six
Jade
Morning seeps into the cabin like honey, golden light sliding across the floorboards.
I've been awake for an hour, trapped in my thoughts and the memory of almost-kisses.
Rhett hasn't been close to me since he fled to the kitchen last night, though I heard him moving around, checking on me from a distance.
He's avoiding me. Smart man.
The cabin door opens, and Aspen bounds in first, shaking snow from her fur before Rhett follows. He's carrying firewood, his face flushed from the cold, beard frosted at the edges. Our eyes meet, and the air between us practically crackles.
"Morning," he says gruffly, moving to the fireplace.
"Morning," I reply, watching the way he arranges the logs. Everything he does has purpose, no wasted movement. It's mesmerizing.
"Fever stayed down?" He doesn't look at me when he asks.
"Yeah. Just sore now." I shift, wincing as my ribs protest. "Though I feel like I got into a fistfight with the mountain. Spoiler alert: the mountain won."
A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. "Mountains usually do."
The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it's heavy with unspoken things. I watch as he moves around the cabin, his gait slightly uneven but fluid in its own way.
"How long did it take?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
He pauses, back to me. "How long did what take?"
"To learn to walk again. After..." I gesture toward his leg, even though he can't see it under the blankets.
For a moment, I think he'll ignore the question or snap at me. But then his shoulders drop slightly.
"Eight months before I could walk without assistance. A year before I could manage uneven terrain. Two years before I could ski again." He turns to face me. "Why?"
I shrug, then regret it as pain shoots through my shoulder. "It took me seven months after my knee surgery before I could ski again. Not competitively, though. That dream was toast."
He sits in the chair across from me, elbows on knees.
"The Olympic trials. I remember hearing about that from people in town."
"Yeah, well. Not my finest moment." I attempt a smile that probably comes out more like a grimace. "One minute I'm on track for the Olympics, the next I'm sprawled across the slope with my knee pointing the wrong direction and my dreams going up in smoke."
"That's why you take risks," he says. It's not a question.
"Bingo." I meet his gaze directly. "When I'm pushing the limits, just for a moment, I'm me again. The me that had a future beyond teaching tourists how to pizza and french fry."
He nods, understanding in those winter-blue eyes. "And when things go wrong?"
"Then at least I feel something real." The honesty surprises even me. "Even if it's pain or fear."
Rhett looks down at his hands—strong, capable hands that carried me through the snow, that checked my fever through the night. "Five years ago, I was leading a rescue operation on the north face. Climber got disoriented in a sudden storm, fell into a crevasse."
My breath catches. He's actually opening up.
"I was cocky back then. Thought I was invincible." His voice turns hollow. "We located him, but conditions were deteriorating. Others wanted to call it off until morning. I insisted we could reach him."
"What happened?" I ask softly.
"We got him out. My team was ascending with him when I noticed signs of instability above us." His jaw tightens. "I ordered everyone to move. Fast. But I stayed back, anchoring the rope. The slide hit before I could follow them."
I can almost see it—Rhett, holding position while his team escaped, the wall of snow bearing down on him.
"The crevasse stopped me from being swept away completely. But my leg was crushed. By the time they dug me out..." He gestures to his left leg. "Frostbite finished what the rocks started."
"You saved them," I whisper. "You're a hero."
He looks up sharply. "I'm no hero. I was reckless, just like—" He stops abruptly.
"Just like me," I finish. "Except you risked yourself for others. I just risk myself for the thrill."
"My ex didn't see it that way. She saw someone who chose the mountain over coming home safely. Who loved the rush more than..."
"More than her?" I supply when he trails off.
He nods once, jaw tight.
"She left you because of the accident?"
"Six months after. Said she couldn't handle being married to 'half a man.'" His voice is flat, but I can hear the old pain underneath.
Anger flares in my chest. "What a bitch."
A startled laugh escapes him. "She wasn't wrong. I wasn't the same person."
"None of us are, after something like that." I shift, sitting up straighter despite the pain. "But we're still whole people. Different, but whole."
His eyes meet mine, something new flickering in their depths.
"You know what's funny?" I continue. "We both lost the same thing. Our identities. Who we thought we were going to be."
