Page 1 of Emergency with the Mountain Man (Silver Ridge Mountain Men #1)

one

Norma

The call comes in at seven-thirty on a Tuesday morning, just as I'm finishing my second cup of coffee and reviewing the day's appointments at my new veterinary practice.

"Dr. McKenzie? This is Jake Webster. We've got an injured black bear cub at our worksite. Looks like she got too close to our equipment and took a hit. She's breathing but not moving much."

My stomach drops. A bear cub means a mother bear somewhere nearby, which means extreme danger for everyone involved. But an injured baby animal triggers every instinct I have as a wildlife veterinarian.

"How far from the mother?" I ask, already grabbing my emergency kit.

"That's the thing—we haven't seen an adult bear in the area for days. Think this little one might be orphaned. She's maybe four months old, not much bigger than a large dog."

Relief and concern war in my chest. No immediate threat from a protective mother, but an orphaned cub has its own complications.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes. Do NOT let anyone approach her, even if she looks unconscious. And keep the worksite completely quiet."

"Already done. We've shut down all equipment and moved the crew back. I'll meet you at the access road."

The voice is calm, competent, with a slight rasp that suggests someone who works outdoors. Jake Webster. I've heard the name around town in my three weeks since arriving in Silver Ridge. Apparently, he’s quite the eligible bachelor.

I load my truck with supplies, mind already running through possible treatments. Head trauma, internal bleeding, broken bones, any or all could be fatal for a young bear. If she survives, I'll need to contact wildlife rehabilitation services, which means a trip to Vancouver at minimum.

The logging site is fifteen minutes outside town, up a winding mountain road that tests my truck's suspension.

I've been dreading this kind of call since opening my practice here.

Wildlife emergencies are exactly why I became a veterinarian, but they're also inherently dangerous in ways that treating domestic animals never is.

The access road is marked by orange cones and a man leaning against a pickup truck that's seen better days.

Even from a distance, he's impressive, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing work clothes that emphasize rather than hide his powerful build.

Dark hair under a baseball cap, stubble that suggests he started work before dawn.

When he straightens as I approach, I catch my breath. Jake is gorgeous in a completely unpretentious way. Strong jaw, warm brown eyes, and hands that look like they could build anything or hold anything precious with equal skill.

Not that I'm noticing. I swore off men after my disaster of a relationship with Sebastian in Calgary. Especially charming, outdoorsy men who probably have a different woman every weekend.

"Dr. McKenzie?" He steps forward with an easy smile that makes my pulse skip. "Thanks for coming so quickly."

"Just Norma, please." I shake his offered hand, trying to ignore the callused warmth of his palm. "Where's our patient?"

"About a quarter mile up the logging road. I've got an ATV to get you there, or we can walk if you prefer."

"ATV's fine. The sooner I can assess her condition, the better."

He loads my equipment onto the back of a four-wheeler, then gestures for me to climb on behind him. The seat forces me to sit closer than I'd like.

"Hold on," he says, and I reluctantly wrap my arms around his waist as he starts the engine.

The ride up the mountain would be beautiful under other circumstances.

Dense forest, glimpses of snow-capped peaks, the kind of pristine wilderness that drew me to Silver Ridge in the first place.

But right now, all I can focus on is the solid warmth of Jake's back against my chest and the way his muscles shift as he navigates the rough terrain.

Stop it, Norma. You're here to treat an injured animal, not ogle the local lumber crew.

The logging site appears around a bend, a clearing dotted with massive equipment, all silent and still. Men in hard hats and high-vis vests cluster near the tree line, speaking in hushed voices. The respect they're showing for the injured animal says good things about this crew.

"There," Jake says, pointing to a fallen log about fifty yards away. "She's been there for about two hours. Hasn't moved except for breathing."

I can see her now—a small, dark form that looks heartbreakingly still. My training kicks in, pushing aside everything except the need to help.

