Page 20
Story: The Mountain Man's Prize
"After dinner," I promise. "It's a surprise."
She settles back against the cushions, a contented sigh escaping her. "I love your surprises."
The simple statement warms me from within. This is what still amazes me—how easily happiness comes now, how ordinary moments are transformed into something precious by her presence.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, studying my face. "You have that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're wondering if this is all real." Her voice is soft, understanding. "The one where you're afraid to blink in case it all disappears."
She knows me so well, this woman who stormed into my life. Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself.
"I was thinking," I say slowly, "about how different everything is. How different I am."
She reaches for my hand, brings it to her lips. "Different how?"
"Whole," I answer simply. "For the first time in my life, I feel whole."
Tears gather in her eyes, pregnancy making her emotions closer to the surface these days. "Oh, Beau."
"Before you," I continue, needing her to understand, "I was surviving, not living. Just existing in this space, marking time. Now..." I sweep my arm around the cabin, indicating the life we've built together. "Now there's purpose. Meaning."
She struggles to sit up, and I help her, gathering her into my arms so she's cradled against my chest. Her belly presses against me, our child between us.
"I used to think I was lost," she murmurs against my neck. "That night in the storm, I was so sure I was going to die. And then I found your cabin. Found you." She pulls back enough to look into my eyes. "But I wasn't lost at all. I was finding my way home."
"Home," I repeat, the word rich with meaning.
"This mountain," she says, glancing toward the window where the peaks are visible in the distance. "This cabin. You." Her hand cradles her belly. "Our family. That's home."
I capture her lips with mine, a kiss filled with everything I can't quite express—gratitude, wonder, love so fierce it sometimes scares me. She responds in kind, her body melting against mine, familiar and still thrilling after all these months.
When we part, she rests her forehead against mine, eyes closed, a small smile playing at her lips. "I was thinking," she says, voice soft with meaning, "about names."
Names. We've discussed this often as her pregnancy progressed, tossing ideas back and forth. Nothing has felt right yet—too common, too pretentious, too loaded with associations from our past lives.
"What were you thinking?" I ask, one hand stroking her back in lazy circles.
"If it's a boy..." She pauses, eyes opening to gauge my reaction. "What about Wilder?"
"Wilder," I repeat, testing the feel of it. A name that speaks of mountains and forests, of freedom and strength. A name without the weight of the past. "Wilder." I nod slowly, feeling it settle into my heart. "I like it."
Her smile widens, relief and pleasure mingling in her expression. "Wilder for a boy. And for a girl—though I'm almost certain it's a boy—I was thinking Aspen."
"Aspen," I echo, thinking of the trees that shimmer silver and gold on the mountainside in autumn. "Perfect. Either way."
She nestles closer, her body heavy and warm against mine. "Wilder or Aspen. A mountain child, either way."
"Just like their mother," I tease gently. "My wild little dove who flew into a storm and found her way home."
She laughs, the sound still the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. "Not so little anymore," she says, patting her rounded belly.
"No," I agree, covering her hand with mine. "But still mine."
"Always yours," she promises, the words a vow we've repeated countless times. "As you are mine."
Outside, the sun begins its descent behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of gold and rose. Inside our cabin—our home—the future unfolds before us, as vast and beautiful as the wilderness that surrounds us. Not a future I ever imagined, but one I would die to protect.
My little dove, no longer lost. My child, growing stronger each day. My heart, once a fortress, now a home.
The mountain claimed me long ago, offered me sanctuary when the world became too much. Now it's claimed her too, given us both a place to belong. Together.
Forever.
* * *
She settles back against the cushions, a contented sigh escaping her. "I love your surprises."
The simple statement warms me from within. This is what still amazes me—how easily happiness comes now, how ordinary moments are transformed into something precious by her presence.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, studying my face. "You have that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're wondering if this is all real." Her voice is soft, understanding. "The one where you're afraid to blink in case it all disappears."
She knows me so well, this woman who stormed into my life. Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself.
"I was thinking," I say slowly, "about how different everything is. How different I am."
She reaches for my hand, brings it to her lips. "Different how?"
"Whole," I answer simply. "For the first time in my life, I feel whole."
Tears gather in her eyes, pregnancy making her emotions closer to the surface these days. "Oh, Beau."
"Before you," I continue, needing her to understand, "I was surviving, not living. Just existing in this space, marking time. Now..." I sweep my arm around the cabin, indicating the life we've built together. "Now there's purpose. Meaning."
She struggles to sit up, and I help her, gathering her into my arms so she's cradled against my chest. Her belly presses against me, our child between us.
"I used to think I was lost," she murmurs against my neck. "That night in the storm, I was so sure I was going to die. And then I found your cabin. Found you." She pulls back enough to look into my eyes. "But I wasn't lost at all. I was finding my way home."
"Home," I repeat, the word rich with meaning.
"This mountain," she says, glancing toward the window where the peaks are visible in the distance. "This cabin. You." Her hand cradles her belly. "Our family. That's home."
I capture her lips with mine, a kiss filled with everything I can't quite express—gratitude, wonder, love so fierce it sometimes scares me. She responds in kind, her body melting against mine, familiar and still thrilling after all these months.
When we part, she rests her forehead against mine, eyes closed, a small smile playing at her lips. "I was thinking," she says, voice soft with meaning, "about names."
Names. We've discussed this often as her pregnancy progressed, tossing ideas back and forth. Nothing has felt right yet—too common, too pretentious, too loaded with associations from our past lives.
"What were you thinking?" I ask, one hand stroking her back in lazy circles.
"If it's a boy..." She pauses, eyes opening to gauge my reaction. "What about Wilder?"
"Wilder," I repeat, testing the feel of it. A name that speaks of mountains and forests, of freedom and strength. A name without the weight of the past. "Wilder." I nod slowly, feeling it settle into my heart. "I like it."
Her smile widens, relief and pleasure mingling in her expression. "Wilder for a boy. And for a girl—though I'm almost certain it's a boy—I was thinking Aspen."
"Aspen," I echo, thinking of the trees that shimmer silver and gold on the mountainside in autumn. "Perfect. Either way."
She nestles closer, her body heavy and warm against mine. "Wilder or Aspen. A mountain child, either way."
"Just like their mother," I tease gently. "My wild little dove who flew into a storm and found her way home."
She laughs, the sound still the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. "Not so little anymore," she says, patting her rounded belly.
"No," I agree, covering her hand with mine. "But still mine."
"Always yours," she promises, the words a vow we've repeated countless times. "As you are mine."
Outside, the sun begins its descent behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of gold and rose. Inside our cabin—our home—the future unfolds before us, as vast and beautiful as the wilderness that surrounds us. Not a future I ever imagined, but one I would die to protect.
My little dove, no longer lost. My child, growing stronger each day. My heart, once a fortress, now a home.
The mountain claimed me long ago, offered me sanctuary when the world became too much. Now it's claimed her too, given us both a place to belong. Together.
Forever.
* * *