Chapter Twelve
Carson
The moment I heard the rustle behind us, everything in my body went still.
The trees on the far side of the ridge flexed with movement—soft at first, almost like the shift of wind—but then it came again.
A low, rolling growl.
Growls. Plural
It wasn’t bears or cats.
It was wolves.
“Sienna,” I said quietly.
She turned, just enough to catch the change in my posture, and her eyes widened.
A dark shape stepped from the trees.
Then another.
Then a third.
A small pack, four, maybe five wolves, stood twenty feet away, emerging from the shadows like living ghosts. Their winter coats were thick, silvered, and flecked with dampness. Their breath rose in white spirals. Their eyes caught the weak sunlight in pale yellow flashes.
Wolves rarely attacked humans in the wild. But a pack this size, this visible, this curious, it meant one thing.
They hadn’t encountered people here in a while.
And they weren’t sure what to make of us.
I stepped in front of Sienna without hesitation. It was like this primal need to protect her.
She drew in a small breath behind me.
The alpha lifted its head, tail low, body neutral but alert. This wasn’t aggression. Not yet. This was interest. Curiosity. Mild territoriality.
That could shift fast if we handled it wrong.
“Don’t move fast,” I said quietly. “Wolves respond to motion. Just mirror me.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
The tremor in her voice hit something inside me hard.
I kept my stance loose but tall. I lifted my arms slowly so they could see the outline of my shape. Humans look bigger than wolves when upright. Size deters. Movement provokes.
One of the younger wolves took two steps forward.
Sienna inhaled sharply.
“All right,” I murmured. “Easy.”
The lead wolf chuffed, a soft, questioning sound, ears flicking back and forth.
Good. Not aggressive.
But they needed encouragement to move on.
I scanned the ground, then bent slowly, not abruptly, and picked up a handful of snow. Packed it lightly.
Not to throw at them.
Just to have it.
I murmured, “Stay behind me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, but she sounded far less confident than usual.
The wolves watched every movement.
I kept my body sideways, calm, and made a soft, low noise in my throat that was a sound I’d learned for canine encounters.
The lead wolf huffed again.
His posture shifted, weight leaning back instead of forward.
Good.
I tossed the loose snow toward the side, but not at them.
The scattering sound startled the pack just enough. The younger ones flinched back. The alpha glanced at the disturbed snow, then back at us.
Decision.
Choice.
A small internal calculation.
With a soft grunt, he pivoted slowly and trotted back into the trees.
The rest followed, some with lingering glances, others bounding lightly through the snow. Within seconds, the only evidence of their presence was pawprints crossing the ridge trail.
A long and heavy silence followed.
Then Sienna let out a breath that sounded like a confession.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Okay. Okay. Okay. That was… something.”
I turned to look at her.
She wasn’t shaking visibly, but the tension in her face gave her away. Her fingers clenched the straps of her pack. Color had drained from her cheeks, leaving her pale against the bright cranberry of her jacket.
“You all right?” I asked.
She nodded.
Then shook her head.
Then nodded again.
Her voice came out thin. “That was different.”
“Different how?”
She swallowed. “I’m not usually scared in the woods.”
“I know.”
“I mean…ever. Even when things get weird, unexpected, or big… I even talked to a moose in Alaska for fifteen minutes about his life goals and wasn’t scared. And those suckers are ornery.”
I blinked. “Life goals.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Mortimer was very contemplative.”
I rumbled out something like a laugh, but it faded quickly when I saw her expression.
She was shaken, even if she didn’t want to admit it.
“Bears, I can do,” she said, voice wobbling. “Even cougars. Even snowstorms. But wolves? Like that? A whole pack? I’ve never—” She cut herself off. “I didn’t like how that felt.”
My jaw tightened slightly. “They weren’t hunting.”
“I know,” she said. “But they were evaluating.”
“They were deciding.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “And I didn’t like being something they had to decide about.”
That hit me harder than I expected, and I stepped closer, not touching her, but close enough that the air between us shifted.
“You did everything right,” I said. “Exactly right.”
She shook her head. “No, I froze.”
“You stayed still,” I corrected. “That’s not freezing. That’s instinct keeping you safe.”
But she wasn’t listening to that logic. Her chest rose and fell too quickly. Her gaze skittered away from mine. The warmth she carried, always so bright and fierce, was dimmed by something deeper.
Fear at the edges, but something else in the center.
Something vulnerable.
She tried to laugh, but it came out weak. “Twice in one day. First a bear, then a wolf pack. Is this a sign? Am I supposed to cancel all future hikes? Start a bakery? Become a mall-walker?”
“No.”
“Open a pottery studio? Raise sheep? Build furniture out of twigs?”
“No, Sienna.”
She waved a hand. “Maybe the universe is saying: Sienna Harper, you’re no longer meant to be in the woods. There is a big, burly guy willing to take it over at the lodge.”
“The universe is not saying that,” I said firmly.
“Oh, really?” She gestured at the empty trail. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like a big flashing billboard.”
“It isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
She wasn’t challenging me. She needed something like reassurance and an anchor.
She needed a reason not to spiral, and God help me, every part of me wanted to give that to her.
“Because you’re the most capable guide I’ve worked with,” I said.
Her eyes flicked to mine, startled.
“And because nothing out there scared you,” I continued. “Not the bear. Not the wolves. Just the idea that you didn’t react perfectly.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and gulped.
And in that moment, I saw something soft break through her surface. Something tender that reached out toward me without meaning to.
But she blinked and rebuilt the wall in a split second.
“Okay,” she said abruptly, straightening her jacket as if reassembling her armor. “So… thank you. I mean it. But I’m good. Really. We don’t need to… talk about feelings. Or whatever that was.”
She looked away, forcing herself back into motion.
She walked past me, motion brisk, breath fogging faster than before.
And I understood something all at once:
The danger didn’t scare her.
The closeness did.
Her walls snapped back in place, her tone shifted, and her banter returned like a shield polished to a shine.
“So,” she said with forced lightness, “should we call the dry run? Return to the lodge? Tell them nature is plotting against us?”
“No,” I said immediately.
She stopped. “No?”
“We keep going.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Even after bears and wolves?”
“Especially after bears and wolves,” I said. “We need to assess the trail. And this is exactly the kind of information we need before we bring guests.”
She hesitated. “Right. Okay. Yes. You’re right.”
“Besides,” I added, “nothing else is likely to surprise us today.”
She gave me a look. “Carson. Do not tempt the forest.”
“Noted.”
She took another breath, this one more centered, and gestured down the trail.
“All right. Let’s work.”
I nodded and followed her, watching the way her shoulders finally loosened with each step. She was herself again with quick, bright, and steady steps.
But her earlier vulnerability still hovered in the space between us, even if she refused to acknowledge it.
And as we started deeper into the woods, I realized something I had been fighting since the moment I met her:
I didn’t want distance.
But I forced myself to maintain it anyway.
Because wanting her, wanting that connection, was a risk I wasn’t sure I could take.
Still, as she walked ahead, checking the snow levels and muttering to herself about trail conditions, I felt the heat of something settle low in my chest.
Something dangerous and undeniable, and possibly something I couldn’t push away forever.
And when she looked back at me over her shoulder, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with determination, I felt it again… that spark and warmth, and something wild and alive springing to life.
I just followed her deeper into the woods, and the feeling followed me.
No matter how far I tried to push it back.