Page 3 of Emergency with the Mountain Man (Silver Ridge Mountain Men #1)

three

Norma

I've been in Silver Ridge for a month now, and I still get lost on the way to the grocery store. But somehow, I always seem to find my way to places where Jake Webster might be.

It's completely unintentional. At least, that's what I tell myself when I take the long way to house calls that happens to pass the Kirkwood Timber office. Or when I choose the hiking trail that Juniper mentioned is popular with the logging crews during their lunch breaks.

I'm not stalking him. I'm just geographically challenged.

This morning's "accident" involves a genuine emergency call to a farm outside town, where a horse has tangled with barbed wire. The injury isn't life-threatening, but it requires careful cleaning and suturing that takes me most of the morning.

I'm loading my equipment back into the truck when I hear the familiar rumble of diesel engines. A convoy of logging trucks rolls past on the main road, heading back toward town after what looks like a successful day's work.

The lead truck slows as it passes the farm entrance, and my heart skips when I recognize Jake behind the wheel. He pulls over, engine idling, and climbs out with that easy confidence that never fails to make my pulse race.

"Everything okay?" he calls, approaching with concern clear in his voice. "Saw your truck and wanted to make sure you didn't need help."

He's dusty from a day's work, his flannel shirt rolled up to reveal muscled forearms, and there are pine needles in his dark hair. He looks like every fantasy I've ever had about rugged mountain men, which is exactly why I should get in my truck and drive away.

Instead, I find myself smiling. "Just finished treating a horse who had an argument with a fence. The fence won."

"Ouch. Bad injury?"

"Looked worse than it was. Horses are drama queens about minor wounds. She'll be fine in a few days."

Jake's answering smile does dangerous things to my insides. "Sounds like you're getting the hang of rural veterinary medicine. Different from city practice?"

"Completely different. In Calgary, most of my work was wildlife rehabilitation and research. Here, I'm treating everything from hamsters to horses, with the occasional bear cub thrown in."

He chuckles."What made you switch?"

The loaded question hangs in the air between us. I could give him the sanitized version—I wanted a change of pace, drawn to small-town life, and the opportunity to build my own practice. All true, but not the whole truth.

"I needed a fresh start," I say finally.

Jake nods, understanding more than I've said. "Sometimes a fresh start is exactly what we need to figure out who we really are."

"Is that what happened when you moved here?"

"In a way. I was becoming someone I didn't like in Vancouver. Cynical, burnt out, going through the motions without any real purpose. Moving to Silver Ridge reminded me why I became a forester in the first place."

There's something in his voice, a depth of feeling that makes me want to know more about his story. About what drove him to make such a dramatic life change, about what he found here that he couldn't find in the city.

"The mountains help," I say quietly. "There's something about being surrounded by all this wilderness that puts things in perspective."

"Exactly. Hard to stay focused on petty problems when you're looking at something that's been here for thousands of years and will be here long after we're gone."

We stand in comfortable silence for a moment, both looking up at the snow-capped peaks that ring the valley. The late afternoon light paints everything golden, and the air carries the scent of pine and wildflowers.

"I should let you get going," Jake says eventually. "I'm sure you have other calls to make."

"Actually, that was my last appointment of the day." The words slip out before I can stop them, and I immediately regret the implied availability.

"In that case..." Jake hesitates, as if weighing his words carefully. "Would you like to see something spectacular? There's a waterfall about ten minutes from here that most tourists never find. The light should be perfect right about now."

Every rational part of my brain screams that this is a bad idea. I came to Silver Ridge to focus on building my practice and healing from Sebastian's betrayal. Getting involved with a local man, no matter how attractive or kind, is exactly the opposite of what I should be doing.

But standing here in the golden afternoon light, looking at Jake's hopeful expression, rational thought seems less important than the possibility of spending more time with this man who makes me feel things I'd forgotten I was capable of feeling.

"I suppose I could spare a few minutes," I hear myself saying.

Jake's smile is brighter than the sunrise. "Follow me. It's just up this logging road."

I climb into my truck, telling myself this is just friendly local hospitality. Nothing more than a new resident being shown around by a helpful neighbor. The fact that my hands are shaking as I start the engine is completely irrelevant.

The logging road winds through dense forest, climbing steadily toward the sound of rushing water. Jake drives slowly, clearly mindful of my truck's lower clearance, checking his rearview mirror frequently to make sure I'm keeping up.

When we reach a small clearing, he parks and gets out, waiting for me with that patient courtesy that seems to be his default mode. No assumptions, no pressure, just genuine desire to share something beautiful.

"It's about a five-minute hike," he says as I join him. "The trail's pretty well-maintained, but watch your footing near the falls. The rocks can be slippery."

The path through the forest is magical, dappled with late afternoon sunlight filtering through the canopy. Jake walks ahead of me, pointing out interesting plants and signs of wildlife activity with the easy knowledge of someone who spends his life outdoors.

"Bear tracks," he says, crouching beside a muddy section of trail. "Probably a day or two old. Medium-sized adult, heading uphill toward the berry patches."

I kneel beside him, studying the clear paw prints pressed into the soft earth. "Male or female?"

"Hard to tell from tracks alone, but given the size and the fact that we're not seeing any cub prints nearby, I'd guess male. Females with cubs tend to stick closer to dense cover this time of year."

His knowledge is impressive, the kind of practical understanding that comes from years of careful observation. Most loggers I've met view wildlife as either obstacles or curiosities. Jake speaks about the bears like neighbors he respects and wants to coexist with.

