Mountain Man Rescue (Whispered Echoes Season 2: A Wounded Mountain Man #17)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Wyatt

There’s a storm coming.

The mountain always tells you if you listen. The pines go still. The air changes from gentle to as sharp as a knife's edge. Clouds drop their shoulders like they’re about to brawl.

I tug my collar higher and shift my pack. It’s moments like this I miss my pal, Lucky, the most. He always said a man living on the mountain could trust his bones and the wind over any AI weather forecast. He wasn’t wrong. He was also the only thing I trusted besides this ridge.

A hawk cuts the low sky, releasing a hard scream swallowed by the wind. I scan the ledge out of habit: rock, scrub, mile-high firs, and a flash of fluorescent pink that has no business up here.

I take a step forward. Hair the color of fire tumbles from her pink knit cap.

She’s crouched on a steep outcrop. One hand on a camera, the other pretending a sapling is a solid safety line.

I glance down at her feet…what in the hell?

She’s wearing ballet flats, of all things.

An eagle soars above, and as she leans to get the shot, rock scuffs loose—

—and she’s gone.

My heart stops.

I take off on a dead run, gravel spitting under me. I drop to my knees and crawl to the edge of the ledge.

“Don’t move!” Wind whips my voice away.

She’s dangling from a limb that’s seconds away from snapping. Her legs kick once, then she stills as if she heard me. When her face tilts up, her ivy-green eyes catch mine.

“Hey,” I reach down, clamp my hand around her wrist, and nod. “I’ve got you.” I say a prayer, then squeeze a little tighter, “On three. One… two—”

I don’t wait for three. I yank hard, my core and shoulders doing what a thousand deadlifts have trained them to do. Thankfully, she comes up fast, hitting my chest with a soft thud.

“You’re okay,” I tell the top of her head. I don’t know if it’s for her or me.

For a second, she breathes. Her heart thumping wildly against my chest. She smells of meadow flowers and rain.

Suddenly, she pulls back, her pretty eyes wide, furious, and bright. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Wyatt,” I answer. “And you’re lucky to be alive after a stunt like that.”

“How dare you talk to me like that!” She snaps. “That’s just plain rude.”

“It’s not rude, it’s the truth,” I shake my head as a cold shiver runs down my spine, when an image of her pinwheeling to her death flashes through my mind.

“Listen, as much as I would love to hear your ridiculous rant, we don’t have time.

The wind gusts are hitting harder. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the snow’s already coming sideways.

We need to get out of here now. Storms like this are relentless. ”

“Ridiculous rant? You’re unbelievable. And we?” She mocks me. “We are not going anywhere, thank you very much. I came up this mountain on my own accord; I’ll get down the mountain the very same way.”

A lock of her thick mane slaps me in the face as the wind howls in protest.

“There isn’t time.”

“Men,” she mutters. “You always think you know everything. It’s just some snow.”

“This is not just snow, Red.” I get to my feet and offer my hand, which she promptly refuses.

“My name’s Gina. Not Red.”

The girl’s got moxie, I’ll give her that.

“Alright, Gina,” I throw my hands in the air in mock surrender, “Far be it from me to be a gentleman.”

“Gentleman,” she rolls her eyes.

She tries to stand and promptly sways to the left. I lunge forward, catch her, and scoop her into my arms as all the color drains from her beautiful face.

“I can walk,” she squeaks out, which is adorable.

“Of course you can.” I tuck her into my chest. “Just not right now. You’ve got adrenaline pumping through your system at the speed of lightning.”

I make my way down the cliff, trying to ignore the way she fits in my arms—like she belongs there.

“Okay, Paul Bunyan,” she glares up at me, “Put. Me. Down. I’m not a damsel in distress. And I’m very heavy.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re not. You’re light as a feather.”

“Liar,” she snorts. “I weigh a ton.”

The wind tries to push us off the trail. I turn, so my back takes it and keep moving. Her fingers fist in my collar when another gust hits, and they stay there even after it passes.

“Are you going to murder me and feed me to your pet pigs?”

“I don’t have pigs.” My mouth quirks without permission. “I have a Siamese cat named Lucky.”

