Page 15 of Branded Mountain Man
Sloan closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing, on the practical details of tomorrow's hike, on anything other than the way Colt had looked at her when she'd touched his scars. Like she was seeing him—really seeing him—for the first time in years.
But that had been an illusion, clearly. Because if he'd really felt seen, really felt connected, he wouldn't have been so quick to dismiss what had happened between them as a mistake.
The worst part was that he was probably right. She was leaving. She did have a life in town, a job that required her to maintain professional distance. And he was staying up here, locked in his self-imposed exile with nothing but his guilt and his scars for company.
There was no future in this. No happy ending waiting at the bottom of the mountain.
But God, for a few minutes there, she'd almost believed there could be.
Sloan pulled the sleeping bag up to her chin and tried to pretend the dampness on her cheeks was just condensation from the cooling air. Tomorrow she'd hike down, file her report, and move on to the next assignment. Tonight had been an aberration, a moment of weakness she couldn't afford to repeat.
Professional distance. She really was going to have to work on that.
Behind her, she heard Colt shift on the narrow cot, and for a moment, she thought he might say something. Apologize, maybe, or try to explain why he'd pushed her away so cruelly.
Instead, she heard the soft whisper of fabric against skin, and she knew he'd turned away from her too.
The fire in the stove burned down to embers, and the tower grew cold around them. But the chill in the air was nothing compared to the ice that had settled in Sloan's chest, right where hope used to live.
Sloan woketo the sound of Colt moving around the tower with deliberate quiet, like he was trying not to wake her. She kept her eyes closed and listened to him check the radio for weather updates, then move to the window to assess the clearing skies.
The morning light filtering through the windows was clear and bright—no more storms on the horizon. Perfect hiking weather. The kind of day that would let her complete her 72-hour assessment and file her report.
The kind of day that would let her leave, if that's what she wanted.
She sat up, and Colt's movements went completely still.
"Morning," she said, her voice carefully neutral.
"Morning." He didn't look at her, just continued checking his weather instruments with unnecessary focus. "Storm systems moved through. Should be clear for the next few days."
There it was—that edge in his voice, like he was already putting distance between them. After last night, after he'd shown her his brand and told her about Marcus, he was retreating back into himself.
"Good," she said, testing him. "I can finish my assessment today and hike out tomorrow."
Something flickered across his face—relief or disappointment, she couldn't tell. "Right. Your job."
"Yes, my job." She stood up, brushing her hair back from her face. "The thing that brought me here."
"The thing that's taking you away."
The words came out more bitter than he'd probably intended, and Sloan felt something twist in her chest. "It doesn't have to."
Colt finally looked at her, and the expression on his face was carefully blank. "Doesn't it?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
For a moment, she thought he might actually answer. Might crack open that careful control and tell her what he was really thinking. Instead, he turned back to the window.
"Weather's clear. You should pack."
The dismissal stung more than it should have. After everything they'd shared last night—his story about Marcus, the way he'd let her touch his scars, the raw honesty in his voice when he'd admitted he didn't know how to stop punishing himself—he was shutting her out again.
"You're doing it again," she said quietly.
"Doing what?"
"Pushing me away because you're scared."
