Page 10 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man (Forbidden In Fall Mountain Man #1)

"And you're going against her wishes." It's not a question.

"I'm doing my job properly." Her chin lifts in that stubborn way I've come to adore. "The program needs modifications to meet minimum safety standards, but it deserves to continue."

Relief and something warmer flood through me. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me for doing the right thing." She reaches for my hand. "I'm not risking my career for you, Jax."

"No?"

"I'm doing it for Darius, who stopped using his fists to solve problems. For Mia, who found confidence in building something with her own hands. For all of them." Her fingers tighten around mine. "And yes, maybe a little for you too."

I pull her into my lap, needing her closer. She comes willingly, arms sliding around my neck as she settles against me.

"You're nothing like I expected," I tell her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Neither are you." She traces the scar on my cheekbone. "The grumpy mountain man has hidden depths."

"Only you get to see them." The admission slips out before I can filter it.

Something shifts in her expression, softening into wonder. "Why me?"

The question deserves honesty. "Because you see past the surface. You question. You adapt when evidence contradicts your assumptions. You care about the kids more than the rules."

"That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Her voice holds a touch of wonder.

"I'm just getting started." I brush my lips against hers. "Give me time."

Time. Such a simple request that carries such complex implications. She lives in Sacramento. I'm rooted here in Whisper Vale. Her career is just beginning. Mine took a hard turn years ago.

Yet when she kisses me back, those complications fade into background noise. What matters is this moment. This woman in my arms who sees me clearly and chooses to stay anyway.

"I need to finish this report," she murmurs against my lips. "And you have a program to run."

"Responsibilities." I sigh dramatically. "The bane of adult existence."

Her laugh vibrates against my chest. "Tonight," she promises. "We'll have tonight."

I reluctantly let her slide from my lap, already missing her warmth. "I'll hold you to that."

"I'm counting on it." The heat in her eyes makes promises her professional demeanor can't quite disguise.

I force myself to leave, knowing, if I stay, neither of us will accomplish anything productive today. The teens are gathered at the equipment shed, ready for their team challenges. I focus on their needs, their progress, keeping my mind on the program that's been my purpose for the past four years.

But throughout the day, my thoughts return to Riley. To the way she fits against me. The intelligence behind her questions. The courage it takes to stand up for what she believes rather than what's expected.

It's during the afternoon's high ropes exercise, watching Darius help Kevin overcome his fear of heights, that the truth hits me with unavoidable clarity.

I'm falling for her. Maybe already fallen.

The realization settles like a certainty I've always known but just now acknowledged. Riley Chaffeur, with her regulations and tablet and stubborn determination, has worked her way past every defense I've built since leaving the fire service.

"Mr. Reeves?" Mia's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." I check her harness, making sure it's properly secured before her climb.

"Is Ms. Chaffeur going to shut us down?" The directness of the question surprises me.

"No," I answer truthfully. "She sees what we're doing here."

Mia nods, satisfied. "Good. Cause I think she's good for you."

I raise an eyebrow. "That right?"

"You smile more." She shrugs, adjusting her helmet. "It's weird but nice."

With that assessment, she begins her climb, leaving me to process the observation. Do I smile more? Has Riley's presence changed me that visibly in just four days?

By the time evening falls and the teens head to the bunkhouse, I have my answer. Something's changed, not just between Riley and me, but within me. A door long closed has been reopened, letting in light I'd forgotten how to see.

When I return to the cabin, Riley stands on the porch, silhouetted against the sunset. Her hair shines copper in the fading light, face turned toward the mountains as if seeking answers in their ancient strength.

She turns at the sound of my approach, and the smile that blooms across her face tells me everything I need to know. This isn't just desire. This isn't just compatibility. This is something rare and precious. Something worth fighting for.

"Dinner's ready," she says, gesturing inside. "I hope you don't mind. I found supplies and thought you might be hungry after a full day."

She's cooked for me. Such a simple gesture that carries such meaning.

"Mind? I'm starving." I climb the steps, pulling her into my arms. "For more than just food."

Her laugh fills the gathering darkness with warmth. "One thing at a time."

The cabin feels different with her in it. Warmer. More like a home than just a place to sleep. The simple meal she's prepared sits on the table, nothing fancy but made with care. Something tightens in my chest at the sight.

We eat by lamplight, talking about the day's activities.

Her observations about the teens are insightful, noticing patterns I've seen but never articulated.

The way Kevin responds to positive reinforcement.

How Mia tests boundaries before accepting them.

Jesse's natural leadership that needs channeling.

"What made you start this program?" she asks, setting down her fork. "You mentioned leaving the fire service after your injury, but why this specifically?"

The question digs deeper than she knows. I consider deflecting, keeping to the surface story I tell most people. But Riley deserves more than that. She sees the truth in what we do here. Maybe she should know the truth behind why I do it.

"My brother, Colt," I say finally. "This program exists because the system failed him."

Interest sparks in her eyes. "You have a brother? You've never mentioned him."

"We're not as close as I'd like." I push my plate away, memories surfacing that I usually keep buried. "He's three years younger. Thirty-four now. Lives on the other side of the mountain, closer to town."

