Page 1 of My Ex-Military Mountain Man

Chapter 1 - Nicole

I hate being late.

Especially on days like today when the mountain roads twist like angry snakes and the GPS signal flickers in and out of existence. The rental car, a compact sedan completely unsuited for these conditions, groans as I navigate another hairpin turn on the gravel road leading deeper into the Cedar Falls mountains.

"In five hundred feet, turn right," announces the automated voice, then promptly adds, "Signal lost."

"Perfect," I mutter, "Just perfect."

A soft whine comes from the carrier in the passenger seat. My constant companion, Max, a three-year-old border collie mix, senses my frustration. I glance over and see his concerned eyes peering through the mesh.

"It's okay, buddy. We'll find it."

The truth is, I'm not entirely sure we will. When Dr. Harrison called yesterday evening about an injured golden eagle at some remote wildlife sanctuary, I didn't hesitate to offer my expertise. Eagles are magnificent creatures, and my dissertation on raptor rehabilitation is still cited in veterinary journals. But now, as the dense forest closes in around me and the elevation continues to climb, I'm questioning my impulsive decision.

I check my watch: 9:17 AM. I told the sanctuary owner—Jack somebody—that I'd arrive by nine. Not the best first impression from Dr. Nicole, wildlife veterinary specialist.

The road narrows further, branches occasionally scraping against the car's windows. I slow to a crawl, scanning for any sign of a driveway or entrance. The file Dr. Harrison sentmentioned that the sanctuary was secluded, but this is bordering on hermitage.

My mind drifts to what little information I have about this Jack person. Former military, Dr. Harrison had mentioned. Started the sanctuary about five years ago. Keeps to himself. Not exactly chatty on the phone when we briefly spoke to coordinate my visit. His voice had been deep, clipped, the conversation short—just date, time, and basic details about the eagle's condition.

A sharp crack startles me as something hits the windshield—a small rock dislodged from the embankment above. I flinch, swerving slightly before regaining control.

"Easy, Nicole," I whisper to myself. "You've driven worse roads in Tanzania tracking cheetah migrations." But somehow, getting lost in my own country feels more embarrassing.

The thick canopy of pine and cedar breaks momentarily, allowing sunlight to stream through. I catch a glimpse of the valley below—a breathtaking vista of undulating green mountains fading into blue haze. Despite my frustration, I can't deny the beauty of this place.

My phone chimes with a text message. Surprised at having any signal at all, I quickly pull over to check it.

Dr. Harrison: *Eagle's condition stable but concerning. Wing injury near the carpal joint. Owner splinted using protocols from your published guide. Smart guy.*

I smile slightly, both at Harrison's update and the fact that this mysterious sanctuary owner apparently read my work. I send a quick reply: *Still trying to find the place. GPS failing. Any landmarks?*

Three dots appear, then: *Look for carved wooden eagle on large stump. Turn left. Can't miss it. Eventually.*

That "eventually" doesn't inspire confidence, but I put the car back in drive and continue forward. Max whines again, more insistently this time.

"I know, buddy. You need a break." I scan the road ahead. "Just a little longer."

The gravel crunches under the tires as I round another bend. The trees seem to part, and suddenly there it is—a masterfully carved wooden eagle perched on a massive cedar stump. Its wings are partially extended, its gaze fierce and proud, facing the rising sun. Even from the car, I can appreciate the craftsmanship, the detail in each feather, the intensity captured in its eyes.

I make the turn onto an even narrower drive, this one bordered by split-rail fence weathered to a silvery gray. After about a quarter mile, the forest opens to reveal a clearing with several rustic buildings. The largest resembles a lodge, constructed of timber and stone with a broad covered porch. To the left stands a barn-like structure with multiple enclosures attached to its sides. Several smaller cabins dot the property.

As I park beside a rugged Jeep Wrangler caked with mud, I take a moment to collect myself. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, tucking a strand of black hair behind my ear. The twelve-hour notice for this consultation didn't leave much time for preparation, and the three-hour drive from Portland started well before dawn. My eyes show the fatigue, but they'll have to do.

"Okay, Max. Let's go meet this eagle." I reach over to unzip his carrier, and he immediately stretches before jumping to the floor of the passenger side. "And remember—best behavior. This isn't like the clinic."

I grab my medical bag from the backseat and step out into the cool mountain air. The scent of pine and earth fills mylungs, and the distant sound of running water suggests a stream nearby. The sanctuary is immaculately maintained—not at all the haphazard operation I half-expected.

Max stays obediently at my heel as I approach the main building. Before I reach the stairs to the porch, I notice something moving in my peripheral vision. I turn toward the barn structure and see a large enclosure where several deer graze peacefully. Beyond them, smaller habitats house what appear to be raccoons and a fox. The place is larger and more established than Dr. Harrison implied.

I climb the steps to the lodge, noticing the intricate carvings in the wooden railings—more wildlife motifs, each rendered with the same skill as the eagle marker on the road. I'm about to knock when the door swings open.

The man who fills the doorframe is not what I expected.

He stands at least six-foot-three, with broad shoulders and a jacked body. His dark hair is cut short on the sides but longer on top, and a neatly trimmed beard frames a jawline that could cut glass. But what captures my attention are his eyes—a startling blue, like alpine lakes, contrasting with his tanned skin.

"You're late," he says, his voice just as deep in person as it was on the phone.

---