Page 21 of Wrecked on the Mountain (Stone River Mountain #2)

Chapter Twelve

Jamie

I'm pretty sure I'm floating.

Not literally, though after the last three days with Brooke, I wouldn't put it past my body to defy gravity.

But sitting here in Timber Tavern, nursing my second beer while Beau lines up his shot at the pool table, I feel like I'm living in some alternate universe where everything actually goes right for once.

The tavern's exactly what I need tonight. Low lighting from those iron lantern sconces, the crackle of the massive fireplace casting dancing shadows across worn leather booths, and the kind of noise that comes from people who've known each other their whole lives.

Charlie's even got some blues playing in the background tonight, and the whole place smells like aged whiskey and comfort food.

The perfect way to busy myself on a night off while Brooke's at work for her first night shift. Even the fact that she's on with Chase can't wipe the grin off my face.

"You gonna keep grinning like an idiot, or are you gonna take your shot?" Beau asks, chalking his cue with that signature scowl.

"I'm not grinning," I lie, lining up my next shot. Eight ball, corner pocket.

"Right," Knox snorts from where he's leaning against the high-top table, working on his third beer. "And I'm the King of England. You've been smiling for three straight days, Strike. It's unsettling."

"He's right. And we don't like it," Travis says, stroking his beard with one hand.

Another ball slides into the pocket, and I straighten, taking another sip of what might be the best beer I've ever tasted.

Everything tastes better when you're getting laid regularly by a woman who makes sounds like heaven itself is breaking open. It's like my whole body's tuned to a different frequency now. I feel more alive, more aware of every sensation that passes through it.

The smooth glide of cold beer down my throat, the freeing weight of the pool cue in my hands on a weeknight, the lingering ghost of Brooke's fingertips against my skin from this morning… all of it magnified into something almost unbearably good.

"You all need to shut the fuck up. Maybe I'm just in a good mood," I say, circling the table to find my next shot.

"Good mood," Travis repeats slowly, smirking. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Calling what?"

Knox and Beau exchange looks that make me want to throw something at both of their giant fucking heads.

"Nothing," Travis says innocently. "Just wondering how Dr. Shields is settling in. You know, professionally speaking."

The way he emphasizes "professionally" makes my jaw clench, but I force myself to stay casual.

"She's doing fine. Good instincts in the field. Did well the other day in a tight spot. We got ourselves a quick learner."

"Quick learner," Beau mutters under his breath and misses his shot by a mile. He steps back with the kind of irritation that makes his left eye twitch. He hates losing to me. I've been beating his ass at pool since we were on tour. "That's one way to put it."

I look up sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just seems like she's learning the ropes pretty fast. Integrating well with the team."

There's something in his tone that I don't like, but before I can call him on it, Knox jumps in.

"Speaking of integration," Knox says with a grin that spells trouble, "Betty mentioned Dr. Shields was asking about local hiking trails. Seemed real interested in the area."

"And Linda saw her at the general store buying actual groceries," Travis adds helpfully. "Not just the tourist stuff. Real food. Like she's planning to cook."

"Cook," I repeat flatly, picturing her in her kitchen in nothing but those sexy panties I peel off her with my teeth.

"In a kitchen," Knox clarifies. "You know, like people do when they're planning to stick around for a while."

The guys are having way too much fun with this, but underneath the teasing, there's something that makes my chest warm.

Because they're right.

Brooke has been settling in. Really settling in.

Three days ago, after we'd finished thoroughly desecrating my desk, she'd gone home to shower and change. I'd expected things to be awkward the next day. Maybe some professional distance while we figured out what the hell we were doing.

Instead, she'd shown up at the station with coffee and homemade breakfast burritos, kissed me good morning like it was the most natural thing in the world, and proceeded to charm the entire team while learning to operate our communication equipment.

That night, she'd come over while I was fixing a broken cabinet door and we'd ended up on my kitchen counter, her legs wrapped around my waist while I proved that horizontal surfaces weren't the only places I could make her scream my name.

Last night, she'd invited me to her cabin for dinner. Nothing fancy—just pasta and wine and Brooke in a sundress.

A sundress.

In Stone River Mountain.

The woman is perfect!

She knew exactly what she was doing to me, and we'd barely made it through the salad course before I had her bent over her dining room table, that dress bunched around her hips while she gasped my name into the candlelit air.

Yeah. I'm definitely floating.

"Earth to Jamie," Knox says, waving a hand in front of my face. "You're doing that grinning thing again."

"Shut up."

"Seriously, man," Travis says, moving to settle into one of the booth seats with his beer. "It's good to see you happy. Been a long time since you looked this... relaxed."

And that's exactly what I am.

For the first time in seven years, I'm not carrying tension in my shoulders, not waiting for the other shoe to drop, not wondering if I'm enough for someone.

Brooke makes me feel like I'm enough.

Like Stone River is enough.

Like the life I've built here isn't some consolation prize, but exactly what she wants.

"She's good for you," Knox continues, raising his beer in a mock toast. "Dr. Shields. She's different from... well, you know."

He trails off, but we all know what he was going to say.

Different from Rebecca.

"She is," I agree quietly.

Brooke doesn't look at our community like it's some quaint stepping stone to bigger and better things. She asks questions about our history, remembers people's names, shows genuine interest in the problems we're trying to solve.

And she's looking like she'll be a damn good addition to the rescue team, too.

Yesterday, she spent an hour talking to Frank Barrett about the best local suppliers for emergency medical equipment if she ever needed it. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to understand how we keep costs down while maintaining quality.

Rebecca would have been checking her phone the entire time.

"How long's her contract again?" Beau asks casually, lining up another shot.

"Three months," I say, and suddenly my beer tastes flat.

"Wow. So she's temporary temporary," Beau continues, not looking at me as he takes his shot. "Just passing through, really."

"Yep. Just three months," I repeat, the words sticking in my throat.

What I don't say is that I'm the one who insisted on it. When the board suggested six months or even a year for the new doctor position, I'd shot it down hard.

I was tired of these big city hotshots coming here, making everyone fall in love with them, then fucking off back to their real lives. I wanted three month contracts to see if they were a good fit, then we'd see what happened from there.

The irony isn't lost on me.

Brooke got the shortest contract in Mountain Rescue history because of my trust issues. Now I'm falling for her, and I've engineered my own heartbreak with bureaucratic efficiency.

Beau's shot misses the pocket by inches, but I barely notice because his words are echoing in my head like a fucking alarm bell.

Temporary. Just passing through.

"I dunno, man. I think Brooke's different. I don't think she's just passing through," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I realize how stupid they sound.

Because what evidence do I have that she's staying? A few days of great sex and some grocery shopping? Isn't that what everyone does?

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.