Page 1 of Wrecked on the Mountain (Stone River Mountain #2)

Chapter One

Brooke

I hate that I love this place so much.

Seriously. The rental cabin I get to call home for the next three months is absolutely… utterly… perfect.

Fucking perfect.

It's like someone took every cozy mountain fantasy I've ever had and turned it into real life. Enormous windows that frame a view that belongs on a postcard, looking out over endless rolling mountains that disappear beneath morning mist.

There are lines upon lines of pine trees that look like they're posing for a nature documentary, and a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at.

Yep. Apparently this is my life now.

The brilliant Chicago trauma surgeon hiding out in a mountain paradise because she couldn't handle it anymore.

At least, with the help of a YouTube tutorial or two, the stone fireplace is crackling with a warm fire I actually managed to start myself. And there are throw blankets everywhere.

Seriously, there are dozens of them.

Soft, chunky knit ones draped over the leather couch, a cashmere one folded on the reading chair, even a ridiculous faux fur situation on the window seat that makes me feel like I'm living in a luxury ski lodge commercial.

My coffee sits cooling on the reclaimed wood coffee table, steam rising in perfect little spirals. Thank God, the fancy espresso machine came with the rental, because I definitely couldn't operate anything requiring more skill than pushing a button right now.

Which is exactly when my phone starts buzzing with Piper's contact photo lighting up the screen. My best friend's grinning face, complete with scrubs and the "I just saved three lives before lunch" expression she perfected during our residency together.

"Please tell me you're not calling with hospital gossip," I answer, settling deeper into the window seat cushions, looking out at the endless forest stretching toward snow-dusted peaks, morning mist still clinging to the valleys between.

"Because I'm supposed to be detoxing from all things medical for the next—"

"Three months, I know," Piper interrupts with that no-nonsense voice that made her the best charge nurse in our trauma unit.

"But I'm not calling about work. I'm calling because it's been exactly eighteen hours since you texted me, and knowing you, you're probably spiraling in some gorgeous mountain paradise wondering if you made a huge mistake. "

She's not wrong.

Last night I spent hours staring at the ceiling, replaying that final trauma call, the little boy's face, the flatline that—

No.

I promised myself I wouldn't go there again. Not today. Not in this beautiful place that's supposed to be my sanctuary from those memories.

"I'm not spiraling," I lie, pulling the adorably cute cashmere throw over my legs. "I'm... adjusting. To the quiet. Did you know mountains are loud with how quiet they are?"

"Oh honey," Piper's laugh carries through the speaker. "You sound like you've been drinking way too much coffee and overthinking again. What's the cabin like? Please tell me it's not some rustic nightmare with questionable plumbing."

I glance around at my temporary paradise and can't help but smile.

"It's perfect. Annoyingly perfect. Like someone took a Pinterest board titled 'cozy mountain retreat' and made it real. There's a clawfoot tub, Piper. A clawfoot tub!"

"See? I told you the universe would provide exactly what you needed."

There's rustling in the background, probably Piper grabbing coffee between patient rounds. Even on her day off, she can't stay away from the hospital completely.

That's usually me, but… I've decided I'm taking a break.

"Have you stopped checking the medical news alerts yet?" Piper asks, cutting straight to the heart of why I'm really struggling.

"I... tried to read a romance novel."

"Brooke."

"It's one of those spicy ones you said to get!"

" Brooke. "

"Okay, fine. I may have googled Tyler's memorial service. But just once! And then I threw my phone across the room."

The silence stretches between us, filled with everything Piper knows I'm not saying.

How Tyler Matthews came in four weeks ago after a playground accident. It was just a routine head trauma that should have been a simple fix.

But I spent six hours in surgery fighting for a little boy with dinosaur stickers on his backpack. He took a turn and soon his parents kept asking if he'd wake up in time for his birthday party.

I had to walk into that waiting room and tell his mother and father that sometimes, even when you do everything right, it's not enough.

I slurp my coffee and stay silent on the line, shaking my head as if it will make the memory disappear.

I locked myself in a supply closet that afternoon and cried so hard I couldn't breathe. After ten years in the profession, I was used to losing patients, and it's never easy.

But this one… it hit hard.