"You know a lot about animal behavior for someone who cuts down trees for a living."

"You can't work in the forest without understanding the creatures who live there. Plus, I grew up hunting and fishing with my dad. He taught me to read sign, track animals, predict their movements. Said you can't harvest from the land without understanding what you're taking from."

"Your dad sounds like a wise man."

"He was. Died when I was twenty-two, but everything he taught me about respecting the wilderness has guided my career choices.

" Jake stands, brushing dirt from his hands.

"He would have loved meeting you, actually.

He always said the best people were the ones who dedicated their lives to helping animals. "

The casual intimacy of the comment—introducing me to his father, even hypothetically—catches me off guard. There's an assumption of connection there, a suggestion that I'm someone worth sharing important memories with.

Before I can figure out how to respond, the sound of falling water grows loud enough to drown out conversation. We round a bend in the trail, and I gasp.

The waterfall is breathtaking—a seventy-foot cascade of crystal-clear water tumbling over granite cliffs into a pool so blue it looks artificial. Rainbow mist rises from where the water hits the rocks, and the late afternoon sun turns everything golden and ethereal.

"Oh my God," I breathe. "Jake, this is incredible."

"Worth the hike?"

"Worth moving across the country." The words slip out before I can stop them, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks at the admission.

Jake's expression softens. "Is that why you came here? To find places like this?"

"Partially." I move closer to the pool, mesmerized by the way the water catches and reflects the light. "I needed to remember what beauty looked like. What peace felt like."

"Bad breakup?"

The question is gentle, without pressure, but it still makes my chest tighten. I've gotten good at deflecting inquiries about my past, at giving vague answers that don't invite follow-up questions.

But something about this place, this moment, this man makes me want to tell the truth.

"Bad relationship," I correct. "Dr. Sebastian Hoffman, my research partner and fiancé. Turned out he was taking credit for my work, undermining my career, and sleeping with half the department. All while telling me I was paranoid and oversensitive for questioning his behavior."

Jake's jaw tightens, and something dangerous flashes in his brown eyes. "What a bastard."

"The worst part wasn't the cheating or even the stolen research. It was how he made me doubt my own perceptions, my own worth. By the time I finally left, I didn't trust my judgment about anything."

"That's not your fault. That's what manipulative people do—they make you question reality until you're completely dependent on their version of events."

The understanding in his voice, the lack of judgment or advice, makes my throat tight with unexpected emotion. "You sound like you know something about that."

"My ex-girlfriend in Vancouver. Different tactics, same result. Jessica had a talent for making me feel like I was never quite good enough, never trying hard enough, never enough period. Took me months after we broke up to realize that the problem wasn't me."

"How long were you together?"

"Three years. Should have been three months, but she was... persuasive about my shortcomings. Always had an explanation for why I was wrong to feel hurt or frustrated."

I turn to face him fully, seeing past the confident exterior to the man who understands what it's like to have someone systematically dismantle your self-worth. "Is that part of why you moved here?"

"Big part. I needed to get away from all the people and places that reminded me of who I was with her. I needed to remember who I actually am."

"And did you? Remember?"

His smile is soft, genuine. "Yeah. Turns out I'm someone who likes getting up before dawn to work in the forest. Someone who finds peace in physical labor and takes pride in sustainable practices. Someone who values authenticity over sophistication, community over career advancement."

"Someone who rescues injured bear cubs and shows newcomers hidden waterfalls?"

"Someone who believes in taking care of people and places that matter."

The way he's looking at me makes it clear that I've somehow ended up in the category of things that matter to him. "Thank you," I say quietly. "For sharing this place with me. For understanding about... before."

"Thank you for trusting me with it."

We stand in comfortable silence, watching the water cascade into the pool as the golden light gradually fades to dusky purple. There's something magical about this moment, this place, this man who makes me want to believe in the possibility of new beginnings.

When Jake reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my face, I don't pull away. When he steps closer, I meet him halfway. When he leans down to kiss me, I rise on my toes to meet his lips with mine.

The kiss is gentle, questioning, nothing like Sebastian's demanding possessiveness. Jake kisses me like I'm something precious, something worth treasuring, something he's grateful to be allowed to touch.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine.

"Was that okay?" he asks quietly.

"More than okay."

"Good. Because I've been wanting to do that since the moment I met you."

"Jake..."

"I know. You're not ready for anything serious. You came here to start over, to focus on your practice. I'm not asking for promises or commitments. I'm just asking for a chance to show you that not all men are like your ex.”

The sincerity in his voice, the patience in his eyes, makes my carefully constructed walls feel suddenly fragile. "I don't know if I'm ready for this."

"Then we'll take it slow. As slow as you need. I'm not going anywhere, Norma. I've waited thirty-five years to meet someone who makes me feel like this. I can wait as long as it takes for you to feel safe enough to try."

Looking at him in the fading light, I want to believe it's possible. I want to believe that I can trust my judgment again, that I can open my heart without losing myself in the process.

"Okay," I whisper. "Slow."

"Slow," he agrees, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "But maybe we could start with dinner tomorrow night? I know a place that serves the best steaks in the province."

Despite everything, I find myself smiling. "Is that your idea of taking it slow?"

"My idea of taking it slow is not carrying you back to my cabin right now and showing you exactly how much I want you."

The heat in his voice sends liquid fire through my veins, and suddenly slow feels like the most difficult thing I've ever attempted. But I need to do it for myself. “Let’s stick with dinner,” I laugh.