Page 99 of Wrecked on the Mountain
"Right," he says quietly, his usual cheerful tone evaporating fast. "Sorry, boss. I'll... I'll just get the gear ready."
He disappears toward the equipment room with his shoulders hunched, and I'm left standing in the middle of the station feeling like a complete asshole.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Chase was just being friendly. Excited to meet someone important to me. And I bit his head off because I'm suddenly terrified that I'm not offering Brooke the escape she came here for.
I drag my hands through my hair and glance toward my truck through the station windows.
In the glove compartment, wrapped in its cursed velvet box, Rebecca's old engagement ring is shoved away out of sight, waiting like some kind of twisted insurance policy.
Maybe that's what it takes. Maybe Mom was right.
That by giving her that ring, that's the only way to make sure she stays before she realizes that all jobs are demanding, even mountain rescue.
But what if I'm fooling myself?
What if I'm just doing what I did with Rebecca? Trying to tie her down when ultimately… she doesn't really want to be here.
The radio crackles to life with updates from the accident scene, pulling me back to the immediate crisis. Multiple injuries are being reported now, and I need to move.
This is what I do. This is who I am.
I've been showing off this town because I love it. I love the community, the people, the entire fucking place.
Whether Brooke likes it or not, ultimately, I've chosen this life before.
Becausethisis who I am, not some show pony tour guide for two city girls.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brooke
I enter Timber Tavern with Piper right behind me, practically bouncing with excitement after the day we've had. The warm glow of lantern sconces and the crackling fireplace wraps around us like a hug, and I can't help but grin at Piper's sharp intake of breath.
"Holy shit, Brooke." She stops dead in the entrance, taking in the rustic timber beams, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, and the gorgeous stone fireplace that dominates the center of the room. "This place is like something out of a magazine."
"Wait until you taste the food," I say, steering her toward the bar where Charlie's polishing glasses with that warm smile of his. "Everything's delicious, and Charlie makes cocktails that could win awards."
Before I can even open my mouth to order, Charlie sets down his towel and grins at us.
"Jamie already called. VIP treatment for the ladies from Chicago coming right up."
My heart does this little flutter thing. Even when he's dealing with emergencies, Jamie thinks of me. Takes care of me.
"Perfect. Then we'll take two of whatever Jamie recommended to drink, too," I tell Charlie, who's already reaching for top-shelf bottles I can't even pronounce.
Piper leans against the bar, her eyes tracking the movement of several ruggedly handsome men playing pool in the back corner. Her voice drops to a whisper.
"I can see why you love it here. Very... rustic. And masculine." She's practically drooling now as one of the guys bends over to line up a shot. "Are they all like this here? Built like lumberjacks and covered in flannel?"
"Most of them, yeah." I laugh, following her gaze. "That's what happens when you live somewhere that requires actual physical labor instead of just casual gym memberships."
Charlie slides two cocktails across the bar, each one a masterpiece in a glass. The drinks shimmer under the light above, garnished with delicate twists of citrus and sprigs of fresh herbs that look like they were plucked from a garden.
The glasses themselves are frosted, the scents of ripe berries and exotic spices wafting up, mingling with the rich, woody aroma of the tavern.
I can almost taste the promise of their intoxicating flavors.
