Page 3 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

Not what? Not capable? Not local? Not worth speaking to directly?

I bristle, heat rising in my chest.

“Excuse me,” I cut in, my voice sharp enough to draw a few looks. “But if we’re going to decide where I can and can’t go, maybe you could include me in the conversation?”

The two men look at me then, but it’s Jackson who holds my gaze.

Calm.

Controlled.

Completely unfazed by my anger.

“That storm hits, and you’re out past the ridge; no one’s coming to get you,” he says. “So yeah. I’m telling younottoday.”

I rise from the booth, pulse hammering. “And I’m telling you, I’m not some clueless city girl who wandered in with a camera and bad boots. I’ve done this before.”

His gaze drops to my boots—perfectly broken-in waterproof hikers, thank you very much—then back to my face, still unreadable.

“Good to know,” he says simply, like that changes nothing.

And maybe it doesn’t.

But I’m not about to be dismissed like some reckless tourist who needs saving.

Not by this man.

Not by anyone.

"Whatever you were told about the weather is outdated." His attention fixes entirely on me now, intense and piercing. "Storm's accelerated. If you want pictures, take them from your hotel window."

"And who are you to tell me what to do?" My cheeks burn. The condescension in his tone ignites something defiant in me.

A strange hush falls over the diner again.

"Jackson Hart. Mountain rescue." He doesn't elaborate further, already turning toward the door. "Stay in town today, city girl."

With that, he's gone, leaving nothing but cold air and an impression of absolute authority in his wake.

"Don't take it personally," Darlene whispers, refilling my coffee. "That's just Jackson. Knows these mountains better than he knows himself."

The ranger nods. "Best guide in three states. If he says the trail's closed, it's closed."

Frustration simmers beneath my skin. My entire career hangs on this article, and some mountain man with a superiority complex isn't going to derail it.

"Who does he think he is?" I mutter, tearing off a piece of cinnamon roll with more force than necessary.

The diner goes oddly quiet again. An older woman at the counter clears her throat. "He's earned the right. Lost his fiancée up there three years back. Climbing accident. Hasn't been the same since."

"Emma," someone else adds softly. "Sweet girl. He was leading a group when it happened."

"That's terrible." My irritation deflates slightly, replaced by an unwelcome twinge of sympathy.

"Terrible enough that when Jackson Hart says to stay off the mountain..." Darlene raises her eyebrows meaningfully. "Youstayoff the mountain."

"I understand." The words taste false even as I speak them. I’m on a deadline, which means I’m headed up that trail. Besides, the ranger said I could, as long as I’m back by two.

Ten minutes later, I'm in my rental car, driving toward the trailhead for Lookout Point rather than to the lodge, where I have a room for the next four days. My conscience prickles, but my ambition speaks louder.

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