"I'll need absolute quiet," I tell Jake as we approach. "Even sedated, a frightened bear can do serious damage."

"You got it."

He signals to his crew, and the silence that follows is complete except for bird calls and wind in the trees. These men understand the seriousness of the situation, which makes my job infinitely easier.

The cub is worse than I feared but better than I'd hoped. She's unconscious but breathing steadily, with no obvious external bleeding. Her left hind leg is clearly broken, and there's swelling around her skull that suggests a concussion, but her pupils are reactive and her heartbeat is strong.

"Can you save her?" Jake asks quietly from where he's positioned himself between me and his crew, giving me space to work while staying close enough to help if needed.

"I think so. But she needs surgery for the leg, and I'll want to monitor her for brain swelling. She'll need to stay at my clinic for at least a week."

"Whatever you need."

The simple certainty in his voice makes me look up. He's watching me work with an expression of complete focus, ready to help however I ask. No questions about cost or complications, just absolute support for doing what's right.

When did I last meet a man who understood that some things matter more than convenience?

"Help me get her onto the stretcher," I say, pushing aside the inappropriate thought. "We need to immobilize her leg before we move her."

Jake follows my instructions perfectly, his hands gentle despite their size as we carefully transfer the cub to my portable stretcher.

This is bad . I came to Silver Ridge to focus on building my practice and healing from Sebastian's betrayal. I do not need to develop feelings for the first attractive man I meet, especially one whose job involves cutting down the forest I'm trying to protect.

"I'll follow you back to town," Jake says as we secure the stretcher in my truck. "Make sure you get there safely."

"That's not necessary."

"It is to me."

Again, that simple certainty that brooks no argument. Despite my determination to stay independent, there's something deeply appealing about a man who takes responsibility for others' wellbeing without being asked.

The drive back to my clinic passes in a blur of careful speed and constant monitoring of my patient. In my rearview mirror, I can see Jake's truck maintaining a steady distance behind me, a reassuring presence that makes the mountain roads feel less lonely.

At the clinic, he helps me carry the cub inside without being asked, then stands quietly in the corner while I prep for surgery. Most men would either hover anxiously or disappear entirely. Jake simply makes himself available while staying out of my way.

"This could take several hours," I tell him as I scrub in. "You don't need to wait."

"I'll wait."

"Jake—"

"She got hurt on my worksite, under my watch. I'm not leaving until I know she's okay."

The protective edge in his voice does things to my insides that I definitely don't have time to analyze. I duck into the surgery suite, grateful for the distraction of complex medical procedures.

Two hours later, I emerge to find Jake exactly where I left him, reading a veterinary journal with apparent interest. He looks up the moment I appear, those warm brown eyes searching my face for news.

"She's going to be fine," I announce, exhaustion and relief making me smile.

"Clean break, easy to set. No signs of serious brain trauma.

She'll need rest and monitoring, but she should make a full recovery. I’ll need to make some calls to the authorities to make sure we get her set up with an animal rescue service. "

The smile that spreads across his face is like sunrise breaking over the mountains. "Thank you. Seriously, Norma, thank you. The crew was pretty shaken up about this."

"All in a day's work." But his gratitude warms me more than it should. "Though I will need to contact wildlife services about placement. She can't be released back to the wild without learning survival skills from other bears."

"Whatever she needs. And whatever the bill comes to, send it to Kirkwood Timber. This was our responsibility."

I open my mouth to protest—veterinary bills can be substantial, and I don't want to take advantage—but something in his expression stops me. This matters to him, taking care of the consequences of his crew's work.

"I'll draw up an estimate," I say instead.

"Fair enough." He heads for the door, then pauses. "You did incredible work today. That cub's lucky you were available."

"Just doing my job."

"Maybe. But not everyone would have dropped everything to help an injured wild animal. Silver Ridge is lucky to have you."

He's gone before I can respond, leaving me standing in my empty clinic with my heart racing.