Page 70 of Broken on the Mountain
Someone wolf-whistles nearby, but I don't care.
All thoughts of Mother vanish. The gala, Maxwell, the Valentino gown—gone. Erased.
I'm back where I belong, standing in my mountain boots, and for the next two and a half days,thisis what I get. This man, this town, this version of myself that feels real and alive and utterly unpolished.
Chase pulls back slowly, grinning like he's won something.
"Welcome home, Piper."
Home.
At the luggage carousel, Chase grabs my suitcase before I can even reach for it, hoisting it like it weighs nothing. His rescue work has given him these deceptively strong arms that make me want to bite him.
"I've got it," he says, striding toward the exit.
I follow, admiring the view. Those jeans fit himperfectly.
"You didn't have to pick me up," I say, though I'm ridiculously glad he did get off work early just to meet me. "I could've asked Brooke again."
"And miss holding that sign?" He glances back, grinning. "Not a chance."
Outside, the mountain air hits me like a gift. Clean, crisp, with that pine-scented bite that makes my lungs feel brand new. Chase tosses my suitcase into the bed of his truck with an easy swing, then opens my door and stands at attention, like my own personal butler.
"Such a gentleman," I tease, climbing in.
"Only for you, baby."
He slides into the driver's seat, starts the engine, and we pull out of the car park. The increasingly familiar roads of Stone River stretch ahead, and I feel my shoulders drop about three inches.
"So," Chase says, reaching over to squeeze my knee. "Tell me about your week. How was work?"
I love that he asks. Really asks, not just makes polite conversation.
"Busy. We had a multi-vehicle pile-up on the expressway Tuesday night. Four critical patients at once." I shake my head, remembering the chaos. "But we stabilized everyone. Dr. Richardson even complimented my triage decisions."
"Of course he did." Chase's voice brims with pride. "You're brilliant at your job."
"It was intense, though. I didn't get home until three in the morning."
"Did you eat?" His brow furrows with genuine concern. "Please tell me you ate something."
"Hospital vending machine crackers count, right?"
"Piper." He shoots me a look that's half scolding, half fond exasperation. "That's terrible."
"I know, I know." I squeeze his hand. "But I'm here now, and I'm assuming you're going to feed me properly."
"Damn right I am." He grins. "Martha made her famous pot roast and brought it by the station this morning. She gave me explicit instructions that I 'feed that lovely girl properly.'"
I laugh. "I love Martha."
"She loves you too." His hand lands on my knee. "So does Betty. And Charlie. And basically everyone in town."
"They barely know me."
"They know enough to not shut up about you once this week." His voice softens.
"They talk about me when I'm not here?"
