6. Jace
six
Jace
The bite of the axe into wood is familiar, comforting. I've been at it for an hour, the repetitive motion helping me process what happened yesterday in my workshop. With each swing, I try to make sense of this unexpected situation.
Elisa Fox. City girl. Wedding planner. The last person I'd ever expected to feel something for.
But here I am, thinking about her hands on my skin, her body beneath mine, the way she looked at me afterward—not just with desire, but with something deeper. Something that scares me more than any mountain rescue ever has.
I split another log cleanly, watching it fall to either side of the chopping block. Five years I've spent building walls around myself, crafting a life of self-sufficient solitude. Five years since Caroline walked out, declaring she "couldn't compete with a mountain." Five years of convincing myself I'm better off alone.
And then Elisa storms in—literally—and cracks my foundation in less than a week.
I hear the cabin door open and turn to see her standing on the porch, clutching a steaming mug. Her hair is pulled back loosely, tendrils escaping around her face. She's wearing one of my flannel shirts over her jeans, and the sight does something to my chest I'm not ready to examine.
"Thought you might want coffee," she calls out, holding up the mug. "It's freezing out here."
I embed the axe in the chopping block and make my way toward her, suddenly aware of my sweat-dampened t-shirt despite the cold. "Thanks."
Our fingers brush as she hands me the mug, and neither of us pretends not to notice the spark. This is dangerous territory.
"I was hoping you might show me more of your work today," she says, leaning against the porch railing. "You mentioned designing equipment for search and rescue?"
I nod, taking a sip of the perfectly made coffee. Another surprise—she's figured out exactly how I like it. "Got a separate workshop for that. More technical than woodworking."
"I'd love to see it. If that's okay?"
There's genuine interest in her eyes, not just polite conversation. It catches me off guard how much I want to share this part of my life with her.
"Sure. Let me finish up here first."
Later, after showering and changing, I lead her to the smaller workshop attached to the garage. Unlike my woodshop, this space is all precision and engineering—metal, composites, and technical drawings.
"This is where the engineering degree comes in handy," I explain, watching her take in the specialized equipment. "SAR work requires tools that don't exist commercially, or need adaptation for our specific terrain."
Her eyes widen as she examines a lightweight pulley system I designed last year. "You made all these?"
"Most of them. Some are modifications of standard equipment."
She picks up a compact folding splint that weighs half of the standard models. "This is incredible, Jace. How did you get into this?"
The question I've been expecting. I take a breath, leaning against my workbench.
"Eight years ago, I was the one being rescued." I rarely talk about this, but something about her makes me want to share it. "Was hiking the north ridge solo—something I'd done dozens of times. Got caught in a sudden storm, lost my footing on an icy patch. Fell about thirty feet into a ravine."
Her face softens with concern. "That's terrible."
"Shattered my left leg." I gesture toward the slight limp I still carry. "Would have died of exposure if the SAR team hadn't reached me. When I recovered, I realized I had skills that could help them. Started volunteering, then designing equipment."
"Is that when you left engineering in Toronto?" she asks, connecting the dots.
"Two years after. The accident changed my perspective. Sitting in an office designing luxury bathroom fixtures when I could be doing something that actually matters..." I shrug. "Wasn't sustainable."
"So you came out here to save lives." There's admiration in her voice, not the judgment I'm used to hearing when people learn about my choices.
"Something like that."
She moves closer, examining the technical drawings on my desk. "These are beautiful. Functional, but there's an artistry to them."
"Engineering is just problem-solving with aesthetics if you do it right."
Her laugh is unexpected. "I never thought of it that way."
"What about you?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Always wanted to plan weddings?"
"God, no. I wanted to be an architect." She smiles ruefully. "Life had other ideas. Started helping with my cousin's wedding when her planner bailed last-minute. Discovered I was good at it. One referral led to another, and suddenly I had a business."
"You miss designing buildings?"
"Sometimes. But there's a different kind of creativity in what I do. Ephemeral rather than permanent."
The way she articulates it surprises me. She's more complex than I initially assumed.
After that, we make dinner. And it’s as I watch her chopping vegetables that I realize I never want her to leave. I want this. This every night. Forever.
"How many people have you rescued?" she asks as we sit down to eat.
"Twenty-three directly. More as part of team operations."
"That must be an incredible feeling."
I think about it while cutting into my steak. "It's not about the feeling. It's about doing what needs to be done."
"Still." She reaches for her wine glass. "Twenty-three people who might not be alive without you."
