four
Jade
I wake to the sound of crackling wood and the scent of pine.
For a blissful moment, I think I'm back in my childhood bedroom at my parents' cabin in Banff.
Then the pain hits—a symphony of agony with every part of my body playing a different section.
My shoulder screams loudest, followed by a throbbing chorus from my ribs and a persistent drumbeat in my skull.
"What the hell..." My voice is a rasp, barely audible even to my own ears.
"Welcome back." The deep voice startles me. I force my eyes fully open, wincing against the light from a nearby lamp.
He's sitting in a worn leather chair across the room, a German Shepherd curled at his feet.
My rescuer. The man with the winter-sky eyes.
Even through my fog of pain, I register that he's attractive in that rugged mountain-man way that's completely different from the polished ski bros I usually date.
"Where am I?" I try to sit up and immediately regret it, gasping as pain lances through my left side.
"Don't move." He rises and approaches, his movements careful, deliberate.
"You've got three bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder that I had to put back, and enough bruising to win a bar fight.
Plus mild hypothermia and possible concussion.
" He adjusts something beneath my head—a pillow.
"You're at my cabin. Roads to town are blocked by the same storm system that triggered the avalanche. "
The avalanche. Fragments of memory flash through my mind: the exhilaration of fresh powder, the terrible sound of snow shifting, the crushing weight as I was buried. A shudder runs through me.
"I'm Rhett Sullivan. Search and Rescue." He hands me a glass of water, supporting my head as I sip. "And you're Jade Wilson, ski instructor at Darkmore Resort who apparently doesn't understand what 'closed terrain' means."
The disapproval in his voice stings worse than my injuries. There's no sympathy there, just clinical assessment and judgment.
"How do you know my name?" My voice sounds pathetic even to me.
"Resort ID in your jacket. Plus, Carlson from the resort identified you when I radioed in. He wasn't surprised." Rhett sets the water down and checks my pulse, his fingers warm against my wrist.
"Is he mad?" I ask, knowing the answer.
"Mad? No." Rhett's eyes meet mine directly. "Worried. Disappointed. Probably reconsidering his hiring decisions."
"Ouch. Tell me how you really feel." I attempt a smirk but it probably looks more like a grimace.
"You want honesty? Fine. You're lucky to be alive. If Aspen hadn't caught your scent—" he gestures to the dog, who perks up at the mention of her name, "—you'd be a recovery, not a rescue. And I'd be digging out your frozen corpse in spring."
His bluntness is like a slap. I've been reprimanded for going off-trail before, but never by someone who had to risk their life to save me from my own stupidity.
I swallow hard. "Thank you. For saving me."
Something in his expression shifts slightly. "Just doing my job."
"Your job is risking your life for idiots like me?"
"My job is mountain safety. Sometimes that includes rescuing people who should know better." He stands and moves across the room, and I notice for the first time the slight irregularity in his gait.
As he reaches for something on a shelf, his pant leg rides up slightly, revealing a glimpse of metal and carbon fiber where flesh should be. A prosthetic leg. The realization hits me like another avalanche.
He turns back and catches me staring. His jaw tightens, but he says nothing, just brings over a medical kit and begins checking the bandage on my shoulder.
"I really am sorry," I whisper, embarrassment flooding through me. This man lost his leg, probably in these same mountains, and here I am, creating exactly the kind of situation he warns people about.
"Save your energy," he says, but his tone is marginally softer. "A doctor is on standby via radio if we need, but the roads won't be clear until tomorrow at the earliest."
For the first time, I take in my surroundings. The cabin is small but well-organized. A main room with a stone fireplace, kitchen area to one side, doors leading to what I assume are bedroom and bathroom. Large windows face the mountain. We could be miles from civilization.
"Where exactly are we?"
"North ridge service road. It's a SAR outpost I converted to living quarters." He reapplies a salve to the bruises on my arm. "I'm stationed here during the winter season."
"You live alone up here?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice.
"Me and Aspen. We prefer it." The dog wags her tail at the mention of her name. "Fewer people asking stupid questions."
"I don't know if you've noticed, but your bedside manner could use some work." I'm aiming for lighthearted, but it comes out weaker than I intended.
He smirks. “I leave that to the medical professionals. I just haul people out of trouble."
Rhett finishes with my bandages and helps me sip more water. Despite his gruffness, his hands are gentle. He’s handsome, rugged, so different from the people at the resort.
"You should rest." He straightens up, adjusting the blankets around me. "Radio if anything happens."
"Radio?"
He places a small two-way radio on the side table. "Push to talk. I'll be monitoring."
