Chapter Nine
Brynn
Sunlight streamed through the familiar curtains, casting a golden glow across the bed I'd occupied for the past week. This morning, however, everything felt different. The sheets, the room, even the air itself seemed transformed by what had transpired between Mack and me last night.
I stretched carefully, body pleasantly sore in places I'd never felt before. Beside me, Mack slept peacefully, his features softened in slumber, the perpetual vigilance temporarily banished. His arm draped possessively across my waist, our legs entangled beneath the quilt as if even in sleep he feared I might slip away.
My heart swelled as I studied him—the stubble shadowing his jaw, the scar bisecting his right eyebrow, the surprisingly long eyelashes that any woman would envy. In sleep, the hardened warrior gave way to the man beneath, vulnerable and beautiful in ways I'd only glimpsed before last night.
His eyes fluttered open, dark gaze focusing immediately on mine with an intensity that sent heat rushing through me. The smile that followed transformed his normally shuttered features, creating creases at the corners of his eyes that hinted at a version of Mack that existed before the trauma of war.
"Morning," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," I echoed, suddenly shy despite our newfound intimacy.
His fingers traced my cheekbone with a gentleness that belied their strength. "Last night was..."
"Real," I finished when he hesitated. "Very real."
We lay facing each other, neither rushing to break the cocoon of warmth and connection enveloping us. Outside, birds called to one another in the clear mountain air—the storm had finally passed, leaving renewed life in its wake.
"I need to say something," Mack began, his expression growing serious. "About your notebook."
My stomach tightened, the perfect moment fracturing slightly. "Mack, you don't—"
"I do." His thumb brushed across my lower lip, silencing me. "I reacted badly. Too harshly."
"You had every right," I whispered. "I should have been honest from the beginning."
"Maybe." His eyes held mine, unwavering. "But I understand now why you weren't. And I'm sorry for making you feel like your feelings weren't genuine."
The apology, unexpected and undeserved, brought tears to my eyes. "They are genuine. So genuine they terrify me."
His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing away moisture at the corner of my eye. "Same here."
"I promise," I said, covering his hand with mine, "I will never use your pain, your experiences, as material. Not without your knowledge and permission. What's between us is separate from my work."
"I believe you." Three simple words that healed something that had been fractured inside me.
"Really?"
His mouth quirked in that almost-smile I'd come to cherish. "Really. Besides, what happened last night isn't something I'd mind reading about someday."
Heat flooded my cheeks at the memory of those hours in his arms, of discoveries made and boundaries crossed. "It might make a decent chapter."
"Just decent?" His mock offense drew a laugh from me before his lips claimed mine, morning breath forgotten as desire rekindled between us.
Later, wrapped in his discarded flannel shirt, I padded to the kitchen to make coffee. My body felt different somehow—not just the physical changes from our lovemaking, but a deeper, cellular-level alteration. As if I'd finally become fully present in my own skin after years of existing slightly adjacent to it.
The shortwave radio crackled to life as I measured coffee grounds, Ian's voice cutting through the morning quiet.
"Base to Fire Mountain, you there, Mack?"
Mack emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips and crossed to the radio. "Here. Go ahead."
"County road crews have cleared the main routes. Your access road is passable now, confirmed by Sheriff Jackson twenty minutes ago." A pause, then: "How's Brynn holding up?"
Mack's eyes found mine across the kitchen. "She's fine. We’re both glad to have helped with the Lindstrom situation yesterday."
"Harriet hasn't stopped singing your praises." Something like pride colored Ian's voice. "Also, looks like cell service has been restored to your area. Tower crews worked through the night. Over."
"Appreciated. Over and out." Mack set the receiver down, a strange expression crossing his features.
The implications settled between us—with the roads clear and communications restored, there was no longer any practical reason for me to remain at the cabin. What had been necessity now became choice.
"So I can leave," I said, setting down the coffee scoop, my earlier contentment faltering.
"If you want to." His careful neutrality couldn't mask the tension in his shoulders.
I moved toward him, coffee forgotten. "That's not what I meant."
His arms opened to me, and I stepped into their sanctuary, resting my cheek against his bare chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my ear grounded me as surely as his arms around my waist.
"I don't want to leave," I confessed. "Not now. Not when this is just beginning."
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his exhale stirring my hair. "Then don't."
I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that staying was possible. That I could carve out a new life here, with him, far from deadlines and city noise and professional obligations.
Then my phone, plugged in and forgotten, erupted in a series of chimes and alerts from the bedroom—text messages, voicemails, and emails flooding in now that service had been restored. Reality intruding on our mountain sanctuary with electronic persistence.
Mack released me reluctantly. "Sounds like someone's been trying to reach you."
With a sigh, I returned to the bedroom, gathering my phone to find seventeen missed calls, twenty-three text messages, and thirty-two emails—most from Jillian, each growing progressively more frantic. As I scrolled through the digital avalanche, the device vibrated in my hand, Jillian's name flashing on the screen.
"She has impeccable timing," I muttered before answering. "Hello?"
"Brynn?" Jillian's voice, sharp with barely contained impatience, sliced through my mountain idyll. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you for days!"
