Page 11

Callie

I’d cried exactly once since Gabriel dropped me off.

One good, hard cry that lasted the entire night before I’d pulled myself together and decided that I was absolutely not going to waste another tear on a man who’d made his feelings—or lack thereof—perfectly clear.

Three days. That’s all it had been. Three days of being trapped with a grumpy mountain man and his amazing hands and his rare, devastating smile.

Three days that had somehow managed to get under my skin in a way nothing had before.

Three days that had undone me in ways nothing else ever had.

“This is pathetic,” I told Max, who was watching me mope around the rental cabin with worried eyes. “It was a storm fling. That’s all.”

Max tilted his head, clearly not buying it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I sighed, dropping onto the couch. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

I’d spent the past two days alternating between anger and a hollow ache that refused to subside. Anger was easier. Anger let me feel strong. Sharp. Less breakable. Anger let me focus on Gabriel’s stubbornness, his ridiculous commitment to isolation, his infuriating ability to dismiss what had happened between us as simply circumstance.

But in the quiet moments, the ache took over, and I found myself remembering other things. The gentleness in his hands despite their strength. The way his eyes softened when he thought I wasn’t looking. The surprising tenderness in how he’d held me afterward.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? I hadn’t just had amazing sex with a gorgeous, brooding mountain man. I’d glimpsed the person beneath the gruff exterior—the man who kept his sister’s favorite board game, who read Jack London and poetry, who cooked homemade soup and gave his clothes to a stranger in need.

The man who’d made me feel like more than just a woman passing through.

The man who’d held me like I was something he wanted, needed, then pushed me away like I was a threat.

“Well, screw him,” I muttered, pushing myself off the couch. “I came here to photograph birds, not pine over emotionally unavailable men.”

Except I wasn’t just pining. I was grieving something that had barely had time to begin.

I gathered my camera equipment, determined to salvage what remained of my vacation. The storm had driven wildlife into hiding, but today was clear and sunny. Perfect for capturing the raptors I’d originally come to photograph.

“Be good,” I told Max, scratching behind his ears. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He whined softly, looking toward the door.

“No, buddy. You’re staying here.” I couldn’t risk him running off again. Especially not if there was any chance he might end up back at Gabriel’s cabin. “I’ll take you for a walk when I get back.”

I headed to one of the hiking trails that offered good vantage points for spotting eagles and hawks, trying to focus on my work rather than the hollow feeling in my chest. The forest was beautiful after the rain, everything washed clean and vibrant. Under normal circumstances, I would have been thrilled with the photography conditions.

But today, even beauty felt like a betrayal.

Instead, I found myself looking at the mountain differently, knowing Gabriel’s cabin was hidden among the trees.

“Focus, Callie,” I muttered, forcing myself to scan the skies for movement.

I spent the next few hours photographing a pair of golden eagles soaring above the valley, their massive wingspan impressive against the clear blue sky. The familiar routine of tracking, focusing, and capturing my subject helped quiet my mind, allowing me to lose myself in the work I loved.

By mid-afternoon, I had several shots I was genuinely pleased with. Not a wasted day after all. I packed up my equipment and headed back to the rental cabin, feeling more centered than I had since leaving Gabriel’s mountain.

I opened the door and placed my equipment on the counter. “Max, I’m home. What do you say we order a steak to celebrate?” Not that I felt much like celebrating.

“Max?” I called again, a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach. No response. No excited barking, no scrabbling of nails on the wooden floor. No sign of Max.

I’d been warned he was an escape artist when I rescued him, but he’d never tried that with me. Had he snuck out when housekeeping had opened the door?

“Max, baby,” I breathed, panic rising. Not again. I couldn’t go through him being lost again.

I rushed back outside, calling his name, scanning the surrounding area for any sign of him. Nothing. Which way would he have gone? The trail leading further into the woods? The road back to town? Or...

My gaze shifted to the mountain rising in the distance. Gabriel’s mountain.

“Oh no,” I groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

But even as I said it, I knew. If Max had escaped, there was only one place he would go. Back to the cabin where he’d spent three days. Back to the man who’d scratched his ears just right and fed him scraps under the table when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Back to Gabriel.

I checked my watch. It was already late afternoon. I knew I should just get in my car and go fetch him. But the thought of showing up at Gabriel’s door again, having to face him after our painful goodbye, made my stomach twist.

Maybe I should wait. Call the ranger station, see if anyone had reported finding a dog. Try searching the immediate area more thoroughly first.

But what if Max was already halfway up the mountain? What if he got lost, or hurt? There was bound to be branches and trees all over the forest. And what if he couldn’t find his way to Gabriel’s? What if someone else found him who wasn’t as nice as Gabriel?

“Dammit, Max,” I muttered, making my decision. “The things I do for you.”

I grabbed a small backpack with water and essentials and headed to my car. I set out up the mountain road that would eventually lead to Gabriel’s cabin.

I kept an eye out for Max as I traveled, stopping and calling his name periodically, though I suspected he was already far ahead of me if he was indeed heading for Gabriel’s.

