Page 36 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

The journey begins in a single file, Jackson breaking trail through snow that reaches mid-thigh in places. A climbing rope connects us, five feet of tether keeping me physically linked to him while my emotional distance grows with each careful step.

The descent proves more challenging than anticipated. What appeared to be gentle slopes reveal treacherous drops beneath deceptive snow blankets. Ice-glazed rocks lurk under innocent-looking powder. The mountain, beautiful in its winter dress, conceals deadly traps with seductive beauty.

Jackson remains hyper-vigilant, constantly glancing back, adjusting our course to avoid hidden dangers, never allowing me beyond arm's reach. When a snow shelf suddenly gives way beneath my boot, his reaction comes with lightning speed—hand shooting out to grasp my jacket, yanking me against his solid frame before I can fully register the danger.

For one breathless moment, we stand pressed together; his arm iron-tight around my waist, his heartbeat thundering against my back. Then, as quickly as it happened, he sets me upright, professional distance reinstated.

"Careful." The single word emerges rough-edged, revealing more than he likely intended.

The descent continues in this pattern—careful steps, occasional corrections, brief moments of physical contact that spark memories of intimacy now wrapped in professional necessity.

Around us, the mountain reveals its grandeur in ways impossible to appreciate during the blizzard. Like ancient giants wearing ermine cloaks, massive rock formations are draped in snow. Pine trees bent beneath white burdens, creating natural archways across sections of our path. In one clearing, sunlight refracts through ice crystals hanging from branches, casting rainbow prisms across undisturbed snow.

"It's beautiful." The words escape in a cloud of breath, inadequate against such majesty.

Jackson pauses, following my gaze across the vista where mountains stretch to the horizon, their peaks piercing the cobalt sky. "Worth writing about?"

"Beyond words." The honesty slips out unbidden. "Though I'll have to try anyway."

Something softens in his expression—a brief glimpse of the man from the shelter rather than the professional guide. "You'll do it justice."

The compliment warms despite the chill air. We continue downward, and the terrain gradually becomes less severe as elevation decreases. Trees grow more plentiful, offering occasional shelter from the brilliant sun that has begun transforming the snow surface from powder to slush.

Midway down, Jackson calls for a rest. We perch on a fallen log cleared of snow, water bottles passing between gloved hands, and energy bars providing necessary fuel. The silence between us has evolved from awkward to something more companionable, though the undercurrent of unspoken feelings remains.

"Will you mention me?" His question catches me off-guard. "In your article."

The vulnerability behind the query tugs at something deep within my chest. "Do you want me to?"

Jackson considers this, gaze fixed on the distant peaks. "Not the personal stuff. But the mountain safety aspects—maybe someone will listen to your experience better than my warnings."

"I'll make you sound properly intimidating and all-knowing." A smile tugs at my lips. "The Mountain King of Angel's Peak."

His laugh surprises us both—short but genuine, transforming his stern features into something breathtaking. "God, please don't."

"Mountain Guardian? Alpine Sentinel? Wilderness Wizard?"

"Stop." But amusement lingers in his eyes, a precious glimpse of what might have been under different circumstances.

The moment passes too quickly. Jackson’s professional demeanor returns as he checks his watch and surveys our remaining route. "I need to keep moving. I want to reach the base cabin before the afternoon melt makes conditions worse."

Back on our feet, the descent continues, each step bringing us closer to separation. As we drop in elevation, the snow thins, patches of exposed ground appearing with increasing frequency. The world gradually becomes less white, less pristine, and less isolated.

Jackson's base cabin appears around a bend in the trail—a substantially larger structure than the emergency shelter. It is constructed of sturdy logs with a metal roof currently shedding snow in slow-motion avalanches. Solar panels glint on the south-facing slope, a satellite dish nestled discreetly among them. This is a place where wilderness meets civilization in careful balance.

"Home sweet home." Jackson's voice carries no inflection as he unlocks the heavy wooden door.

Stepping inside feels like entering another world after days in the primitive shelter. Polished wooden floors stretch beneath boots that suddenly seem inappropriately snow-covered. A river stone fireplace dominates one wall, unlit but immaculately maintained. Modern appliances gleam in a compact kitchen. Comfortable furniture is arranged for both function and comfort. Books line built-in shelves—field guides, climbing manuals, classic literature.

Civilization strikes like a physical force—jarring and almost overwhelming after our primitive existence. The contrast highlights how far we've traveled physically and emotionally in four short days.

Jackson moves with the ease of long familiarity, stowing gear, checking thermostats, and performing the routine of homecoming. I stand awkwardly in the entry, suddenly uncertain of my place in this new context.

"You can put your things there." He gestures toward a bench clearly designed for shedding outdoor gear. "Bathroom's through that door if you want to clean up."

The hot water feels miraculous against skin that's known nothing but melted snow and cold-water sponge baths for days. Standing under the shower's steady stream, I finally acknowledge what I've been suppressing since waking—heartache.

Not dramatic, soul-crushing pain, but a quieter, more insidious ache of possibility lost before it could fully form.

---