"There was an accident," I explained, returning to the kitchen where Mack now poured coffee. "My car crashed during a storm. Then flooding cut off access and cell service."
"Jesus, are you alright?" A flicker of genuine concern before her professional persona reasserted itself. "Look, I hate to add to your troubles, but we've got a situation with the manuscript."
I sank into a kitchen chair, already knowing what was coming. "What kind of situation?"
"Marketing needs final pages by next Friday. No extensions this time." Her tone brooked no argument. "If you can't deliver, we're pushing your release to next year's calendar."
A delayed release meant months of lost income, potentially damaged relationships with retailers, disappointed readers. My career, already teetering after the lukewarm reception of my last book, might not recover. I tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat.
"I need to come back to New York," I said, the words tasting bitter.
"Yesterday would be good." Jillian's voice softened slightly. "I'm sorry about the accident, truly. But this deadline is non-negotiable."
"I understand." And I did, despite the ache spreading through my chest. "I'll arrange travel today."
After hanging up, I stared at the coffee mug Mack had placed before me, steam rising in lazy spirals that mimicked my scattering thoughts.
"Problem?" he asked, settling across from me.
I explained the situation in halting sentences, each word drawing me further from the sanctuary we'd created and back toward the reality awaiting me across the country.
"So you have to go back," he summarized, face carefully neutral.
"Yes." I reached for his hand, needing connection. "But not forever. Just to finalize the manuscript, handle the promotional commitments."
He nodded, his expression somber. "Your life is there, Brynn. Your career, your apartment, everything that matters."
"Not everything," I countered softly. "Not anymore."
We spent the morning in strangely comfortable silence, each processing the imminent separation in our own way. Mack used the landline to call Greg's garage, explaining the situation with my car still crumpled in the ditch where I'd crashed it.
"He says he can tow it today now that the roads are clear," Mack informed me, hanging up the phone. "But the damage is extensive from what he could see when he drove past it yesterday. Parts will take at least two weeks to arrive, maybe longer."
"Two weeks," I repeated, finding unexpected comfort in the timeframe. It gave tangible structure to my promise to return, a concrete reason beyond my feelings for Mack. "That works perfectly. I can finish the manuscript, handle the initial press, and be back in time to pick it up."
Mack's expression lightened slightly, as if he too appreciated the practical anchor for my return. "Greg says to leave the keys with me. He'll need them for the tow and repairs."
I nodded, digging through my purse for the rental car keys. The small gesture felt significant—leaving something of mine behind, creating a thread that would draw me back to this place, to him.
As I packed my belongings, reality intruded with increasing insistence. My laptop with its half-finished manuscript. My phone, now constantly buzzing with notifications. My city clothes, hopelessly wrinkled but representing a life I'd built over years of determination and hard work.
Mack watched from the doorway, Scout at his feet, as I zipped my suitcase closed. "You should go," he said finally. "Your career matters. Don't sacrifice it."
The selflessness of his encouragement made my throat tight. "I'm coming back," I insisted, crossing to stand before him. "Once the book is submitted, the promotional tour finished. I'll come back for the car...and for you."
His hands settled on my waist, warm and steady through the fabric of my sweater. "This mountain will be here," he said. "I'll be here."
But would he? The uncertainty in his eyes mirrored my own fears. What if distance revealed our connection as merely circumstantial—the product of forced proximity, shared crisis, and physical attraction rather than something lasting?
"I'm falling in love with you," I confessed, the words escaping before prudence could contain them. "I think maybe I started falling the moment you pulled me from that car."
His breath caught audibly. For one terrifying moment, I thought I'd misjudged everything between us. Then his arms enfolded me, drawing me against the solid warmth of his chest.
"I've never believed in second chances," he murmured against my hair. "But you make me want to."
We drove to town in silence, the mountain roads now considerably less treacherous under clear skies. As we passed the site of my accident, I glimpsed my crumpled sedan still nose-down in the ditch, stark evidence of how close I'd come to disaster—and how fortunate I'd been that Mack had found me.
The town of Ashwood came into view, its modest buildings showing signs of the recent flood but standing nonetheless. Resilient, like its inhabitants.
At the small regional airport, Mack helped me check in for the hastily booked flight, my suitcase seeming inadequate to transport me between these disparate worlds. How could I possibly contain Montana's vastness, Mack's quiet strength, within such limited confines?
The boarding announcement came too soon. We stood awkwardly in the tiny terminal, surrounded by strangers but isolated in our private emotion.
"Call when you land," he said, hands shoved in his pockets as if restraining himself from reaching for me. "Let me know you're safe."
I nodded, throat too tight for speech. Then, uncaring of public scrutiny, I stepped into his space, hands framing his face as I kissed him with all the tangled emotions words couldn't express.
"I'll be back," I whispered against his lips. "I promise."
His arms tightened briefly before releasing me. "I'll hold you to that."
Walking away from him required physical effort, each step toward the boarding gate creating greater distance between the woman I'd been and the one I was becoming. As the small plane lifted above Montana's rugged landscape, the flood of emotion finally overtook me and I didn’t even try to stop the tears as they came.
The mountain would wait. The question that followed me eastward, was whether I could find my way back to the home I'd discovered in Mack’s arms.