She blinks up at me. “You have a cat named Lucky? I figured you for a Pit Bull or a Rottweiler kinda guy.”

“And I figured you for a sensible shoe-wearing-on-a-mountain kinda gal.”

“They’re comfortable,” she sasses back.

“They’re unsafe,” I retort.

We break the trees, and my log cabin shoulders up out of the snow. Its wide front porch is already wearing a thick white blanket.

I kick the door, shove it open, and carry her into the warmth. The cat lifts his head from the hearth rug, blinks the sleep from his eyes, then sits up straighter than a sergeant meeting a general.

“Yes, Lucky,” I chuckle. “We’ve got company.”

I set Gina on the couch, glad to see color coming back into her cheeks.

“So, Wyatt,” she says, tipping her chin up, “is this where you slap a pair of handcuffs on me and toss me into your basement of torture?”

“You’re safe here,” I reassure her, tucking pillows behind her back. I reach for the zipper on her coat, then think twice. “May I take your coat?” I grab a fur throw from the back of the leather sofa, draping it over her legs.

She shrugs off her coat but keeps it close to her. “Why can’t I get to my car?

I hang my jacket by the door after adding logs to the fire. “There’s no way to get down the mountain right now safely. And with the way this storm’s rolling in, it’ll probably be days before the plows make it up here.”

“Days?” She snaps her brows down tight. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s normal ‘round here this time of year. Things are much different for you in the city, though, aren’t they?” I walk into the kitchen.

“Who says I live in the city?” Gina hugs.

“Those shoes say a lot. You don’t have a pack, which means you don’t have water or other essentials. You’re a city girl. The question is which one?”

She looks flustered, then tucks her arms under the blanket. “I’m from Pasadena.”

“That’s a long way from Whispered Echoes, Montana. What brings you here?” I look out the window into the swirling white. We made it home just in the nick of time. Well, my home, not hers.

“I’m traveling.”

“I see. Is there someone you need to let know that you’re safe? We’re going to lose the internet shortly, if we haven’t already.”

“No one,” she stares at the fire.

Lucky hops into her lap, purring like a small engine. “Hi, Lucky,” she murmurs, scratching the spot behind his ear that makes him go boneless. “How did you pick his name?”

“He’s named after my best friend. He loved cats and he loved mountains. But he didn’t make it home to see them.”

Her eyes lift. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” Not wanting to go down that road, I lift the kettle from the stove. “Coffee or tea?”

“Depends. What do you have to put in it?” She smooths a hand across Lucky’s tan fur.

“I have cream and milk,” I open the refrigerator, double-checking the expiration dates.

“Umm, no. I definitely could use something stronger.”

I shift to the cabinet. “Will whiskey do?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “That’s perfect. No coffee or tea, though. Just the whiskey.”

I grab glasses, keeping my eye on her. “How are you feeling? Do you have pain anywhere? Are you lightheaded?”

“I’m fine,” she shifts on the couch, giving Lucky a space to nestle in beside her. “I’m an ex-wedding photographer, now a temporary traveler.” Her mouth twists. “A week ago, I quit my job after walking in on my ex-boyfriend shampooing a soon-to-be-bride.”

Now the “men” comment makes sense. “That must’ve hurt,” I set the bottle and glass down on the coffee table.

“It did. But you know what? It was the wake-up call I needed. I wasn’t happy.”

“Life’s too short to be unhappy,” I raise my glass to hers. “To happiness.”

“To happiness,” she nods, taking a sip. “Thank you for this. And thank you for rescuing me.”

“Glad to help.”

Our eyes hold for a heartbeat too long, and something inside me shifts. I feel it in my chest, the place where grief hollowed me out. Uncomfortable, I get to my feet.

“I’ll get the spare room ready for you and then make us some dinner.”

“Don’t go to any trouble. I can stay right here,” she says quietly.

“It’s no trouble. I’ll be right back.”

With a knot forming in my stomach, I pray the storm is over soon.

The girl has ignited a craving in me—a craving I can’t feed. She’s too young. I’m too old and too broken. But for the first time since Lucky died, I feel something. And that scares me more than anything.