Page 66 of Wrecked on the Mountain

I start the coffee maker and lean against the marble counter, trying to process the fact that I spent the night at Brooke's place and it felt... right.

Like I haven't just spent the last seven years of my life building Mountain Rescue into something I'm proud of. Seven years of 3 AM callouts, brutal rescues, and the occasional heartbreak when we couldn't save someone.

Seven years of the guys calling me "Lone Wolf Striker" whenever I turned down their attempts to set me up with someone.

Knox has been telling me for years that I need to get laid. He's gone as far as to offer casual hook ups with his cousin, telling me that I'm turning into one of those weird mountain hermits who talks to squirrels.

I'd just roll my eyes and change the subject. Let them think what they wanted.

Because I wasn't interested in trying again. What was the point? I'd givenhereverything, thinking she was it for me. Rebecca had my heart, my ring, and my plans for the future.

Then she took off like Stone River was some kind of punishment instead of the most beautiful place on earth.

After that, it was easier to focus on the job. On making Mountain Rescue the best damn operation in three states. On taking care of my team, my community.

On not needing anyone.

But now...

The coffee maker beeps, jolting me from my thoughts. I grab two mugs from Brooke's cabinet, a plain white one for me, and a purple one I know she will love.

Love.

Is that what this is? This feeling that's been growing since the moment she stared at me over that fence?

It can't be. It's too fast. Too intense. Too... terrifying.

But there's no other word for the way I cringe when I think about her going back to Chicago. No other explanation for why I want to make her breakfast and show her every beautiful hidden corner of Stone River Mountain.

And that's exactly it.

There is nothing,nothingthat can explain how excited I am to take her to meet my family tonight.

The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour the two mugs full, adding cream to hers because I've been watching how she takes it all week. Her coffee, I mean. Everything about her preferences is getting filed away in my brain like critical intel.

She's temporary,Beau's voice echoes in my head.Just passing through.

But last night, when she told me she was scared because she wanted to stay... that didn't sound temporary. That sounded like a woman who was falling as hard as I am.

And I'm not done making her fall for me yet.

I carry both mugs back to the bedroom, and the sight that greets me makes me stop in the doorway.

Brooke's awake, sitting up against a pile of expensive-looking pillows, her hair a mess of auburn tendrils catching the morning sunlight peeping through the windows.

She's wearing my shirt from yesterday and I'm pretty sure she didn't have that on when I left to make these coffees. It's so big on her it's sliding off one shoulder, giving me a perfect view ofthat deliciously smooth skin and the ever-tempting curve of her collarbone.

"Morning," she says, her voice still raspy with sleep, and the sound goes straight to my cock.

"Morning, sweetheart." I cross to the bed, holding out her mug. "How's your head?"

The sight of her in my clothes does something primal to my chest.Mine.She looks small and rumpled and absolutely perfect, like she belongs in that bed. Like she belongs with me.

"Much better," she says, accepting the coffee with a smile. "Thank you. For last night."

She takes a sip from the mug, and I watch her face light up as she tastes it. The sun catches the gold flecks in her brown eyes, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.

"How do you know exactly how I like my coffee, mister?"