My Mountain Man Recluse: A Grumpy Sunshine Age Gap Romance

9. Izzie

Imust have dozed off, because when I wake the fire’s going and the coffee’s cold. There’s a pressure on my legs, and when I lift my head to look down the length of the couch, a pointed doggy nose and dark eyes peer back at me.

Minty yawns and settles her head on her paws.

There are sounds in the kitchen, and I swivel around to find Jagger with a dishcloth slung over his shoulder stirring a large steaming pot on the stove top.

In the heat of the kitchen, he’s in a tight t-shirt that shows off his substantial biceps. There’s a flutter between my legs, because is there any sexier sight than a hot man cooking?

He must sense me looking at him, because he turns around and his lips pull up into a rare smile.

“I’m making bolognaise.”

Jagger with a scowl is handsome, but with a smile on his face, he is devastating. My body floods with warmth, and I squeeze my thighs together at the sudden pressure down there.

I long to be closer to him, to touch him, to make him smile again.

“Do you need a hand?”

I attempt to wiggle out from under the blanket, but Minty doesn’t move.

“You rest up,” Jagger says. “I got this.”

He seems to have it under control, and the bandaged arm isn’t coming to any harm in the kitchen. I lie back on the sofa and grab my phone. The battery is completely dead, and it doesn’t even turn on.

At least I can’t torture myself with any more pictures of Mom.

I feel better after my outpouring earlier. A calmness has settled inside me, but I wonder how long it will last. Jagger didn’t make a big deal out of my grief, and I like that.

But as I sit here staring at the walls, I think about Dad and wonder how he’s feeling today.

“Can I use your radio to speak to Dad?”

Jagger nods, and I follow him into his office. He shows me how to work the radio and tries the fire station where Dad will be.

His gruff voice has a tired edge to it, and we only speak for a few minutes before he’s called away. They’ve set up an evacuation center in town, and his team is out helping stranded people get to safety. Homes have been flooded in the valley, and families will be sleeping in the community center tonight.

I should be there, helping my people instead of stuck on the wrong side of a road slip.

I’m glad Dad’s busy though. The anniversary of the accident always hits him hard.

He signs off, but I don’t leave Jagger’s office. It cool in here and dark, and I can barely hear the rain. I lean back in the office chair and take a long calming breath.

Framed military photos are on a bookcase, and I pick each one up to take a look. The first picture is Jagger and my dad, much younger in their military uniforms. Another one shows Jagger with a squadron, and another with a smaller unit in the desert. My dad’s not in those; he left the military when I was six. He came home permanently and retrained as a firefighter.

I pick up the first picture again. Jagger is barely recognizable, with unlined skin and a smile on his face rather than a scowl.

A movement catches my eye, and I look up to find Jagger leaning on the doorframe watching me.

“That was our first tour. God, we were green.”

He takes the photo out of my hands and looks at it, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

“What made you stay in the military when my father left?”

He runs his finger over the dusty frame before replacing it on the shelf.

“The question is why did your father leave?”

Jagger never gives me a straight answer when it’s about himself. There’s always another question a way of deflecting attention off himself.

“He said he left for Mom, because she wanted him at home.”

Jagger picks up another photo, this one of him and Dad fishing on one of his visits back.

“He had a family, a reason to go home. I didn’t.”

He says it with no feeling, stated as fact. But it seems incredibly sad to me. That Jagger didn’t have anyone to come home to.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Izzie.” The smile reappears, and I wonder how he can seemingly read my mind. “I wanted to stay.”

“You enjoyed it?”

The smile disappears, and the usual frown creases his brow. “No one enjoys going to war,” he says softly.

A haunted look comes into his eyes. I remember Jagger when he would visit when I was a young kid. He was happy and laughing with Dad, and then over the years the visits became less frequent and the laughter nonexistent. Until he stopped coming at all.

I can only imagine what twenty years of being a soldier could do to a man, what you must experience, the dark requirements that no one talks about that are necessary to defend our country.

I’m overcome by a sudden urge to touch him, to reach into his very soul and take some of his pain.

My hand goes to his shoulder, and I rest it on the thin t-shirt. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He turns a startled gaze to me. “I didn’t lose anyone.”

“But you lost something.”

He tilts his head, and something softens in his expression.

“You have a lot of empathy, Izzie. You’re going to be a fantastic nurse someday.”

The praise make me smile more than it should. But he’s deflecting again. He doesn’t like to talk about himself, but the less he says the more curious I become. I want to know the man, understand what drives him. Why someone would choose a life on their own.

“Why did you come up here when you got back. Why so remote?”

He steps back, and my hand falls off his arm. The hard expression returns to his features, and I’m not sure what I’ve said wrong, but the moment’s gone.

“Dinner’s ready,” he mutters.

Then he’s gone from the doorway. Back to the kitchen and back to his internal cave.

Any progress I’d made to understand this complex man is wiped out, and I’m not sure why.

I wake to the wind howling through the trees like a woman wailing. My heart’s racing, and my hair sticks to my neck with perspiration. I might have called out in my sleep, but I can’t be sure.

I was dreaming, stuck in the nightmare of that night seven years ago.

The police at the door, Dad collapsing in the hallway. I’d never seen Dad show any weakness until that night when he fell to his knees.

The police lights flashed red and blue through the window, and I wished they’d turn them off because there was no emergency. Mom was killed on impact. There was no dash to the hospital, there was no waiting by her bedside. There was no gentle easing into death, no stages of hearing about an accident, hospital visits, clinging onto hope. There was no preparing for her being gone. It was sudden and raw and inexplicable.

She headed out for a house call, and a few hours later, the police were at our house with their flashing lights telling us she wasn’t coming back.

I sat on the stairs and watched my dad fall apart, and all I could think about was the words that I had spoken to my mom. My selfish fourteen-year-old self had yelled at her, because I wasn’t allowed to go to Amy Moray’s sweet sixteen party unless Dad went with me.

I suck in long breaths, trying to get the scene out of my head.

Everything in the cabin is quiet, just the spattering of rain on the roof and the wind howling in the trees.

I lie back on the pillow, but I already know I can’t sleep. She’s waiting for me in my dreams, my mother. Forgiving me for the things I said to her, words I can never take back. Words I wish I hadn’t uttered.

I shiver and wrap the blankets around me, but I still feel cold. There’s only one comfort I want, and he’s downstairs.

Ever since I’ve been stuck here with Jagger, he’s avoided me. But no matter what he does, my attraction to him only grows. Not only his well-sculptured body but the quiet way he comforted me today. That’s what I want now.

Following the gentle glow of the last embers from the fire, I pad down the stairs and to the sleeping form before the fire.