"The difference is how we handled it," he says. "You chase the feeling. I avoid it."
"We're both hiding," I realize aloud. "I'm hiding from accepting a new future. You're hiding from any future at all."
He stares at me like I've reached across the space between us and slapped him.
"You don't know me," he says, with tired resignation.
"I know enough." I hold his gaze. "I know you sit up all night with strangers who've been stupid enough to get themselves buried in avalanches.
I know you risk your life daily for people who'll probably never thank you properly.
I know you pretend to be this grumpy mountain hermit, but you're actually the softest person on this entire mountain range. "
"Careful," he warns, but there's a dangerous warmth in his eyes now.
"Or what?" I challenge. "You'll rescue me again?"
He stands abruptly, moving to the window, putting distance between us. "The roads should be clear soon."
The subject change is so obvious it almost makes me laugh. Almost.
"Rhett."
He doesn't turn.
"Rhett," I repeat, softer. "Look at me."
When he finally does, the raw emotion in his face steals my breath. He's fighting so hard against whatever this is between us.
"Come here," I whisper.
"Bad idea," he says, but his feet are already moving toward me.
He stops just out of reach, like he's afraid to come closer. So I stand, ignoring the protest from my ribs, and close the distance myself.
"I'm going to kiss you now," I tell him, reaching up to touch his bearded cheek. "Unless you can give me one good reason why I shouldn't."
His eyes search mine, conflicted. "I'm seventeen years older than you."
"That's not a good reason." I trace the outline of his jaw with my fingertips. "Try again."
"I live alone on a mountain with a dog."
"Still not good enough." My hand slides to the nape of his neck. "Last chance."
His breathing is uneven now. "I'm broken."
"So am I," I whisper, rising on tiptoes. "Maybe that's why we fit."
When our lips finally meet, it's like the moment before an avalanche—that suspended breath where the world holds perfectly still before everything breaks loose. His mouth is softer than I expected, contrasting with the scratch of his beard against my skin.
For a heartbeat, he remains frozen. Then, with a sound like surrender, his arms come around me, careful of my injuries but pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, ignites, his restraint crumbling as my fingers thread through his hair.
One kiss becomes many. His hands span my waist, thumbs brushing the skin beneath my borrowed shirt. Mine explore the solid planes of his chest, the strong column of his neck, the surprising softness of his hair.
"Jade," he murmurs against my mouth.
I don't care. I want more—more of his touch, more of the delicious weight of him pressing me carefully back against the wall, more of the heat building between us that has nothing to do with my recent fever.
His hand slides up my ribcage, hesitating just below my breast. I arch into him, silently asking for what I want. With a groan, he palms the weight of me through my shirt, his thumb brushing across the peak. Sparks shoot through my body, pooling low in my belly.
The radio on the counter suddenly crackles to life. "Base to Rhett, come in."
He jerks back like he's been burned, chest heaving. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he stares at me.
"You should get that," I say, trying to regulate my breathing.
He nods, but doesn't move for a moment, seemingly torn between duty and desire. Finally, he steps back, grabbing the radio with a shaking hand.
"Rhett here," he answers, voice rough.
I can't make out the words from the other end, just the staticky voice of whoever's calling. But I see the change in Rhett's posture, the way he straightens, walls rebuilding.
"Copy that. We'll be ready." He sets the radio down and turns to me, expression carefully blank. "Roads will be clear by mid-afternoon. They're sending a snowcat up to get us."
Just like that, the spell is broken. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold.
"Rhett—"
"I should check your bandages before we go." He's moving away, voice professional once more. "And get you some painkillers for the ride down."
He disappears into what must be a bathroom, leaving me standing there, lips still tingling from his kiss, body still humming with unfulfilled desire.
I sink back onto the couch, reality crashing down around me. This man is wounded in ways that have nothing to do with his missing leg. His ex-wife didn't just leave him—she destroyed something fundamental in him when she did.
As I listen to him moving around, putting distance between us in more ways than one, I realize that rescuing Rhett Sullivan might be the most dangerous thing I've ever attempted.
But I've never been one to back down from a challenge.