Page 6 of Tension with the Mountain Man (Silver Ridge Mountain Men #2)

six

Sally

I wake up feeling more rested than I have in months. Sunlight streams through Tucker's bedroom window, casting everything in a golden glow, and for a moment I let myself just enjoy the sensation of being held, protected, cherished.

Then my phone starts ringing.

"Shit," I mutter, reaching for it on his nightstand. "Dr. Jacobson."

"Sally, we've got a situation." Bronwyn's voice is tight with stress. "There's been an accident at the north logging site. Danny Marsh is coming in. A tree came down wrong, missed him by inches. He's shaken up but conscious. Marcus is driving him in now."

I'm instantly awake, already reaching for my clothes scattered on Tucker's floor. "How bad?"

"Concussion, possible internal injuries from when he dove for cover."

"I'm on my way." I hang up and start pulling on yesterday's dress, acutely aware of Tucker sitting up behind me.

"What happened?" His voice is still rough with sleep.

"Accident at the north site. Danny's hurt—close call with a falling tree." I turn to look at him and watch the color drain from his face.

"The north site." His voice goes flat. "The widow maker I flagged on Thursday."

"Tucker."

"It was my day off yesterday." He's out of bed, reaching for his jeans. "I should have gone in anyway. Should have made sure they dealt with it properly."

"You can't work seven days a week."

"John died on my day off too." The words come out sharp, bitter. "I was dealing with paperwork. Wasn't there."

My heart breaks for him, but there's no time. "I have to go. Danny needs—"

"I'm coming with you."

We drive separately, him following my car in his truck. By the time we reach the clinic, Bill's pickup is already there. He and another logger are helping Danny through the door.

"What happened?" I ask Bill as we get Danny onto an examination table.

"That dead pine Tucker marked on Thursday," Bill says, his face grim. "Wind picked up this morning, brought it down while Danny was checking the skidder. He dove behind the equipment, but the impact threw debris."

I glance at Tucker, who's gone completely still in the doorway. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.

"Tucker warned us about that tree," Danny manages through obvious pain. "Said to stay clear until it was dealt with. I got careless."

"Let me examine you," I say, moving into doctor mode. "Tucker, wait outside."

"I'm staying."

The tone brooks no argument. For the next two hours, he stands against the wall like a statue while I work—checking Danny's pupils, ordering X-rays, running a CT scan. Thankfully, there's no internal bleeding. Concussion, three cracked ribs, multiple contusions, but he'll recover.

When Danny's wife arrives to take him home, it's just Tucker and me in the examination room.

"It wasn't your fault," I say immediately.

"I marked that tree as dangerous." His voice is hollow. "If I'd been there…"

"It was your day off."

"That's not an excuse." He finally looks at me, and I see decades of guilt in his eyes. "This is what happens when I get distracted. When I start thinking I can have a normal life."

"Tucker, that's not true."

"I spent yesterday in bed with you instead of checking on my crew." He steps back when I reach for him. "Danny could have died." He cuts himself off, jaw working.

"While you were what? Being human? Having one day where you weren't carrying everyone's safety on your shoulders?"

"Yes." The word cracks like a whip. "That's exactly what I can't afford. I made a promise, Sally. To my brother. To myself. Nothing matters more than keeping them safe."

"And you do keep them safe. Danny himself said you warned them."

"Warnings aren't enough if I'm not there to enforce them." He runs both hands through his hair, agitated. "Christ, I can't even think straight anymore. All I think about is you. Your laugh, your skin, the way you say my name when you come." He stops abruptly, color high on his cheeks.

"And that's a bad thing?" My voice is small.

"It is when people get hurt because of it."

"Nobody got hurt because of us, Tucker. It was an accident."

"There are no accidents in logging. Only failures of prevention." He moves toward the door. "I can't do this, Sally."

"Do what?"

"This. Us. I can't be the man you need and the safety coordinator they need. And they have to come first."

"So that's it? One accident that you couldn't have prevented, and you're done?"

"You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly." Anger flares hot in my chest. "You're scared. Not of the job, but of letting yourself be happy. Of believing you deserve more than constant guilt and isolation."

"Maybe I don't deserve more."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Is it?" He turns back, and his smile is sad. "Bronwyn mentioned Vancouver called again. Take the job, Sally."

I feel like he's punched me. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Take the job. Get out of Silver Ridge."

"You're trying to get rid of me?"

"I'm trying to save you from wasting your talent here." His voice gentles. "You're brilliant. You deserve more than a small mountain town and a man who will always put his guilt before your happiness."

"What if I don't want more? What if I want you?"

"You think you do now. But eventually you'll resent me. You'll realize you gave up everything for someone who can't give you what you need."

"And what is it you think I need?"

"Someone whole. Someone who doesn't wake up every morning carrying twenty-two years of failure. Someone who can love you without reservation."

"You told me you loved me," I whisper.

"I do." The admission seems to hurt him. "That's why I'm letting you go."

He leaves before I can respond, the door closing with a quiet finality that echoes through the empty room.

I sink onto the examination stool, my legs suddenly unable to hold me. In less than three hours, I've gone from waking up in the arms of the man I love to watching him systematically destroy everything between us.

The rest of my shift passes in a haze. I treat a sprained ankle, two cases of flu, and a minor burn, all while feeling like I'm moving through quicksand.

That evening, I sit at my kitchen table with my laptop open to the Vancouver email. The offer is generous and everything I thought I wanted six months ago. Prestige, advancement, the chance to prove myself in a major trauma center.

But as I look around my cottage, I realize something.

I don't want prestige. I want the man who trusted me with his deepest pain, who held me like I was the most important person in the world, who made me believe in the possibility of forever.

Tucker thinks he's protecting me, but he's really just protecting himself. From hope. From healing. From the chance that he deserves happiness after decades of self-imposed penance.

I close the laptop without responding to Vancouver.

Tomorrow, I'll figure out how to fight for him. How to make him see that his guilt doesn't define him, that loving me doesn't mean failing his crew, that he's allowed to have both purpose and joy.

Some things are worth fighting for. And Tucker Reeves, the stubborn, self-sacrificing, impossibly good Tucker Reeves, is worth everything.