"What happened with him and the system?" She leans forward, fully engaged now.

"Our parents weren't exactly parent material." I keep my voice level despite the old anger stirring. "Dad left when I was ten, Colt was seven. Mom checked out even before that. Bottles were more interesting than her kids."

Riley's expression softens with understanding rather than pity. It makes continuing easier.

"I looked after Colt as best I could. But I was just a kid myself." The admission still carries guilt after all these years. "When I was sixteen, Mom disappeared for two weeks. Neighbor reported us. System stepped in."

"They separated you?" She reaches across the table, her hand covering mine.

"Different foster homes." I turn my hand to grip hers. "I was 'nearly grown' according to my caseworker. Colt was thirteen, angry, trouble in school. No one wanted to take both of us."

"That's horrible." The genuine outrage in her voice touches something deep in me.

"Standard procedure." I meet her eyes. "Isn't that what they teach you in social worker school?"

She winces slightly. "Sometimes separation is necessary for safety, but siblings should stay together whenever possible. That's the ideal."

"Not much ideal about the system." I take a breath, pushing down the bitterness. "Anyway, I aged out at eighteen. Got my GED, joined the wildfire crews. Physical work, good pay, no time to think."

"And Colt?"

"By fifteen, he'd been through four foster homes. Each one gave up on him faster than the last." The old anger burns in my chest. "Last one called him 'incorrigible' in the official report. Like he was broken beyond fixing."

"What happened to him?" Her voice is gentle, encouraging without pushing.

"He fell in with a motorcycle club. Not quite a gang, but close enough.

Guys who accepted him. Gave him the belonging he never had anywhere else.

" I can still picture him at seventeen, leather jacket too big for his frame, trying to look tough.

"By eighteen, he had a record. Illegal street racing, mostly.

Minor stuff, but enough to close doors."

"And now?" She squeezes my hand.

"Now he's a blacksmith. Metalworker." I can't keep the pride from my voice. "Got out of the club life, taught himself a trade. Makes custom pieces that sell for thousands to rich folks in Reno."

"That's amazing." She sounds genuinely impressed. "Self-taught?"

"Community college welding classes eventually. But yeah, mostly learned by doing." I smile, thinking of Colt's workshop, the intricate beauty he creates from raw metal. "He teaches classes for kids now too. Shows them how to make things with their hands."

"So he found his way despite the system."

"Because he's stubborn as hell." I run my thumb over her knuckles. "But he could have been so much more, so much sooner, if someone had believed in him. Seen past the anger to what was underneath."

Understanding dawns in her eyes. "That's what this program is about. Seeing past the surface."

"Every kid here reminds me of him." I admit what I've never said aloud to anyone. "Darius especially. All that anger, hiding fear. All that potential buried under labels slapped on by people who never took the time to really see him."

"You're trying to give them what Colt never had." It's not a question.

"A chance. Just a real chance." I meet her gaze. "These kids aren't broken. They're survivors. They just need someone to show them how to channel that strength."

"The sheriff in town still sees him as trouble," I add, remembering Riley's interaction with the kids on her first day. "Sees the tattoos and the motorcycle and makes assumptions. Doesn't matter that Colt hasn't been in trouble for over a decade."

"That must be frustrating for both of you."

"More for him than me. I've got my reputation in town. Colt still fights his past every day." I sigh, leaning back in my chair. "We don't talk as much as we should. My fault as much as his. Too many years of me trying to be the responsible one, him resenting being taken care of."

"Have you told him about the program?" Riley asks.

"He knows about it. Helped build some of the structures, actually." I smile at the memory of working alongside him last summer. "But we don't talk about why I started it. Some things are still too raw."

"Thank you for telling me." She rises, coming around the table to stand beside me. "For trusting me with this."

I pull her onto my lap, needing her closeness after opening old wounds. "You deserved to know what drives this place. Who drives me."

"It makes even more sense now." She wraps her arms around my neck. "Why you fight so hard for these kids. Why regulations from people who never meet them frustrate you so much."

"Now you see why your report matters so much." I trace her cheekbone with my thumb. "These kids need this chance. For some of them, it's the only one they'll get."

"I won't let them down." The determination in her voice leaves no room for doubt. "I won't let you down either."

In that moment, looking into her eyes, I believe her completely. Whatever happens with her report, with the department, with us, I know she understands what matters now. She sees the heart of what we do here, not just the structure around it.

I kiss her then, pouring everything I can't yet say into the contact. She responds with equal fervor, her body melting against mine as the kiss deepens into something more urgent, more necessary.

Words can wait. Tonight is for showing rather than telling. For connection that transcends the barriers between her world and mine.

As I carry her to the bedroom, I realize I've never felt more at home in this cabin than with her in it. Never felt more certain of my path than with her walking beside me.

The kids have Jesse. The program is running smoothly. Tonight belongs to us, to exploring this connection that defies all my expectations.

Tonight, I'll show her exactly what she means to me. And maybe, if I'm brave enough, I'll find the words to tell her too.