"That's progress, babe," Piper says dryly, letting me off the hook like she always does. "What about the job? You start Monday, right?"

The job. My temporary position at Mountain Rescue that Piper found and basically forced me to apply for when I was too broken to make decisions for myself.

"It's just a small-town operation," I say, repeating what I've been telling myself since I accepted the position. "Basic emergency medicine. Maybe some rescue coordination."

"Exactly. Which is perfect for someone who needs to remember that medicine isn't just about life-or-death decisions in an Operating Room."

Piper's voice gentles, but it's been like this for weeks now. Gentle reassurance that life will get easier, that those dark regrets will heal.

But maybe the words hit harder than they should because they're true.

Every patient I've operated on, every parent I've had to deliver terrible news to… it all loops back to being nine years old and helpless while cancer slowly stole the most important person in my world.

My dad.

The man who taught me to ride a bike and read medical journals at bedtime. Who called me his "little doctor" and never once suggested I should dream smaller.

He fought his cancer battle for two years with the kind of brave courage that made me believe doctors could fix anything, that medicine was magic wrapped in science.

Right up until the day I sat beside his hospital bed, holding his hand while he whispered that he was proud of me and that I should never stop believing in miracles.

Even when the miracle I needed most was slipping away with every breath.

"That's very wise and therapeutic of you," I say, deflecting with humor like I always do. "Did you get that from one of those medical psychology journals you pretend not to read?"

"I got it from watching my best friend slowly destroy herself trying to fix something that was never her fault."

The gentleness in Piper's voice makes my throat tight.

She was there during my residency when I worked twice as hard as everyone else, determined to honor my father's death by saving others.

She held my hair back when the stress made me physically sick in our third year.

She's the one who found me in the supply closet after Tyler died, destroyed in a way I had never been before.

"Three months," I say quietly into the phone. "The contract here is for three months. That's three months to figure out how to be a doctor without bleeding out emotionally every time."

"Three months to remember that you're allowed to be human," Piper corrects. "And who knows? Maybe you'll fall in love with small-town medicine. Maybe you'll meet some sexy lumberjack who chops wood… shirtless! And makes his own maple syrup."

I nearly choke on my coffee.

"Piper, this isn't a movie. I'm here to heal, not to find romance with some flannel-wearing—"

"Hey, don't knock flannel until you've seen it on the right man," she interrupts with a laugh. "Besides, when's the last time you got laid? And don't say that disaster with Dr. Richardson counts. Mediocre hospital sex absolutely does not count."

"We are not discussing my sex life."

"Correct. We're discussing your lack of a sex life. There's a difference."

"Piper—"

"I'm just saying, maybe this mountain adventure is exactly what you need in more ways than one. Fresh air, gorgeous scenery, a chance to remember what it feels like to want something other than perfect surgical outcomes."

I'm about to argue when movement outside the window catches my eye. A hawk circles overhead, riding the wind with grace, and for a moment I'm struck by how different this view is from my Chicago apartment.

No sirens, no traffic, no constant reminder of the city chaos I've been living in for years.

"It is beautiful here," I admit.

"Good. And the people?"

"I stopped at this café yesterday. Cute name… Bear Paw Café. The owner remembered my name after five minutes. She gave me extra whipped cream on my hot chocolate and asked about my 'settling in process' like I was a rescue animal being rehabilitated."

"That's adorable. See? Small-town charm."

"It's definitely different." I think about the lady's smile, the way she seemed to see straight through me. "Everyone's so... present. Like they actually have time to care about strangers."

"Because they're not running on adrenaline and caffeine, trying to save the world one trauma at a time," Piper points out.

"Speaking of which, I should probably get going.

I'm covering an extra shift tonight, and if I don't eat something that isn't vending machine food, I'm going to pass out on a patient. "

"Piper."

"I know, I know. Practice what I preach. But seriously, Brooke… try to actually enjoy yourself, okay? Do something completely un-doctor-like. Take a hike, learn to fish, burn dinner attempting to cook over an open fire. Be bad at something that doesn't matter."

"Be bad at something that doesn't matter," I repeat thoughtfully, watching the hawk outside.

"Exactly. And text me pictures of the sexy mountain men. For… you know… research purposes."

"There are no sexy mountain men!"