Page 4 of Wrecked on the Mountain (Stone River Mountain #2)

Instead, I trace my thumb across her knuckles and watch her breath catch.

"Brooke," she says, and her voice is slightly breathless now.

"Brooke." I don't let go of her hand immediately. "Pretty name. So what brings you to Stone River Mountain, Brooke? Besides the apparent wood-chopping challenges."

"Work, actually." She tries to extract her hand, but I hold on just long enough to make it interesting. "Despite my pathetic attempts at chopping wood, believe it or not, I'm starting a position with the local Mountain Rescue tomorrow."

Bingo.

This is the moment I could tell her.

Could reveal that she's talking to her new boss, that I know exactly who she is and why she's here.

But watching her try to maintain her composure while clearly fighting the urge to stare at my chest?

This is too much fun.

"Mountain Rescue," I repeat, like I'm impressed. "That's serious work. You sure you're cut out for mountain emergencies? Because if that wood-chopping performance is any indication..."

Her eyes narrow dangerously. "I'll have you know, Strike… I'm a trauma surgeon. I think I can handle mountain emergencies."

"Trauma surgeon." I whistle low. "Fancy. But can you handle yourself out here? Because mountain rescue isn't like some sterile hospital. It's messy. Physical."

"I can handle myself just fine," she snaps.

"Can you?"

I lean closer to the fence, and she doesn't back away.

"The mountains don't care about your medical degree. They don't care how smart you are or how many lives you've saved in your fancy Chicago hospital. Out here, it's different. It's about instinct. Survival. Things they don't teach in medical school."

I can see her temper flaring now, color rising in her cheeks, eyes flashing with the kind of fire that probably made her legendary in the Operating Room.

But I'm not flirting anymore.

This is a test.

I've seen her type before.

Brilliant city doctors who think three months in the mountains is some kind of wilderness spa retreat. A little break from their "real" careers before heading back to what they consider important work.

I studied her file thoroughly after my superiors slid it across my desk last week.

"We found your next temp," they said, like it was good news.

Like I haven't watched four temporary doctors come and go in the last two years, each one treating Stone River like a stepping stone rather than a community that deserves consistency and commitment.

Dr. Brooke Shields might be impressive on paper. Specialized medical degree. Trauma surgery fellowship. Publications in fancy journals.

But does she have what it takes to handle real mountain emergencies? To care about our people?

Stone River Mountain deserves the best. My people deserve someone who'll stay, who'll become part of the community—not just use us as a career sabbatical.

And I'll do whatever it takes to make sure they get exactly that.

You see, the things is… I've heard it all before.

I can handle myself just fine.

Rebecca, my ex-fiancé, said those exact words, right here on this mountain. Right before I found her acceptance letter from that LA marketing firm hidden between the couch cushions of our apartment.

Three days before our wedding.

Promises made. Promises broken.

She left me with a ring, a venue deposit, and a heart that's never quite healed right.

I won't make that mistake again.

Brooke steps closer to the fence, close enough that I can smell her shampoo, something expensive and citrusy that definitely didn't come from Linda's general store down on Main Street.

"You think you have me all figured out," Brooke says, and there's something vulnerable beneath the anger now. Something that makes my chest tighten in a way I don't like.

"I think you're exactly like every other city woman who comes up here looking for some kind of mountain magic," I reply, locking eyes with her. "And I think you'll be gone the minute something better comes along."

Because that's exactly what Rebecca did.

Brooke's expression softens, like she can hear something in my voice that I didn't mean to show.

For a moment, we just stand there, staring at each other through the fence slats. The morning sun catches the gold in her eyes, and I can see tiny freckles scattered across her nose.

She's beautiful. More beautiful than her file photo suggested. And there's something about the way she's looking at me now—like she sees past the asshole routine to whatever's underneath.

It makes me want to step closer.

It makes me want to prove her right.

It makes me want to do something phenomenally stupid.

So instead, I push back from the fence and grab my flannel from the deck railing.

"Well," I say, shrugging into the shirt but leaving it unbuttoned, "guess we'll find out. Mountain Rescue's a small operation. Tight-knit. We'll probably… cross paths at some point."

I hide my amusement as she watches me button the flannel. I don't miss the way her eyes linger on my chest before I cover it up.

"Try not to cut your leg off before then," I say, nodding toward her abandoned axe. "The rescue team hates unnecessary callouts."

"I'll do my best."

I turn to head back toward my cabin, then pause and look over my shoulder.

"Oh, and Brooke?"

"Yeah?"

"When you meet the Mountain Rescue coordinator tomorrow?" I let myself grin, just a little. "Don't mention the wood-chopping thing. He's got a pretty low tolerance for incompetence."

I leave her standing there, processing that information.

I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, probably already strategizing how to impress her new boss. If only she knew that her new boss has already seen her lose a fight with an axe and a decorative planter.

Tomorrow is going to be so fucking entertaining.

Oh yes… when Dr. Brooke Shields walks into Mountain Rescue headquarters expecting to meet her new boss, she's going to get the shock of her professional life.

And I'm going to enjoy every single second of it.

Because I'm going to have my fun.

Three months of temporary fun. Three months of working alongside a woman who looks at me like she wants to climb me like a tree, but who's already planning her exit strategy.

The smart thing would be to keep my distance.

Don't make the same mistake I made with Rebecca.

Professional courtesy only.

As I strip off my clothes and step under the hot water, all I can think about is the way Brooke looked when I called her out—wounded but defiant, like I'd hit something true and painful.

Just like I look when people assume I'm just some small-town operator who doesn't understand the bigger world.

Maybe we're more alike than either of us wants to admit. And maybe that's exactly why I need to keep my distance.

Three months. That's it. I can handle anything for three months.

Even a brilliant, beautiful woman who makes me want to risk everything I've spent seven years protecting.

Even if she'll leave the moment something better comes along.

Just like they always do.