Page 6 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man (Forbidden In Fall Mountain Man #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

JAX

"Your form is wrong." I adjust Tyler's stance as he prepares to throw the hatchet. "Square your shoulders to the target."

It's day three of Riley being here, and I'm hyperaware of her presence ten feet away, tablet in hand, documenting every move I make. She's been watching the morning's activities with those perceptive eyes that miss nothing.

"Better," I tell Tyler as his throw sticks in the target. "Now do it ten more times exactly like that."

Tyler grins, pleased with his success. Nearby, the other teens take turns with their own targets under Jesse's supervision. The oldest of the group at seventeen, Jesse has natural leadership qualities that emerged once he stopped trying to be invisible.

"Mr. Reeves?" Mia approaches, holding her hatchet. "Can you check my grip? I keep throwing too low."

I demonstrate the proper technique, conscious of Riley watching our interaction.

Since the orienteering exercise yesterday, she's been different.

Less critical, more observant. I caught her smiling when Darius helped Kevin with fire-building last night, a small victory that shouldn't make me feel so satisfied.

"Try again," I tell Mia after correcting her stance.

Her throw lands solidly in the center of the target. Her face lights up with genuine pride, and that familiar rush of satisfaction that comes with watching these kids discover their own capabilities fills me.

"Nice work," I say simply.

As Mia rejoins the group, Riley approaches me, her expression thoughtful.

"Hatchet throwing seems like an unusual skill for rehabilitation," she says, but there's no condemnation in her tone.

"It's not about the hatchet." I lean against a nearby tree, giving her my full attention. "It's about focus, control, following instructions. Skills they can transfer to any situation."

"I've noticed." She glances at her tablet. "Their progress in three days is remarkable. Even Kevin seems less antagonistic."

"He just needed to succeed at something." I watch as Kevin lands a solid throw, receiving approving nods from his peers. "Most of these kids have never experienced competence in a skill that matters."

"Is that why you emphasize practical survival rather than academic learning?"

"They get academics too." I nod toward the mess cabin. "Two hours every afternoon with Mason. He's also certified in alternative education."

Her eyebrows rise. "You don't mention that in your program materials."

"Didn't think it mattered to your department. The referrals come through the court, not the school district."

"It matters." She makes a note on her tablet. "It shows a more comprehensive approach than I initially understood."

Something's shifted in her assessment. I can see it in the way she watches the teens, in the questions she asks. She's seeing beyond the surface violations to the core of what we do here.

It's a dangerous development for my peace of mind. I preferred her as an adversary. This version of Riley, the one who asks thoughtful questions and notices nuances, is harder to keep at a professional distance.

"We'll break for lunch in thirty," I tell her, needing space to clear my head. "Mason arrives at one for therapy and academic sessions if you want to observe."

"I'd like that." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture I've noticed she makes when she's processing new information. "And after?"

"Rock climbing. Basic skills only, on the practice wall."

Her eyes widen. "You have a climbing wall?"

I nod, smiling. "Built it myself last summer." I can't help the pride in my voice. "Twenty feet, with varying difficulty routes. Full safety gear and spotters."

"I'd like to see that too." She hesitates, then adds, "I've never tried climbing."

The admission carries a vulnerability that catches me off guard. "Could teach you the basics. If you want."

The offer slips out before I can consider its implications. Teaching Riley to climb means standing close, guiding her movements, possibly touching her. All things I've been carefully avoiding since that charged moment in the cabin.

"I'd like that," she says, her voice softer than usual.

Dangerous territory indeed.

After lunch, Riley observes Mason's academic session, occasionally asking questions but mostly watching how the teens engage with the material. Mason, a former high school teacher who specializes in at-risk youth, handles them with calm authority that complements my more direct approach.

When the session ends, the teens have an hour of free time before climbing. Most use it to improve their shelters or practice skills they've found challenging. It's another data point for Riley, seeing them voluntarily engage rather than being forced to participate.

I find her standing near the practice wall, examining the safety equipment I've laid out.

