Page 8 of Hunted by the Mountain Man (Darkmore Mountain Men #5)
Anna
I wake to the sound of voices carrying across the clearing—Cole's deep rumble mixed with the lighter tones of the men who've come to Darkmore Wilderness Retreat for healing.
Through our bedroom window, I can see him leading the morning group session around the fire pit, his patient gestures and calm presence working the same magic that first drew me to him.
"Mama, baby's awake," three-year-old Amber announces from the doorway, her dark curls wild from sleep and her father's hazel eyes bright with mischief.
"I can hear that, sweetheart." I smile as eighteen-month-old Benny gurgles from his crib, chubby fists waving at the mobile Cole crafted from carved wooden animals. "Want to help me get your brother ready for breakfast?"
Amber nods enthusiastically, padding over in her footed pajamas to peer through the crib rails. "Hi, Benny! Mama, he's got messy hair like Daddy."
She's right—Benny inherited Cole's dark hair that sticks up in all directions, along with his father's stubborn chin and my nose. Amber got my coloring but Cole's steady temperament, though she shows flashes of the determination that got me into trouble with crime bosses.
"Let's get you both dressed and fed," I say, lifting Benny into my arms and breathing in his sweet baby scent. "Daddy's got veterans arriving today, and we need to help him get ready."
The Darkmore Wilderness Retreat has been Cole's passion project for three years now.
What started as a few ex-military friends camping on our property has grown into a thriving program that brings struggling veterans to the mountains for healing.
They come broken and isolated, much like Cole was when I found him, and leave with tools for managing PTSD and a support network that spans the country.
"The Rice-Manning Foundation," our lawyer had called it when we established the nonprofit. "Serving those who served." Cole had wanted to name it something simpler, but I insisted on honoring both our journeys to this place.
I change Benny while Amber picks out her clothes—mismatched but enthusiastic choices that make me smile.
My forensic accounting practice has evolved too, specializing in fraud cases for nonprofits and veteran organizations.
I work remotely most days, though I travel to Calgary once a month for court testimony and client meetings.
"Anna?" Cole's voice carries up the stairs. "The Thompson group just arrived."
"Coming!" I call back, settling Benny on my hip while Amber clomps down the wooden steps in her favorite boots.
Cole stands in our kitchen—expanded twice since my arrival to accommodate retreat meals—talking quietly with a man who has the hollow-eyed look I've learned to recognize. The new arrival's wife hovers nearby, her own exhaustion evident in the lines around her eyes.
"Anna, this is Staff Sergeant Mike Thompson and his wife Sarah," Cole says, moving to take Benny from my arms with the unconscious ease of five years' practice. "They drove up from Colorado."
"Welcome to Darkmore," I say warmly, shaking Sarah's hand while Amber peers shyly from behind my legs. "How was the drive?"
"Long," Sarah admits with a tired smile. "But beautiful. This place is incredible."
"Wait until you see it in action," I tell her. "Cole's built something special here."
And he has. The retreat now encompasses several cabins scattered through the forest, each designed for maximum privacy while maintaining community connection.
Veterans come alone or with families, staying anywhere from a week to a month while they work through trauma with Cole's unique combination of wilderness therapy and peer support.
"Mama, can I show Benny the baby goats?" Amber asks, tugging on my shirt.
"After breakfast," I promise. "Why don't you help Daddy show Mr. and Mrs. Thompson to their cabin?"
Cole nods gratefully, still holding Benny who's now grabbing enthusiastically at his father's beard. "Amber's our best tour guide," he tells the Thompsons. "She knows where all the good hiding spots are."
I watch my husband lead the family toward the guest cabins, noting the careful way he positions himself to give Mike space while remaining available for support. Marriage and two children have only deepened my appreciation for Cole's quiet strength and infinite patience.
The morning flies by in the familiar rhythm of retreat days.
Breakfast for twelve people, cabin check-ins, coordinating the day's activities between wilderness skills and group therapy.
I handle the administrative side while Cole manages the therapeutic programming, our partnership as seamless in work as it is in marriage.
"Mama, look!" Amber runs toward me across the clearing, her latest treasure clutched in her small fist. "I found a pretty rock for baby!"
She opens her palm to reveal a piece of quartz that catches the mountain sunlight like captured stars. Everything is magical when you're three and live in paradise.
"That's beautiful, sweetheart. Benny will love it." I tuck the rock into my pocket for safekeeping. "Where's Daddy?"
"With the sad man by the creek. They're talking about feelings."
I spot Cole sitting on a fallen log beside Silver Creek, Mike Thompson next to him as they watch the water flow over granite stones. Even from here, I can see the tension leaving Mike's shoulders as Cole works his particular brand of healing magic.