Page 58 of Wrecked on the Mountain

Beau finally looks up, and there's something almost sympathetic in his expression.

"Look, man, I'm not trying to be a dick. But you remember what happened last time you got invested in someone who was only here temporarily."

I can feel Knox and Travis shifting uncomfortably, exchanging looks of the universal bro-code for "abort mission" when a conversation veers into emotional quicksand.

"Brooke's not Rebecca," I say through gritted teeth, cutting Beau a look.

"You're right," Beau agrees. "She's not. But she's still got a life in Chicago. A career she probably wants to go back to. Probably friends, family, a whole world that doesn't include our little mountain town."

"You guys don't know her. She left Chicago for a reason—"

"For three months," Beau interrupts. "She left Chicago for three months, man. That's not the same as leaving Chicago."

The logical part of my brain knows he's right. Knows that Brooke never said anything about staying permanently, never gave me any indication that this was more than a temporary escape from whatever drove her here.

But the part of me that's been floating for three days, the part that's been imagining her at Sunday dinner with my family this weekend, the part that's been thinking about showing her the sunrise from Cascade Ridge every morning for the next fifty years…

That part is screaming that Beau's wrong.

They're all wrong.

"Fuck it. I'm calling it a night," I announce abruptly, setting my beer down and tossing my pool cue to Travis who fumbles with it until it falls to the floor.

"Jamie—" Knox starts.

"It's fine," I cut him off, grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair. "Just tired."

But as I head for the door, Beau's voice follows me like a shadow.

You know she's only temporary, right?

I push through Timber Tavern's heavy wooden door, but it does nothing to cool the heat building in my chest.

I can still hear Knox calling my name from inside, probably trying to smooth over whatever the hell just happened, but I'm already stalking across the gravel parking lot toward my truck.

Temporary.

I yank open the driver's door and slide into the cab. I shove the key into the ignition and grip the steering wheel, staring out at the dark mountains rising around Stone River like silent judges.

My knuckles are white against the leather, and I force myself to take a breath before I do something stupid like drive my fist through the windshield.

They can't be right.

Just because last time I got invested in someone who was only here temporarily, I ended up with an engagement ring on my counter three days before the big day.

The engine turns over with a rumble, and I pull out of the parking lot, trying to focus on the route back to my cabin. Somehow, I drive past the darkened storefronts and the soft glow of porch lights of the town until I'm eventually driving in through the front gates of Mountain Rescue Station.

Temporary. Just passing through. Only here for three months.

I jump out of the truck and tell myself I'm just checking on the night shift. Making sure everything's running smoothly.

It's not like I'm stalking my own employee because some paranoid voice in my head is whispering that she's going to disappear the moment I let my guard down.

Except that's exactly what I'm doing.

I look around and the parking lot is mostly empty—just Chase's truck and one of the backup rescue vehicles. Brooke's car is gone.

My heart starts pounding in my chest, and I use my key to enter through the side door, expecting to find Brooke and Chase monitoring the weather systems or reviewing emergency protocols.