Page 12 of Wrecked on the Mountain (Stone River Mountain #2)

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.

What kind of winter festival is this? What rational community celebrates winter by dunking people in frozen lakes? I've treated hypothermia cases in Chicago's ERs! This isn't entertainment; it's borderline insanity wrapped in some bat-shit crazy small-town tradition.

And yet... everyone seems so genuinely happy about it.

Inside the tent, it's blissfully warm and surprisingly spacious.

There's a cushioned bench, a full-length mirror, and a neat stack of towels that look like they came from a five-star hotel.

Across the tent, my regulation Mountain Rescue swimsuit that came with my uniform package hangs on a hook like it's been waiting for this moment. I never expected the "water rescue training equipment" would be used quite like this.

"How did you know I'd need the swimsuit from my gear bag?" I call out to Betty through the tent flap.

"Martha's very thorough with equipment preparation," comes the cheerful reply. "Always best to be prepared for any rescue scenario, dear."

Any rescue scenario. Right.

I glance around the tent and notice something suspicious. There's only one swimsuit hanging here. Mine . Where exactly are the other five swimsuits for the other names that were supposedly in that hat?

This is starting to feel like one very elaborate setup.

I strip out of my clothes quickly, the cool air making me shiver even inside the heated tent. The swimsuit fits perfectly, which is both convenient and mildly terrifying.

How thoroughly has this town investigated my personal belongings?

When I emerge from the tent wearing the massive robe, the crowd goes absolutely wild. People are cheering, whistling, and I swear I hear someone start a slow clap.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jamie's voice booms over a sound system, sounding louder than ever. "Presenting our brave volunteer, Dr. Brooke Shields!"

"Volunteer my ass," I groan.

The crowd parts like I'm a prizefighter entering the ring, and oh my God, that's exactly what this feels like. All I need is a corner man and some dramatic entrance music.

Then "Eye of the Tiger" actually does start blasting from the speakers.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Jamie's loving every second of this, and the crowd is eating it up, clapping along to the beat as I make my way toward the platform that's been set up at the edge of the lake.

The setup is impressive—a professional-grade diving platform with safety railings. Jamie's standing next to a carnival-style dunk tank lever that's painted the exact shade of red as a fire engine, or perhaps my burning humiliation.

He's grinning like the cat who not only got the cream but found the dairy farm's secret stash, his eyes dancing with a mischief.

And God help me, there's something about the way the winter sunlight catches in his dark hair that makes it hard to remember why I should be furious.

"Alright, Doc," he calls out as I reach the platform. "Ready to take the plunge?"

"Do I have a choice?" I yell back, climbing the steps to the platform.

"You could always forfeit," he suggests with mock seriousness. "But then we'd have to draw another name, and I'd hate to see Chase or Beau get disappointed."

I look out at the crowd and spot both Chase and Beau in the front row. Chase gives me an encouraging thumbs up while Beau just shakes his head with what might be admiration or pity.

"Besides," Jamie adds with that infuriating grin. "I'm pretty sure your name was the only one in there anyway."

I knew it.

"Fine," I announce, reaching for the tie on the robe. "Let's get this over with."

"Wait!" Jamie holds up a hand dramatically, like he's some kind of Hollywood director calling cut on set. The crowd goes quiet, hanging on his every word. "She looks cold up there… don't you think?"

The crowd cheers.

"Yeah… yeah…" Jamie works them up, adding to the drama. "We should probably give her a little extra... protection… don't you think?!"

He's playing this up for maximum effect, gesturing theatrically as he addresses his captive audience with the kind of showmanship that would make a Vegas performer jealous.

Protection?

His big tattooed arm reaches into a bag beside the platform with deliberate ceremony and pulls out a bright yellow t-shirt, holding it up for the crowd to see like he's unveiling a masterpiece.

"I Smiled for Stone River's Charity Polar Plunge!" is emblazoned across the front in bold letters, complete with a cartoon sun wearing sunglasses.

"Ta-da!" Jamie beams proudly to the delight of the townsfolk below.

"Oh, come on," I groan, but the crowd is cheering so loudly I can barely hear myself think.

"It's for charity," Jamie says with obviously fake sincerity, but his eyes are dancing with mischief. "Wouldn't want you to get cold."

The t-shirt is clearly three sizes too small. It's going to cling to every curve, every... everything. And he knows it.

"Jamie Striker," I call down to him, "you are absolutely—"

"Thoughtful?" he suggests innocently. "Considerate? Devastatingly handsome?"

The crowd laughs, and I can't help but smile despite my impending doom. There's something infectious about his confidence, his obvious enjoyment of this entire situation.

He's told me that he's all about the community, but seeing this big, gruff, bearded man in his element in front of his people like this… it's something else.

"Fine," I say, pulling the t-shirt over my head. "But if I die of hypothermia, I'm haunting you forever."

"I can think of worse fates," he replies, and the way he's looking at me makes my skin feel hot despite the freezing air.

The t-shirt is exactly as terrible as expected. It clings to my breasts, outlines my waist, and barely covers my ass. The crowd goes appropriately wild.

"Now," Jamie continues, "as medical protocol requires, Dr. Shields will give us a quick safety briefing before we proceed."

Medical protocol my ass.

But I find myself speaking anyway, partly because it's habit and partly because it gives me a few more minutes before I have to jump into what looks like liquid ice.

"Cold water immersion can cause several physiological responses," I call out, my voice carrying over the crowd. "Initial shock can cause involuntary gasping, which is why it's important to enter feet first. Water temperature below fifty degrees can cause rapid heat loss—"

"Um… Doc?" Jamie interrupts, continuing the act of showmanship that's wildly amusing for everyone but me. "The water's thirty-four degrees."

"Thirty-four—" I stop, glaring at him. "That's barely above freezing!"

"Yep." He grins up at me. "Any other medical wisdom you'd like to share?"

I can feel the platform swaying in the wind, and when I look down at the water, it's so clear I can see all the way to the bottom. Which is both beautiful and terrifying.

"Just... try to have the hot chocolate ready quickly," I finally say.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jamie says, his voice dropping low enough that only I can hear over the crowd noise, "I've got everything ready for you."

The way he says it, with promise and heat and something that sounds almost possessive, makes my entire body flush with warmth.

"You ready?" he asks, hand hovering over the lever.

I look out at the crowd—all these people who barely know me but are cheering me on anyway. Betty with her encouraging smile, Etta and Mabel clutching each other in excitement, Frank Barrett actually grinning for once.