on alpine survival—a small framed photograph.

Curiosity pulls my hand toward it before consideration can stop me. The simple wooden frame holds a sun-faded image of a woman standing triumphantly on a mountain summit. Her smile radiates even through the weathered photo—bright, joyful, alive. Long auburn hair escapes from beneath a climbing helmet, whipping in what must be substantial wind. Strong, capable-looking, with a grace even the still image can't disguise.

Beautiful.

"Put that back." Jackson's voice cuts through the silence, sharp as a blade.

Startled, I nearly drop the frame. Jackson stands a few feet away, his expression thunderous, body rigid with tension.

"I was just?—"

"Put. It. Back." Each word is precise and controlled, but with undercurrents of something dangerous.

I put the photo exactly as I found it, partially hidden from casual view. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to?—"

"Some things aren't for your writer's curiosity." His jaw works beneath his beard, hands clenched at his sides. "Some things are off-limits."

"Emma?" The name slips out, remembered from whispers in the diner.

Jackson goes absolutely still, a predator caught in unexpected territory. "You know nothing about her."

"I know she was your fiancée. That she died in a climbing accident." The words tumble out despite the warning signs, my journalist's instinct overriding common sense. "I know that's why you're so?—"

"So what?" He steps closer, looming over me, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "Cautious? Insistent that unprepared tourists stay off my mountain? Unwilling to let another person die because they underestimated nature?"

Heat rises in my cheeks. "You’re arrogant. Acting like you own the mountain, deciding who's worthy to climb it."

"Arrogant?" A harsh laugh escapes him. "You ignored every warning, risked your life and mine, and you call me arrogant?"

"Yes, arrogant." Standing my ground despite the throb in my ankle. "You took one look at me and decided I was some helpless city girl who couldn't possibly understand your precious wilderness."

"And was I wrong?" He gestures broadly at our situation, voice rising. "Look where we are. Look what happened."

"That doesn't give you the right to dictate what others can do."

"When their stupidity endangers lives? Yes, it absolutely does."

We're inches apart now, both breathing hard, neither willing to back down. His eyes blaze with controlled fury, his scent—pine and smoke and something distinctly male—surrounds me.

"My 'stupidity' is the reason I have a career at all." The words burst out, raw and honest. "Playing it safe my entire life got me nowhere. Taking risks is how I finally broke through."

"There's a difference between calculated risks and reckless endangerment," Jackson growls. "You didn't respect the mountain. You didn't respect the storm. You didn't respectmywarning."

"I didn't respect your authority, you mean." My chin lifts defiantly. "Because despite what everyone in that town seems to think, you're not actually in charge of?—"

His mouth crashes against mine, cutting off the words. The kiss is nothing like I imagined—not that I've imagined kissing this infuriating man—but it’s fierce, desperate, and consuming. His hands frame my face, rough calluses against my skin, holding me as if I might disappear.

For one suspended moment, shock prevents any response. Then something primal takes over, and I'm kissing him back with equal fervor, fingers gripping the front of his shirt. The heat between us has nothing to do with the woodstove and everything to do with days of tension finally igniting.

Days?

Okay, ONE day, but that tension…

His tongue sweeps against mine, demanding and skilled, drawing an embarrassing sound from deep in my throat. Jackson's body presses closer, solid, warm, and overwhelming.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it ends. Jackson wrenches himself away, stumbling backward, eyes wide with what can only be described as horror.

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