His Savage Longing: A Curvy Woman Mountain Man Romance

Chapter 2

Zane

”You can”t sell it.”

The words rumble from my chest with a finality that surprises even me. My jaw is clenched, shoulders tense as I stare out the rain-splattered windshield at the dilapidated cabins beyond. Peeling paint, sagging roofs—it may look like ruin to the untrained eye. But to me, Camp Silverpine will always be sacred ground.

Every gnarled pine, every jutting precipice, every icy stream carving through the valleys—I know them all intimately as my childhood playgrounds. Summers spent forging off-trail, learning to survive on my wits alone. Winters braving whiteout blizzards just to test my mettle against nature”s fury.

But most of all, I remember the girl with fiery red curls always by my side, her adventurous spirit a perfect match for mine. We were wild, feral children, fearless in our pursuit of thrills. This place was our awakening, our first love—both for the untamed wilderness and each other.

To let it be razed by some corporate bulldozer, erased from existence like our history never mattered... the thought ignites a primal rage within me.

”You”re not thinking clearly,” Aspen scoffs, shattering my reverie. ”This place has been dead for years. It will never be the same camp you remember from our childhood.”

”It could be again,” I counter, turning to face her fully. ”We just need to restore it, bring it back to the way it was. Give other kids a chance to experience everything that made our summers here so incredible.”

She shakes her head in disbelief, a few strands of damp red hair falling across her cheek. The urge to brush them aside is automatic, my hand twitching before I regain control.

”You”re delusional,” she says. ” We”d have to sink millions in just to get the amenities and safety up to code. It would take a total overhaul—modern cabins, climbing walls, a clubhouse with all the modern tech. Not to mention the safety upgrades.”

I bristle at the suggestion, my jaw tightening. ”Then it won”t be Camp Silverpine anymore. You”d strip away everything that made this experience pure—the connection to nature, the freedom to explore without coddling, pushing your limits and finding strength within yourself.”

”Oh, spare me the Grizzly Adams speech.” Aspen”s tone drips with sarcasm. ”You”re living in a nostalgic fantasy, Zane. This isn”t about reliving some glorified childhood memory. It”s about being practical and making hard decisions with a massive investment property that”s become a money pit.”

I grit my teeth, struggling to maintain my composure in the face of her cold dismissal of everything this place means to me. To us. ”Let”s at least have a civil conversation about it. Hear me out.”

Aspen arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her emerald eyes glittering with amusement. ”A civil conversation? Is that your way of luring me back to your remote mountain shack for a little backcountry hospitality?”

I stiffen at the suggestive jab, a reflexive surge of desire tightening my abdomen before I can control it. Dammit. I”d almost forgotten how effortlessly she can get under my skin.

Forcing my voice to remain even, I shake my head. ”I was thinking somewhere a bit more public. That cafe in town, maybe?”

Her lips purse in consideration, eyes narrowing as she studies me intently. ”Fine. But I”m driving. No chance I”m letting you get me alone out here where you can hack me up into little pieces or something.”

The unexpected quip startles a low rumble of laughter from my throat before I can stop it. Even after all these years, she hasn”t lost her ability to catch me off-guard. ”Whatever you say, Red.”

The old nickname slips out without thought, and for a moment, I see a fleeting glimpse of the wild, carefree girl I once knew flash across her features before the mask slams back into place. With a terse nod, Aspen shifts the car into drive, and we peel out of the gravel lot.

The short drive to the town”s main strip is silent, the only sound the rhythmic thrum of the windshield wipers against the torrent of rain. I sneak sidelong glances at Aspen”s profile, searching for any remnants of the girl I once knew and loved.

Her delicate features have matured into an almost regal beauty, carved cheekbones and a strong jawline now accentuating those expressive emerald eyes and pouty lips I used to map with my own. Even her posture, back perfectly straight as she grips the wheel, exudes a palpable aura of confidence and self-possession that is distinctly... Aspen.

Yet I can”t help noticing the little hints of the girl I once knew still lurking beneath the surface—how her fingers drum out an impatient cadence against the steering wheel when stopped at a light. The way she chews the corner of her plump lower lip in contemplation, a habit she”s never been able to break. And the occasional spark that reignites those vivid eyes when something piques her interest.

It”s all still in there, I realize with a start. That wild, vibrant spirit is merely hidden beneath the weight of adulthood”s burdens and expectations. Just like the essence of Silverpine itself remains preserved beneath the accumulation of time and neglect, waiting to be revived by the right catalyst.

