Page 16 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

"Yes, the reason I came to Angel's Peak in the first place. 'Hidden Treasures of the Rockies,' remember?"

A muscle ticks in his jaw. "Hard to forget, considering where we are."

"I'm not asking about—" My hand gestures vaguely toward the shelf where Emma's photo sits. "Just about the mountains. Your expertise. What draws people here."

He deposits the logs beside the woodstove, stacking them neatly. Several moments pass before he speaks, as if weighing the pros and cons of cooperation.

"Ask your questions." The words come reluctantly, a concession rather than enthusiasm.

I flip to a fresh page, pen poised. "How long have you been guiding in these mountains?"

"Fifteen years professionally. Whole life unofficially." He remains standing, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Grandfather taught me to climb when I was six."

"What makes Angel's Peak special compared to other locations in the Rockies?"

Something shifts in his expression—a softening around the eyes, a subtle relaxation of his perpetual frown. "Diversity. Within twenty square miles, you get alpine meadows, technical rock faces, old-growth forest, three lakes, vineyards, and summits that challenge even veteran climbers."

"Vineyards? In Colorado?"

"Yeah, surprised me too, but it’s a surprisingly lucrative cottage industry."

"What else can you tell me?"

His voice warms as he continues, describing hidden waterfalls accessible only by unmarked trails, rare flowers that bloom for just two weeks each summer, and rock formations sculpted by millennia of wind and weather. Passion threads through his words, transforming the taciturn mountain man into an eloquent advocate for this wilderness he clearly loves.

I scribble notes rapidly, captivated by this glimpse behind his guarded exterior. "What's your favorite season here?"

"Fall." The answer comes without hesitation. "September, specifically. Summer crowds gone, winter tourists not yet arrived. The aspens turn gold, days clear and cool, nights crisp enough for campfires. Perfect climbing weather."

My pen stills as I picture it—Jackson in his element, scaling rock faces painted with autumn colors, utterly at peace. The image tugs at something unexpected within me.

"And for someone like me—a beginner—what would you recommend? If we weren't, you know, trapped in a blizzard." A small attempt at humor to lighten the intensity.

His eyes narrow slightly. "Someone like you."

"A city girl with limited outdoor experience but willing to learn." The qualifier tumbles out, surprising me with its sincerity.

Jackson studies me for a long moment as if seeing me anew. "Ridge Trail to Mirror Lake. Four miles round trip, moderate difficulty. Best at sunrise when the mountains reflect perfectly in the water. Worth every step."

The generator sputters violently, drawing his attention. He kneels beside it, adjustments increasingly futile as it coughs and protests.

"Would you take me there?" The question escapes before prudence can contain it. "When this is over, I mean. For the article."

His hands still on the machine. "You'd trust me to guide you after this?"

"You're the best, according to everyone in town, and you did save me. That makes you the best guide within fifteen feet." My attempt at humor falls flat. "Despite our... differences, I'd be foolish to choose anyone else."

Something unreadable flickers across his features. Before he can respond, the generator emits a high-pitched whine followed by alarming silence.

The lights flicker once, twice, then die completely.

"That's it." Jackson's voice comes through the sudden dimness. "We're officially on survival mode."

Outside, the blizzard howls with renewed vengeance, wind battering the shelter's walls. Without the generator's steady hum, every creak and groan of the structure amplifies, the storm's fury no longer background noise but immediate presence.

The temperature drops perceptibly within minutes, the woodstove's heat insufficient to counter the biting cold seeping through every crack. Jackson moves, stoking the fire higher, positioning reflective surfaces to maximize warmth.

"Move closer to the stove." His silhouette looms larger in the firelight. "Body heat's precious now."

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