Page 24 of My Ex-Military Mountain Man

What if she's reconsidered? What if the reality of my isolated existence, the complications of my past, have finally outweighed whatever she felt during those intense forty-eight hours? What if—

The distant sound of tires on gravel cuts through my spiraling thoughts. Max immediately perks up, ears forward, tail beginning to wag. He knows that sound—Nicole's car approaching.

I stand straighter, smoothing a hand over my shirt. A new one, ordered online after Nicole mentioned once that she liked blue. The small concession to vanity feels both foolish and significant.

The compact car appears around the final bend, moving more confidently than on her first visit. Nicole now knows these roads, knows this place. Knows me, in ways no one has in years.

Max bounds down the steps as the car pulls to a stop, his excitement impossible to contain. I follow more slowly, my heart hammering with an anticipation that feels foreign yet welcome.

Nicole emerges from the car, her smile radiant as she kneels to greet Max first, accepting his enthusiastic welcome. She's wearing jeans and a green sweater that brings out the warmth in her eyes, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. When she straightens and turns that smile to me, something tight in my chest finally releases.

"You're here," I say, the words inadequate but honest.

"I'm here," she confirms, closing the distance between us. "Sorry I'm late. The moving truck took longer to unload than expected."

"Moving truck?" I repeat, confused.

Nicole's smile turns slightly mischievous. "At the clinic in Cedar Falls. My new satellite office?" She steps closer, looking up at me. "I told you I was coming back to stay. Did you think I meant just for a visit?"

“I didn’t.” The implications slowly penetrate my surprise. "But you're... staying? In Cedar Falls? That’s only 20 minutes away. I had no idea you were already thinking that far ahead."

"Twenty-two, actually, if you know the back roads," she corrects, her eyes sparkling. "Close enough to commute daily, far enough to give you space when you need it." Her expression grows more serious. "If that's still what you want."

In answer, I close the remaining distance between us, lifting her into an embrace that communicates everything words cannot. Her arms wrap around my neck as I spin her once, her laugh bright in the mountain air.

"I'll take that as a yes," she says when I set her down, slightly breathless.

"Definitely yes," I confirm, unable to suppress my smile. "But your practice in Portland—"

"Is now under new management," she finishes. "I've retained a small ownership stake but transferred most of my patients to Dr. Harrison's daughter, who just finished her residency." She takes my hands in hers. "The Cedar Falls clinic has been looking for a wildlife specialist for months. When I mentioned the possibility, they practically threw the keys at me."

The speed and decisiveness of her actions stun me. In the military, I was accustomed to quick, tactical decisions. In my civilian life, especially here at the sanctuary, change has been deliberate, gradual. Nicole has upended everything in less than a month.

"You did all this... for me?" I ask, still processing.

"For us," she corrects gently. "And for me. And for this." She gestures toward the sanctuary around us. "Your work here deserves proper veterinary support. And I..." She pauses, suddenly looking uncertain. "I found something here I wasn't even looking for. Something I'm not willing to let go."

The vulnerability in her admission touches me deeply. This brave, brilliant woman has rearranged her entire life on the strength of a connection neither of us expected but both now recognize as vital.

"I'm glad," I say simply, drawing her close again. "Because I wasn't ready to let you go either."

Over her shoulder, I see the eagle—our eagle—soaring above the highest aviary, her flight strong and sure despite the slight asymmetry in her wings. She's healing, adapting, finding a new way to navigate the world with her altered capabilities.

Perhaps we all are.

"Welcome home," I whisper against Nicole's hair, the words feeling right in a way I couldn't have imagined three weeks ago. "To both of us."

Epilogue - Nicole

Three years later

"Ella, sweetie, don't pull Max's ears," I call gently, watching our eighteen-month-old daughter toddle after the patient border collie across the sanctuary's main yard.

Max, now showing distinguished gray around his muzzle, handles Ella's enthusiastic affection with the same calm tolerance he's shown since the day she was born.

"She's fine," Jack says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. "Max would let her do just about anything."

I lean back against his solid warmth. "I know. I'm more worried about her wandering too close to the new fox enclosure. Those kits are adorable but not exactly child-friendly."

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