Page 5 of Tension with the Mountain Man (Silver Ridge Mountain Men #2)

five

Tucker

I've been thinking about holding Sally in my arms all day and it's driving me insane.

The way she felt against me, soft and warm and perfect. The little sounds she made when I touched her. The way she whispered "yours" like it was a vow she meant to keep forever.

Mine. The thought is even stronger now, more certain. Sally Jacobson belongs to me in every way that matters, and I belong to her.

I finish my site inspections in record time, eager to get to Sally's place.

We've fallen into a routine over the past few days—dinner at her cottage or mine, long conversations that stretch into the night, making love until we're both exhausted and sated.

It should feel too fast, too intense, but instead it feels like we're making up for lost time.

When I knock on her door, she answers wearing scrubs, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, looking tired but beautiful.

"Long day?" I ask, pulling her into my arms.

"Two emergency calls, three walk-ins, and Mrs. Henderson came in again claiming she has a rare tropical disease." She melts against me, and I feel her tension start to ease. "She read about it online."

"What was it this time?"

"Something she definitely didn't contract in rural Montana." She pulls back to look at me. "I need a shower and about twelve hours of sleep."

"Shower. I'll make dinner."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." I kiss her forehead. "Go. I'll handle food."

While she showers, I work in her kitchen, making a simple pasta with what she has on hand. It's domestic in a way that should feel strange after years of solitary meals, but instead feels right. Natural. Like this is what I've been missing.

Sally emerges wearing one of my t-shirts and soft pajama pants, her skin pink from the hot water. "That smells amazing."

"It's just pasta."

"It's perfect." She wraps her arms around me from behind while I stir the sauce. "Thank you."

We eat on her couch, Sally tucked against my side, and she tells me about a logger who came in with a minor chainsaw injury—properly treated in the field thanks to my safety protocols, she notes with pride that makes my chest tight.

"You're making a difference," she says. "The men respect you. They follow your rules because they trust you."

"Not all of them."

"Most of them. That matters, Tucker." She sets down her bowl, suddenly looking nervous. "I need to tell you something."

My stomach tightens. "What is it?"

"Vancouver called today. About the trauma position." She's not looking at me, focusing on her hands. "They want an answer by Monday."

The words hit like cold water. "Oh."

"It's an incredible opportunity. The salary is double what I make here. State-of-the-art facilities, a whole trauma team under me..." She trails off.

"Sounds perfect for you."

"It should be." She finally looks at me. "But Tucker, I don't want it. I want this. I want us."

My heart restarts. "Sally—"

"I know it's fast. I know we've only known each other a week. But I've never felt like this before. Like I found something I didn't even know I was looking for."

I set our bowls aside and pull her fully into my lap. "Tell me you're staying."

"I'm staying." She frames my face with her hands. "If you want me to."

"If I want—" I cut myself off with a kiss, pouring everything I feel into it. "Sally, I want you here more than I've wanted anything in my life."

"Good," she whispers against my lips. "Because I already decided. I'm telling them no on Monday."

After, we play chess. She's gotten better at anticipating my strategies, and tonight she actually beats me with a clever bishop sacrifice I didn't see coming.

"Rematch," I demand, already resetting the board.

"Tomorrow." She yawns, curling deeper into my side. "I'm too tired to think anymore."

"Want me to go so you can sleep?"

"No." Her hand tightens on my shirt. "Stay. Please."

We move to her bedroom, and I hold her while she falls asleep, her breathing evening out against my chest.

This has become my favorite part of our nights together—not just the sex, though that's incredible, but this quiet intimacy. The trust she shows by sleeping in my arms.

The next evening, she comes to my cabin. I've made stew again—it really is the extent of my cooking abilities—but Sally doesn't seem to mind.

"I can't stop thinking about what you said last night," I tell her over dinner. "About staying."

"Are you having second thoughts? Want me to take the job?"

"God, no." I reach across the table to take her hand. "I'm just... I keep waiting to wake up. To find out this is all a dream."

"It's not a dream." She squeezes my hand. "I'm here. I'm staying. We're doing this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I'm around the table before she finishes speaking, pulling her up into my arms.

"Show me," she whispers. "Show me why I'm staying."

Instead of words, I show her. I carry her to my bedroom and worship every inch of her body, taking my time until she's begging, until she's promising me anything if I'll just let her come. When I finally slide inside her, I nearly lose it.

"This," I say, moving slowly, deeply. "This is why you're staying."

"Tucker," she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders.

"Say it again. Say you're staying."

"I'm staying," she cries out as she comes apart beneath me. "I'm staying, I'm yours, I'm, ah!"

I swallow the rest with a kiss as I follow her over the edge.

Afterward, as we lie tangled together, she traces her fingers over my chest.

"I meant it," she says quietly. "About staying."

"Good." I tighten my arms around her. "Because I'm not letting you go."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both."

She laughs, the sound filling my chest with warmth. "I can live with that."