"Professional grade," I tell her, lifting a harness. "Inspected monthly."

"It's impressive." She runs her fingers along the climbing holds. "You built this yourself?"

"With help from last summer's group." I check the ropes and carabiners, a habit ingrained from years of trusting my life to proper equipment maintenance. "They needed to learn construction skills. I needed a climbing wall. Win-win."

"You're good at finding those opportunities." She watches me work, curiosity evident. "Teaching through practical application rather than abstract concepts."

"Book learning has its place." I secure the final rope. "But these kids need to feel their progress, not just hear about it."

The teens begin gathering for the climbing lesson, excitement buzzing among them. Even after three days, they approach each new activity with increasing confidence, their natural resilience emerging as they accumulate small successes.

I demonstrate basic climbing technique, emphasizing safety and communication between climber and belayer. Riley stands slightly apart, still observing but with noticeably fewer notes than on day one.

After each teen has completed a beginner route, I approach Riley. "Your turn."

"I'm not dressed for climbing," she protests, gesturing to her slightly less formal outfit of jeans and a button-up shirt.

"Borrowed clothes have worked so far." I hand her the smallest harness. "Unless you're afraid of heights."

The challenge works as intended. Her chin lifts, eyes narrowing. "I'm not afraid."

"Good." I help her step into the harness, keeping my touch professional despite the intimacy of adjusting straps around her thighs and waist. "I'll belay you myself."

The teens watch with undisguised interest as I explain the basics to Riley. She listens intently, focus absolute as she absorbs the instructions. It's the same quality I've noticed when she observes the program, an ability to fully engage with what's before her.

"Ready?" I ask, securing myself to the belay rope.

She nods, approaching the wall with determination. Her first attempt to pull herself up fails, arms not accustomed to supporting her body weight. Instead of giving up, she adjusts her grip and tries again, this time successfully finding footholds.

"Keep your weight on your legs," I call up to her. "Arms are for balance."

She follows the instruction immediately, her movements becoming more fluid. What she lacks in strength, she makes up for in careful planning, analyzing each move before executing it. Halfway up the wall, she pauses, breathing hard.

"You're doing great," I encourage, maintaining steady tension on the rope. "Take your time."

"It's higher than it looks from the ground," she calls back, voice tight but controlled.

"Focus on the next hold, not the height." I keep my tone matter-of-fact, the way I would with the teens. "One move at a time."

She continues climbing, methodical and determined. When she reaches the top, the teens break into spontaneous applause. The smile that spreads across her face is genuine, unguarded in a way I haven't seen before. Something pulls tight in my chest at the sight.

"Now what?" she calls down.

"Now you trust me to lower you safely." I shift my stance to better support her weight. "Lean back into the harness and walk your feet down the wall."

I see the moment of hesitation, the natural fear of leaning backward into empty space. Then determination settles back over her features, and she leans back, placing her trust in my hands and the rope between us.

I lower her slowly, our eyes locked the entire descent. When her feet touch the ground, she's breathless, exhilarated. Beautiful.

"That was amazing," she says, color high in her cheeks.

"You’re a natural talent." I begin unfastening her harness, fingers brushing against her waist. "Most first-timers don't make it past the halfway point."

"I had a good instructor." Her eyes meet mine, something unspoken passing between us.

The moment stretches until Darius calls for his turn on the more advanced route. I step back, returning to instructor mode, but my awareness of Riley remains acute for the remainder of the session.

As the sun begins to set, I send the teens to prepare dinner under Jesse's supervision. Riley lingers near the climbing wall, watching the golden light filter through the pines.

"Thank you," she says when I approach. "For teaching me."

"You're a quick study." I coil the climbing ropes, giving my hands something to do besides reaching for her. "In more ways than one."

She tilts her head, questioning.

"Your assessment of the program," I clarify. "It's evolved since you arrived."

She shrugs. "The evidence demanded reevaluation." She steps closer, helping me gather the equipment. "I'm still documenting compliance issues, but there's more to consider than I initially recognized."

"Such as?"

