Page 18 of Wrecked on the Mountain

I load into my truck and soon I'm pulling into the Mountain Rescue parking lot. The second I kill the engine, all my good intentions go straight to hell.

Because Brooke is standing outside the main building, laughing at something Chase Morrison is saying.

And Chase—that charming, twenty-six-year-old golden retriever of a man—is standing way too close to her, grinning like he just won the lottery.

The spike of jealousy that shoots through me is immediate and completely irrational.

I slam the truck door and stride toward them, probably looking like a possessive asshole but unable to stop myself.

"Morrison," I bark, causing both of them to turn. "Don't you have equipment checks to finish?"

Chase's grin widens, like he knows exactly what he's doing. "Just finished, boss. Was telling Dr. Shields here about the best coffee spots in town."

"Coffee spots," I repeat flatly.

"You know, places with actual baristas and good ol' fashioned conversation," Chase continues, clearly enjoying himself. "I was thinking of showing her Bear Paw Café this afternoon—"

I ignore the asshole and look straight to Brooke. "Not happening. You're with me today. Let's go."

Chase raises an eyebrow. "I thought Beau was doing patrol—"

"Change of plans." I don't take my eyes off Brooke, who's looking between us with confusion. "Dr. Shields needs field experience."

"Sure thing, boss," Chase says with laughter in his voice. "Dr. Shields, maybe we can continue our conversation about... coffee... later?"

The way he says "coffee" makes it sound like he's talking about something entirely different, and my jaw clenches.

"That sounds nice," Brooke says politely, but her big beautiful eyes are on me, like she's trying to figure out what the hell just happened just as much as I am.

Chase heads inside, whistling something that sounds suspiciously like "Matchmaker, Matchmaker," and I resist the urge to throw something at his head.

"So," Brooke says once we're alone. "Patrol duty?"

"Trail conditions need checking after yesterday's snow," I say gruffly, starting toward the equipment shed. "Might as well see how you handle yourself in the field."

We gather some gear and head back to the truck. I hold the passenger door open for Brooke, my eyes automatically dropping to her perfectly curved ass as she climbs into the cab.

I snap my gaze away, focusing on a tree in the distance, the mountains, literally anything else. But the image is already burned into my brain.

Great. More chafing incoming.

I clear my throat and slam the door harder than necessary.

Soon, we're driving up Forest Service Road 247 in the rescue truck. It's a massive Ford F-350 that could probably survive an apocalypse. The cab is warm and comfortable, with heated seats and enough technology to coordinate a military operation if it needed to.

Brooke is staring out the window at the snow-covered landscape, her sultry mouth slightly open, eyes glistening as she stares in awe like she's never seen anything so beautiful.

"This is so stunning," she says with a smile. "I mean, I knew the mountains were pretty, but this is..."

"Different from your big city life?" I ask, glancing over at her.

"Different from everything." She turns to look at me. "How long have you lived here?"

"My whole life," I say, turning onto a narrower road that opens up a view of the town below. "Born at the hospital just downthere, grew up in the house where my parents still live. Never really wanted to be anywhere else."

It's more than I usually share with newcomers, but there's something about the way she's listening that makes me want to keep talking.

"That must be nice," she says. "Having those kind of... roots. Knowing exactly where you belong."