As I drove, I tried to prepare myself for the inevitability of facing Gabriel again. What would I say? How would I act? The thought of seeing those storm-gray eyes, that familiar scowl, made my heart race with a complicated mix of anger, anticipation, and lingering hurt.

I was about halfway up the mountain when I heard it—the distant sound of another engine, growing louder as it approached from above. Someone was coming down the mountain.

A moment later, a familiar truck came into view, moving slowly over the still-rough terrain.

Gabriel’s.

I froze, wanting to simply turn around and hightail it back to my cabin, maybe even off the mountain entirely. Max would be happy with Gabriel and Gabriel wouldn’t be alone anymore.

The truck slowed, then stopped as Gabriel spotted my car and me behind the wheel. For a long moment, we just stared at each other, the distance between us more than physical.

Then he killed the engine and stepped out, his movements deliberate, almost cautious. I did the same. Max barked excitedly from inside the vehicle, recognizing me. I imagined that bark held a note of joy, like he’d known this was how it would end all along.

“Callie,” Gabriel said, my name almost seeming to catch in his throat.

“You have my dog,” I replied stiffly. “Again.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I now recognized as nervousness. “He showed up at my door about an hour ago. I was bringing him back to you. I knew you would be worried.”

“I was.” I shifted awkwardly, suddenly very aware that I was sweaty and disheveled from my day on the mountain. “Well, thank you. Saved me the trip, I guess.”

Gabriel studied me, taking in my hiking boots, my backpack. “You were out today? That was dangerous. There’s a lot of storm damage.”

“It’s my job. When I came back, he was gone. I figured... well, he seemed to like your place, so I was on my way there.”

Something flickered across Gabriel’s face—a softening around the eyes, a slight relaxation of his jaw. “Is that the only reason?” he asked quietly.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Damn him.

The simple question caught me off guard. I didn’t know how to respond, how to process this apparent shift after the way we’d left things.

Max whined from inside the truck, scratching at the window. Gabriel opened the passenger door, and Max bounded out, racing to me with his whole body wagging in excitement.

“Hey, buddy,” I crouched to greet him, grateful for the momentary distraction. “You gave me a heart attack, you know that?”

“He’s resourceful,” Gabriel commented, the corner of his mouth quirking in what might have been the ghost of a smile. “Managed to find his way back up the mountain on his own.”

I scratched Max’s behind his ears, avoiding Gabriel’s gaze. “He’s a good judge of character, remember? You said so yourself.”

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words. When I finally looked up, Gabriel was watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“I was coming to find you,” he said abruptly.

I blinked, sure I’d misheard. “What?”

He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable but pressing on. “Before Max showed up, I was going to come back and... talk to you.”

“About?” I stood, heart hammering against my ribs.

Gabriel took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “About the fact that I was a damn fool.”

The words hung in the air between us, unexpected and somehow exactly what I needed to hear.

“Go on,” I said, not ready to make this easy for him.

His jaw tightened, but he met my gaze directly. “I pushed you away because I was scared. Not of you, but of...” he gestured vaguely, struggling with the words. “Of feeling something. Of caring. Of what happens when people leave.”

“So you made me leave first,” I finished for him.

He nodded, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “It was easier. Or I thought it was.”

“And now?”

“Now I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, the words clearly costing him. “About your laugh. Your stubbornness. The way you see through every defense I put up.” He took a step closer. “The cabin feels wrong without you in it. Empty in a way it never did before.”

Hope rose inside me, despite my attempt to guard against it. “Gabriel—”

“I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, moving closer still. “At talking. At... feelings. Three years alone on a mountain didn’t exactly sharpen those skills.”

Despite everything, I felt a smile tugging at my lips. “You’re doing okay so far.”

Something in his expression eased, a tension releasing. “I don’t know what happens next, Callie. I don’t know how this works with me up there and you... wherever your work takes you. But I know that pushing you away was the biggest mistake I’ve made in a long time.”

I swallowed hard, my anger from the past two days melting under the sincerity in his gaze. “That’s a start,” I said softly.

He closed the remaining distance between us, standing close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “Tell me it’s not too late,” he said, voice low and rough. “Tell me I haven’t ruined whatever this is between us.”

Instead of answering with words, I rose on tiptoes and pressed my lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he remained still, as if afraid to believe this was happening. Then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me against him as he deepened the kiss with a hunger that matched my own.

His hands spanned my back as he held me like something he’d almost lost. I wound my arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pouring all the hurt and longing of the past two days into the kiss.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against mine, unwilling to create even that small distance between us.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he murmured, the hint of a smile in his voice.

“You haven’t ruined anything,” I confirmed, my hands still in his hair. “But if you try to push me away again, I might have to resort to drastic measures.”

“Like what?” His thumbs traced circles on my lower back, sending shivers up my spine.

“Like setting Max loose to track you down every single day until you come to your senses.”

He laughed then, a real laugh that transformed his face completely, making him look younger, lighter. “He’s pretty determined when he wants something.”

“Like his owner,” I teased, pressing another quick kiss to his lips simply because I could.

Max circled our legs, tail wagging enthusiastically as if he approved of this development.