"Where are you going?"
"To check perimeter. Make sure we're not snowed in completely." He pulls on a heavy jacket. "Aspen, stay."
The dog settles next to the couch, her eyes watching me with unnerving intelligence. The door opens, letting in a blast of cold air, then closes behind him.
Left alone with my thoughts and a very attentive rescue dog, I close my eyes and try to process the situation. I've been rescued by the human equivalent of a grizzly bear—growls and judgment on the outside, but capable of surprising gentleness.
And I can't stop thinking about those eyes.
The fever hits sometime in the night. One minute I'm dozing fitfully, the next I'm burning up, my skin on fire while I shiver uncontrollably.
"R-Rhett?" I fumble for the radio, but my coordination is shot.
Aspen whines, then barks sharply. Moments later, a door opens, and hurried footsteps approach.
"What's wrong?" Rhett's voice. Concern has replaced the earlier judgment.
"C-cold. But hot. Everything's spinning." I can hear how nonsensical I sound, but can't seem to form better sentences.
Cool hands touch my forehead. "Damn it. You're burning up."
What follows is a blur—Rhett on the radio with someone, medical terms I don't understand, cool cloth on my skin, pills I'm coaxed to swallow.
"Stay with me, Jade." His voice anchors me as I drift in and out of coherence. "Focus on my voice."
"Why are you so angry with me?" The question tumbles out, unfiltered by fever. "You don't even know me."
A pause. "I'm not angry at you specifically."
"Feels specific."
He sighs, changing the cloth on my forehead. "I've pulled too many bodies from these mountains. People who thought the warnings didn't apply to them."
"Is that...how you lost your leg?" I wouldn't dare ask this if I weren't half-delirious with fever, but the filter between my brain and mouth has completely dissolved.
Another, longer pause. "Yes."
"I'm sorry." And I am—not just for asking, but for everything. For being exactly the kind of person he resents.
"It was a long time ago." His voice is distant now, as if he's traveled back to that moment. "Five years."
"Were you rescuing someone like me?"
"I was acting like you." There's no bite in the words though, just a quiet sadness.
"Yet you still do this. Why?" I force my eyes open, trying to focus on his face through the haze of fever.
His expression softens almost imperceptibly. "Because the mountains have taken enough. And some people are worth saving, even from themselves."
Something about the way he says it—the raw honesty—touches me deeply. Or maybe it's just the fever breaking down all my walls. Either way, I feel tears sliding down my cheeks.
"Hey, none of that." His thumb gently wipes away a tear. "Save your strength for healing."
"I never meant to—" I choke on the words, overwhelmed by the realization of what could have happened, what I put him through. "I just needed to feel something real. Something that mattered."
"I understand that better than you think." His voice has lost its edge completely now. In the firelight, he looks younger, the hard lines of his face softened.
"Will you stay?" I whisper, hating how vulnerable I sound but too exhausted to care. "Just until I fall asleep?"
He doesn't answer, but he doesn't leave either. Instead, he sits beside the couch, continuing to apply a cool face cloth to my forehead. At some point, his hand finds mine, strong fingers entwining with my smaller ones.
I drift in and out of consciousness throughout the night, but each time I surface, he's there—sometimes checking my temperature, sometimes just sitting quietly, sometimes speaking softly to Aspen. His presence becomes a constant, a tether to consciousness when the fever threatens to drag me under.
By morning, the fever has broken. I wake feeling wrung out but clearer. The first light of dawn filters through the windows, painting the cabin in soft gold.
Rhett is asleep in the chair beside me, his head tilted at an angle that will surely give him a stiff neck. Aspen is curled at his feet, but her eyes open immediately when I stir.
I watch him for a moment, taking advantage of his unguarded state to really see him. The permanent furrow between his brows has smoothed out in sleep. He looks peaceful, almost vulnerable.
As if sensing my gaze, his eyes open, instantly alert. Our gazes lock, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
"Your fever broke," he says finally, leaning forward to press his palm against my forehead.
The simple touch sends an unexpected current through me. His hand lingers a fraction too long, and I know he feels it too—this bizarre connection between rescuer and rescued, between two people who should have nothing in common but somehow understand each other in ways that defy logic.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For staying."
His eyes hold mine, winter-sky blue meeting whatever shade of disaster mine must be right now. Something unspoken passes between us, a recognition that boundaries have shifted during the long night.
"Always," he replies simply, and the word contains multitudes.
We stay like that, frozen in this charged moment as the morning light strengthens around us, neither willing to be the first to break whatever spell the night has cast.