"The comprehensive approach. The individual attention. The measurable progress." She hands me a carabiner, our fingers brushing. "Traditional metrics don't capture what's happening here."

"Does your department care about what metrics don't capture?"

Her hesitation tells me everything. "They should," she finally says. "If the objective is truly rehabilitation rather than punishment."

"Big if." I finish packing the equipment, then turn to face her fully. "What does Riley Chaffeur think? Not the department. You."

It’s clear the directness of my question catches her off guard. She looks away, considering her answer.

"I think..." She meets my eyes again. "I think you've created something special here. Something that works despite breaking conventional rules. Maybe because it breaks them."

The admission costs her something. I can see it in the conflict behind her eyes, the professional boundaries being tested by what she's witnessed.

"Thank you for seeing that." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

"I'm still going to document the violations," she warns.

"I know." I step closer, drawn by something I can't name. "But seeing beyond them matters."

The clearing has emptied, the teens' voices fading toward the mess cabin. We stand alone in the golden hour light, the air between us electric.

"Jax." My name on her lips sounds like a question.

I shouldn't cross this line. She's evaluating my program. She's too young, too different, too temporary in my world. But the way she's looking at me demolishes every rational objection.

"Tell me to step back," I murmur, giving her the choice.

Instead, she closes the distance between us, rising on tiptoes as her hands come to rest lightly on my chest. The invitation is clear, consent given in the parting of her lips and the warmth in her eyes.

I cup her face in my hands and lower my mouth to hers.

The first touch is tentative, a question asked and answered in the soft press of lips. Then something ignites, caution burning away in the heat of connection. Her mouth opens under mine, inviting deeper exploration. I slide one hand to the back of her neck, cradling her head as I taste her fully.

She makes a small sound of surrender that travels straight to my core. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer as she responds with an eagerness that eggs me on.

The kiss deepens, intensifies. I back her against the climbing wall, bracketing her with my arms as her body arches toward mine. Her response is both innocent and hungry.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen from my kiss, her eyes wide with wonder and something like shock at her own response.

"That was..." She touches her fingers to her lips.

"Just the beginning," I finish for her, voice rough with desire.

Reality intrudes with the distant sound of the teens calling for us. Dinner is ready, our absence noted. I step back reluctantly, creating necessary space between us.

"We should join them," she says, attempting to recover her professional demeanor despite the flush in her cheeks.

"We should." I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, savoring the way she leans into my touch. "This conversation isn't over, Riley."

"No," she agrees softly. "It isn't."

We walk toward the mess cabin, careful not to touch, though everything in me wants to reach for her hand. The teens watch us enter with knowing looks that suggest our absence was discussed.

"Everything okay, Mr. Reeves?" Jesse asks, barely suppressing a smirk.

"Just securing the climbing equipment," I answer, my stern expression daring him to comment further.

"Ms. Chaffeur was helping," Mia adds innocently. "She’s very dedicated to understanding all aspects of the program."

Riley's blush deepens, but she handles the thinly veiled teasing with grace. "Professional thoroughness is important in any evaluation."

A few poorly hidden snickers suggest the teens aren't fooled, but they drop the subject when I give them The Look. Teenagers miss nothing, especially emotional undercurrents between adults.

Throughout dinner, I find my eyes drawn to Riley repeatedly. She participates in the conversation, answering questions about Sacramento and her work with other teens. The wall between her and the group has thinned considerably since her arrival.

As has the wall between us.

What happens now? She leaves tomorrow, taking her evaluation back to supervisors who want my program shut down. Our kiss changes nothing about her professional obligations or my responsibilities to these kids.

Yet it changes everything about how I see her. About how I see possibilities I'd stopped considering years ago.

Riley catches me watching her and holds my gaze across the table, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. Whatever this is, whatever it might become, it started with honesty. With seeing each other clearly despite our differences.

For a beat, I allow myself to lean into the unfamiliar warmth of connection with a woman who climbed my walls, literal and metaphorical, with the same determined grace.

And wonder where she might lead me if I follow.