The thought bolsters my resolve as we pull into the cafe parking lot. Aspen leads us inside and claims a small table in the back, sliding into the worn vinyl booth across from me. An awkward hush lingers between us until our waitress, a rosy-cheeked teenager, bustles over to take our orders.

”I”ll just have a black coffee,” I grunt out.

Aspen shoots me a look before turning to the girl with a polished smile. ”One cafe mocha for me, extra whipped cream. And maybe a slice of the mixed berry pie if it”s fresh?”

I can”t bite back my smirk at her sweet indulgence. Even after all this time, the woman loves her sugar fixes. The waitress scribbles down Aspen”s order before scurrying off.

”This place has hardly changed,” Aspen says quietly, glancing around. ”It”s like stepping back in time.”

”I don”t know,” I say with a shrug. ”I like it just the way it is. Remember that old corner store down the street?”

Her eyes brighten as she leans forward. ”With old Mrs. Rose who kept trying to set you up with her daughter?”

I smirk. ”She”s still there, and she still sneaks me free chocolates whenever I come into town.”

Aspen laughs. ”She”s probably still hoping you”ll put a ring on her girl”s finger.”

But I shake my head. ”Too late for that. She”s married with kids now, working down at the lumberyard.”

”Aw, you really missed out,” she teases, as if we don”t both remember the way Aspen shot daggers at any girl who so much as looked my way back then.

Our waitress returns with the steaming mugs and a generous slice of mixed berry pie that makes my mouth water despite my protests. Aspen digs in with unabashed delight, humming appreciatively around the first sugary forkful.

”Maybe I’ve missed this a little,” she mumbles through the mouthful. ”Everything in the city is so damn pretentious. Nothing beats a good old-fashioned diner pie.”

I shake my head in amusement, sipping my black coffee. ”You always did have a sweet tooth. Remember when you snuck a whole cherry pie back to the cabin after lights out?”

She gasps in mock indignation. ”I have no idea what you”re talking about.” But the impish glint in her eyes betrays her.

”You”re a terrible liar,” I chuckle. ”We had to stuff the empty pie tin under your bunk to hide the evidence.”

Aspen dissolves into a fit of giggles at the memory, her nose crinkling adorably. The sound is so familiar, so achingly nostalgic, that a lump forms in my throat.

For a fleeting moment, I”m transported back decades, to when we were those same mischievous kids running wild through these very mountains. No cares, no baggage, just two kindred souls reveling in the thrill of adventure and each other”s company. It was all so simple back then.

But then Aspen dabs at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, composing herself. The melancholy must show on my face because her expression softens as she studies me carefully.

”What?” she prompts, her tone unexpectedly gentle.

”Give me a chance to show you why you shouldn”t sell the camp.”

Aspen”s brow furrows slightly, conflict flickering across her features. ”Zane, I don”t know...”

”I”m not asking for much,” I press on urgently. Every fiber of my being is straining to convey how vital this is to me. To us. ”Just hear me out. Let me take you back to Silverpine. Give me one day to remind you what made that place so incredible for both of us. What we should fight to preserve.”

She chews her plump lower lip in contemplation, gaze distant. For a moment, I think she”s going to refuse outright, that the old hurts are too impossible to overcome.

But then Aspen meets my stare head on, her jaw setting in that telltale sign of stubborn resolve I”ve seen a thousand times. ”One day. That”s it. And if you can”t convince me in that time, I”m listing this place with the first developer who”ll take it off our hands.”

Relief washes over me, my shoulders sagging slightly. ”Agreed. I”ll pick you up at the cabins tomorrow at eight am sharp. Don”t be late.”

She arches one eyebrow. ”Me? Late? I don”t think you know me at all, Zane Bishop.”

My lips quirk in an answering grin, that same reckless spark flaring between us yet again despite everything. And just like that, a pivotal shift occurs—an unspoken agreement to shove aside the burdens of our fractured past, if only temporarily.

Tomorrow, there will be no boundaries holding us back from the wildness that has always defined our connection. I”ll reawaken that adventurous spirit within Aspen that”s been shackled for far too long.

And she”ll finally understand why I could never abandon the sanctity of these mountains—why Camp Silverpine will eternally course through my veins no matter how much time passes. This place was our genesis and our destiny all along.

I”ll make her see it, even if it”s the last thing I do.