seven
Rhett
I wake before dawn, as always. What's not usual is finding myself on the living room floor, a cushion under my head and a blanket that barely covers my frame. Aspen lies pressed against my side, her warmth a familiar comfort.
The events of yesterday flood back—Jade's fever breaking, our conversation, that kiss—and I close my eyes, cursing myself for my weakness. For giving in. For pulling away.
Aspen's ears perk up, her head turning toward the couch where Jade sleeps. She whines softly, then untangles herself from me and pads over to her. I watch in disbelief as my fiercely loyal companion gently rests her chin on the edge of the couch, eyes fixed on Jade's sleeping form.
"Traitor," I whisper.
Aspen's tail wags once, but she doesn't move from her position. In the six years I've had her, I've never seen her warm up to someone so quickly.
I push myself up, socket protesting after a night on the hard floor.
The fire has burned down to embers, so I add more logs, stoking it back to life.
The cabin gradually brightens with morning light filtering through the windows.
The storm has passed completely, leaving behind that particular crystal-blue sky that only follows heavy snow.
"Good morning."
I turn to find Jade awake, hair tousled, watching me with those summer-green eyes. Aspen immediately jumps up, front paws on the couch, nosing at Jade's hand.
"Sorry about her," I say, moving to pull Aspen back. "She's not usually this pushy with strangers."
"We're not exactly strangers anymore, are we?" Jade says, scratching behind Aspen's ears. The dog's expression is pure bliss, tongue lolling out. "We've bonded. She saved my life too, after all."
I can't argue with that. Instead, I retreat to the kitchen. "Hungry?"
"Starving," she admits, attempting to sit up. Her winces don't escape my notice.
"Let me help." I cross back to her, offering my arm for support. She takes it, her hand small and warm against mine. Once she's sitting, Aspen immediately hops up beside her on the couch, circling three times before settling against her uninjured side.
"Aspen, down," I command.
"It's fine," Jade says, already stroking the dog's fur. "She's keeping me warm."
I shake my head, returning to the kitchen. "You've turned my working dog into a lap dog in forty-eight hours."
"It's my superpower," she calls back. "Corrupting perfectly good rescue animals."
I find myself smiling as I pull out eggs and the few fresh vegetables I have left.
I’ll have to go into town soon. The domesticity of the moment doesn't escape me—making breakfast for a beautiful woman while morning sun streams through the windows.
It's been years since I've experienced anything like this.
"Can I help?" Jade asks, attempting to stand.
"Stay put. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor," she argues, but settles back down.
"Closest thing for fifty miles at the moment."
I scramble eggs with peppers and onions, toast the last of my bread, and brew coffee strong enough to stand a spoon in. When I bring a plate over to Jade, Aspen immediately sits up, nose twitching hopefully.
"Don't even think about it," I tell her. "You've already had breakfast."
Jade laughs, the sound warming the cabin more effectively than the fire. "She's got the puppy-dog eyes down to a science."
"Six years of practice," I reply, fetching my own breakfast. I hesitate for a moment, then sit beside her on the couch rather than retreating to my usual chair. Aspen, now squeezed between us, looks absolutely delighted with this arrangement.
We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes. I'm acutely aware of Jade beside me—the subtle scent of her skin, the way she hums appreciatively at the first sip of coffee, the occasional brush of her arm against mine as she eats.
"This is really good," she says, raising her fork. "I thought mountain men survived on jerky and pine cones."
"Only on special occasions."
She laughs again, warming my body in a way that I thought was no longer possible.
"So," she says, setting her empty plate aside. "What's the plan for today?"
"SAR confirmed roads will be cleared by afternoon. I'd imagine Carlson will send someone up for you as soon as they can."
"Oh." Her expression falls slightly. "Right."
"I’ll have to go into the office. Need to debrief, file the incident report."
"Incident report. Is that what I am?" There's a teasing note in her voice, but something vulnerable underneath.
I look at her directly. "You know you're more than that."
Her gaze holds mine, searching. "Am I?"
Aspen chooses this moment to flop dramatically across both our laps, forcing us closer together. Jade giggles, scratching the dog's belly.
"She's not subtle, is she?" she says.
"Never has been." I find myself smiling again. It's becoming a habit around her.
We spend the morning like this—talking easily, sharing space.
I change Jade's bandages, our breaths mingling as I lean close.
She tells me stories about her most ridiculous ski students; I counter with tales of bizarre rescue missions.
Aspen shuttles between us, bringing toys to Jade as offerings, then looking to me for approval, as if ensuring I know she's still loyal.
When Jade attempts to stand unassisted and wavers, I'm there instantly, steadying her. Her hand grips my forearm, fingers pressing into muscle.
"I've got you," I say.
"I know," she replies softly, looking up at me with an expression that makes my chest tighten.
Against every better judgment, I bend down and kiss her again—briefly, lightly. When I pull back, her eyes remain closed for an extra heartbeat, lashes dark against her cheeks.
Aspen whines, circling us anxiously.
"Even she doesn't want this to end," Jade murmurs.
The radio crackles before I can respond. "Base to Rhett."
I reluctantly move away to answer it. "Rhett here."
"Road's clear to your position. Carlson is sending up the resort's snowcat for Wilson. ETA ninety minutes."
"Copy that." I set the radio down, turning back to Jade. "Sounds like your ride is on its way."
The silence that follows feels heavier than before.
"We should get you ready," I say finally. "I'll find your things."
I busy myself gathering her now-dry clothes, the few items from her pockets, anything to avoid the uncertainty hanging in the air.
What happens when we leave this cabin? When we return to our separate lives—the reckless ski instructor and the cautious rescuer?
When the intensity of these days fades into memory?
I'm folding her jacket when arms slide around my waist from behind. She presses her cheek against my back, and I freeze.
"Jade..."
"I don't want to pretend this didn't happen," she says, voice muffled against my shirt. "I don't want to go back to being strangers."
I close my eyes, savoring the feel of her against me. "I don't either."
"But?"
I turn in her arms, looking down at her upturned face. "But I don't know how this works. Out there."
Before she can respond, something nudges hard against the backs of my knees, nearly buckling them. Aspen stands there, looking enormously pleased with herself as she forces us closer together.
Jade laughs, the sound slightly watery. "See? Even Aspen thinks we should figure it out."
I rest my forehead against hers, allowing myself this moment. "She's usually right."
"Smart dog."
"Smartest I know."
We stand like that until the radio crackles again, calling us back to reality. As we prepare for her departure, Aspen follows Jade everywhere, carrying her glove in her mouth, whining whenever she moves too far away.
Just like her owner, my dog seems unwilling to let Jade Wilson go. And just like my dog, I have no idea what to do about it.