“So what now?” Gabriel asked, echoing the question from days before, but with a new openness in his expression.

“Now,” I said, stroking my fingers along his jaw, loving the feel of the stubble against my skin and wanting it all over my body. “Now, you take me back to your cabin.”

His eyes darkened at my words, desire clear in those mesmerizing depths. “And then?”

“And then we figure it out. Together.” I met his gaze steadily. “One day at a time, remember?”

He nodded, something like wonder crossing his face as he looked at me. “One day at a time.”

I followed him up the mountain in my rental car, wanting to pinch myself to see if this was really true. I was on my way to a mountain man’s cabin, my dog sitting happily in the seat next to him.

When the cabin came into view, something settled in my chest—a recognition, a homecoming I hadn’t expected to feel for a place I’d known for only three days.

Gabriel parked and got out of the car, letting Max out. Then he walked straight to me, pulling open my door and taking me straight into his arms. “Are you sure about this? About me? I’m still the same person, Callie. Still stubborn, still...” he trailed off, searching for the words.

“Still brooding? Still grumpy? Still a man of few words?” I supplied, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I know who you are, Gabriel. I like who you are, even when you’re being infuriating.”

Relief washed over his face, followed quickly by a heat that made my pulse quicken. Without another word, he picked me up and carried me to the cabin.

“What are you doing?” I laughed, arms still around his neck.

“Being efficient,” he replied with that ghost of a smile. “And making sure you don’t change your mind halfway to the door.”

“Not a chance,” I assured him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Max trotted ahead of us, clearly pleased with his role in bringing us back together. Gabriel shouldered open the door, carrying me across the threshold like a bride, a gesture that should have seemed ridiculous but instead sent a flutter of something warm and delightful through my stomach.

Once inside, he set me down gently but kept his arms around me, eyes roaming my face as if memorizing every detail.

“I missed you,” he admitted quietly. “More than I thought possible after only three days.” His voice cracked on the last few words.

“I missed you too,” I whispered, rising on tiptoes to brush my lips against his. “Even while I was furious with you.”

His hands tightened on my waist. “I deserve that.”

“Yes, you do,” I agreed. “And you’ll probably have to make it up to me.” I traced a finger down his chest, feeling his sharp intake of breath. “Thoroughly.”

“I think that can be arranged.” Then his mouth was on mine, the gentle exploration of moments ago replaced by a hungry intensity that made my knees weak. His hands slid under my shirt, finding bare skin as he backed me against the wall, his body pressing into mine in all the right places.

I gasped as his lips found the sensitive spot just below my ear, my hands clutching at his shoulders for support. “Bedroom,” I managed, already breathless with wanting him. As he laid me on the bed, his body covering mine, I knew we still had things to figure out—my career, his isolation, the logistics of whatever this was becoming.

But in that moment, with Gabriel’s hands and mouth relearning my body as if we’d been apart for years instead of days, the future could wait. We had this moment, this connection that had somehow sprung to life in the middle of a storm and refused to die even when both of us had tried to deny it.

His shirt joined mine on the floor, followed quickly by the rest of our clothes. Our hands were eager, our mouths hungry as our bodies remembered exactly how perfectly they fit together. When he finally pushed into me, both of us gasping at the perfect friction, I felt something click into place that had been missing since I’d walked out his door.

“Callie,” he breathed against my neck, the sound of my name on his lips more intimate than any touch. “Sweet, sweet, Callie.”

I wrapped my legs around him, urging him deeper, my hands traveling over the planes of his back, the powerful muscles working as he moved within me. This was different from before—more desperate, more honest, as if we were both trying to erase the pain of our separation with each thrust, each kiss, each whispered word.

When release came, it was with his name on my lips and his face buried in my neck, our bodies trembling. Afterward, he gathered me against his chest, arms wrapped securely around me as if afraid I might still disappear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmured, tracing patterns on his skin. “Not tonight, anyway.”

“And after?” he asked, the question muffled against my hair.

I propped myself up on one elbow, looking down at him seriously. “After, we figure it out. My work is flexible—I can base myself anywhere with decent internet. And I’m a wildlife photographer. I’m sure there’s a few bears around here that wouldn’t mind their picture being taken.”

I moved to kneel beside him. “And, if I really want a change of pace, maybe I could publish a mountain man calendar.”

“Over my dead body.” He picked me up and placed me on top of him. We both groaned as his thickness settled between my thighs. “Ride me, baby,” he whispered, gripping my hips tightly.

Max chose that moment to push open the bedroom door, tail wagging as he surveyed us with canine satisfaction.

“Think he’s proud of himself?” Gabriel asked, amusement rumbling through his chest.

“Absolutely,” I laughed.

“Think he’ll be good with the babies?”

My eyes widened. “Gabriel, what are you saying? You want children? They are not conducive for a quiet, solitary life, mountain man.”

He reached up and tucked a curl behind my ear. “I think that lifestyle is highly overrated.”

He lifted me and positioned himself at my entrance. I moaned as he lowered me onto his rigid length. “Me too,” I murmured as I began to move. “Really overrated.”