Page 3 of Rugged Mountain Man
Sadie. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.
The wind howls around us as he starts walking, each step steady and sure. I rest my head against his chest, too cold and tired to argue anymore.
Safe.
For the first time in hours, I feel safe.
Chapter Two
Cole
Her weight in my arms is nothing. She’s so damn small, like a bird I could crush if I’m not careful. The rain’s still coming down in sheets, the wind biting at my face, but none of that matters. Not when I’ve got her.
Her head rests against my chest. She’s exhausted, soaked to the bone, and shivering so hard her body might shake itself apart. I tighten my grip on her, holding her closer as I trudge through the mud toward my cabin.
She smells like rain and earth, with just the faintest hint of something sweet underneath. I shouldn’t notice that. Shouldn’t let my mind wander to the way her wet hair clings to her face or how her lips are parted like she’s dreaming of something soft.
Focus, Cole. Get her warm, dry, fed. That’s the priority.
But it’s impossible not to notice the way she feels in my arms. Delicate but strong. Fragile but fierce. It hits me in a way I wasn’t expecting.
Mine.
I shove the thought down and push open the cabin door, kicking it shut behind me.
The storm’s roar is muffled now, the heat from the fire I left burning earlier wrapping around us like a blanket. She stirs,her lashes fluttering as I set her down on the couch, but she doesn’t wake up fully.
Her lips move, whispering something I can’t hear.
“You’re safe,” I say.
Her eyes flicker open, and for a moment, she just stares at me. Those big brown eyes, full of exhaustion and confusion, meet mine, and something deep in my chest tightens.
“Where…?” Her voice is soft, raspy.
“My cabin,” I say, crouching beside her. “You were in bad shape out there. Had to get you inside.”
Her brow furrows, like she’s trying to piece everything together. “You carried me?”
I nod.
“Oh.” She blinks, her cheeks turning pink. “Thank you.”
It’s the first time she’s looked at me like that—soft, grateful—and it does something to me I don’t want to name.
“Let me check your ankle,” I say, needing to focus on something practical before I lose my damn mind. The way she looks at me—like I’m her last hope and maybe something more—is doing things to me I shouldn’t let happen.
She winces as I lift her leg, carefully unwrapping the blanket I’d tucked around her. Her sock is soaked and muddy, clinging to her delicate foot, and I peel it off carefully, revealing smooth skin and a faint pink polish on her toenails. Pretty. Too pretty for the mountains. Something about the detail feels intimate, like I’m seeing a part of her no one else does.
“It’s swollen,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. My thumb brushes lightly over her skin, checking for anythingworse. Her ankle feels soft, warm, even in this mess. “Good news—it’s not broken. Probably just a bad sprain.”
She hisses at my touch, her lips parting, but she doesn’t pull away. Tough. I like that. There’s a fire in her, even when she’s at her worst.
“It’ll hurt like hell for a few days,” I add, standing and putting some distance between us before I do something stupid, like trace the curve of her calf just because I can. “But you can walk on it—carefully. I’ll bandage up the wound.”
Relief flashes across her face, and she lets out a breath like she’s been holding it for hours. “Thank God. I can’t afford to be out of commission.”
I arch a brow. “Workaholic, huh?”
