Page 32 of Wrecked on the Mountain

Collective gasps and nervous laughter from the crowd. Beside me, I hear Brooke mutter something that sounds like "hypothermia protocol."

"But don't worry," I add, looking directly at her. "We've got medical supervision, heated recovery facilities, and all the free hot chocolate you can drink afterwards, thanks to our biggest sponsor today, Betty and Bear Paw Café!"

Martha holds up the hat with theatrical flair. "Six names. One lucky winner."

I step forward, making a show of rolling up my sleeves. The crowd's energy is infectious—kids bouncing on their toes, adults placing donations, the whole community invested in this moment.

My hand hovers over the hat, and I catch Brooke's eye. She's biting her lower lip, in a way that makes me want to smooth it with my thumb.

Please be her. Please be her. Please be—

"The winner of this year's polar plunge," I announce, unfolding the paper, "is..."

Chapter Seven

Brooke

"Dr. Brooke Shields," Jamie announces with a beaming grin.

The crowd erupts like I've just won the lottery instead of being sentenced to hypothermia.

Of all the ways I imagined spending this particular day, getting dunked in a freezing lake while the entire town of Stone River Mountain cheers wasn't exactly on my list.

Yeah. Happy fucking birthday to me.

I stand there frozen—ironically—staring at the piece of paper in his hands like it might spontaneously combust and change the outcome.

"This has to be a mistake," I say, raising my voice over the cheering crowd. "Did you check the name twice? Maybe it's smudged. Paper can be tricky to read in cold weather—"

"Nope," Jamie says with that infuriating grin, holding up the paper so I can see my name written in Martha's careful script. "Clear as day. Congratulations, Brooke."

The way he says my name makes heat pool low in my belly despite the fact that I'm about to be dunked in water that's probably colder than a morgue freezer.

"Jamie," I start, my brain scrambling for any medical argument that might save me. "As a physician, I feel obligated to point out the serious risks of cold water immersion."

"Ah huh," he nods as we move through the crowd.

"I'm serious. Hypothermia can set in within minutes. There's also the risk of cold shock response, which can cause cardiac arrhythmia—"

"Which is exactly why we have the best medical supervision in the state," he interrupts, gesturing toward me with theatrical flair. "Our very own Dr. Shields will be monitoring her own vital signs!"

The crowd loves this.

They're practically bouncing with excitement, and I can see phones being held up to record what's about to be either my most embarrassing moment. Or my actual death.

"That's not how medical supervision works!" I protest, but my voice gets lost in the crowd's renewed cheering.

Betty appears beside me with a fluffy white robe that looks like it weighs more than I do.

"Don't you worry, honey," she says, patting my arm. "We've got everything you need. There's a heated changing tent right over there."

I look where she's pointing. The "changing tent" looks like something you'd find at a high-end resort, complete with plush carpeting visible through the open flap and what appears to be a space heater glowing inside.

"This is insane," I mutter.

"Insanely fun!" Linda calls out from the crowd, holding up her phone. "Smile, Doc!"

I follow Betty toward the tent anyway, because apparently my body has accepted this fate even if my brain hasn't.