Before I can respond, my radio crackles to life.
"Boone, you copy? We've got a situation."
I grab the radio from the counter. "Copy. What's happening?"
Jake's voice comes through, tense with urgency. "Snowmobilers missing near Watson Ridge. Three college kids, last contact three hours ago."
My body tenses with familiar readiness. "I can be at base in thirty—"
"Negative. Davidson Pass is still impassable. Marcus says you're to stay put. We've got enough hands from the south approach."
Frustration surges through me. "Those kids don't have much time in these temperatures."
"We know. We'll handle it. Just wanted to keep you in the loop. Someone needs to know where we’re headed in case things go south. Will update when we have them."
After signing off, I stare at the radio, feeling helpless and angry. Elisa watches me quietly.
"You want to be out there," she says. Not a question.
"I should be. I know that ridge better than anyone." I set the radio down harder than necessary.
"They'll find them," she says softly, reaching across the table to touch my hand. The gentle contact anchors me.
"They'd better." I turn my hand to entwine our fingers. "Sorry. This part never gets easier."
"Don't apologize for caring," she says, her eyes meeting mine. "It's who you are."
Not long after dinner, word finally comes that the snowmobilers have been found alive. The relief washes over me, and when Elisa wraps her arms around me in celebration, I pull her close without thinking.
Our embrace turns to kissing, but different from yesterday in the workshop. This is slower, deeper, laden with something that feels dangerously like tenderness. When she pulls back to look at me, her eyes reflect the same relief I feel, mixed with something darker, hungrier.
"Take me to bed, Jace," she whispers against my lips. "A real bed this time."
I lift her into my arms without hesitation, carrying her to my bedroom. It feels significant somehow, bringing her here to the most private part of my home rather than taking her against a workbench or on the hearth rug.
When I lay her on my bed, her hair fans out across my pillow like spilled honey. The sight of her there—Elisa Parker, city girl extraordinaire, in my rustic mountain sanctuary—sends a surge of possessiveness through me that I've never felt before.
"You're so beautiful it hurts to look at you," I tell her, my voice rougher than intended.
She reaches for me, pulling me down to cover her body with mine. "Then don't look. Feel."
Her mouth finds mine again, hot and insistent. The kiss deepens as her hands slip beneath my shirt, tracing the muscles of my back, exploring with deliberate appreciation that makes my skin burn.
I trail my mouth down her neck, addicted to the small gasps she makes when I find sensitive spots. "Been thinking about this," I murmur against her collarbone. "Been thinking about you in my bed since the moment you walked into the lodge."
"Liar," she laughs breathlessly as my hands push her shirt up. "You couldn't stand me then."
"Wanted you anyway," I admit, revealing a truth I've barely acknowledged to myself. "Wanted you even when I thought I shouldn't."
Her back arches as my mouth captures her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. I take my time with her breasts, learning what makes her squirm, what makes her moan, what makes her fingers tighten in my hair.
"Jace," she gasps, my name a plea on her lips as I drag my beard gently across her sensitive skin. "Please."
I work my way down her body, worshipping every inch of her. The softness of her stomach, the flare of her hips, the strength in her thighs as they part for me. When I settle between her legs, she props herself up on her elbows, watching me with heavy-lidded eyes.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," I interrupt, holding her gaze. "Been dreaming about how you taste."
Her head falls back with a moan as I put my mouth on her. The taste of her, the sounds she makes, the way her thighs tremble against my shoulders—it all combines into something overwhelming, something that feels like more than just desire.
I take my time, using my tongue and fingers to drive her higher, memorizing every response. When she comes apart against my mouth, calling my name like a prayer, it feels like a victory more significant than any mountain I've conquered.
Before she's fully recovered, I move up her body, unable to wait any longer. She welcomes me with open arms, wrapping her legs around my waist as I push into her in one long, slow thrust.
"Christ, Elisa," I groan, the sensation of her tight heat around me almost too much to bear. "You feel perfect."
Her hands frame my face, bringing me down for a kiss that's achingly tender. "Move, Jace. I need you."
I set a rhythm that's deep and deliberate, wanting to make this last, wanting to burn every second into my memory. Her body rises to meet each thrust, her arms and legs wrapped around me like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
"Look at me," I command softly when her eyes flutter closed. I need to see her, need the connection of her gaze locked with mine as our bodies move together.
When she opens her eyes, what I see there steals my breath—vulnerability, trust, and something that looks dangerously like what I'm feeling. Something I'm not ready to name.
"You're incredible," I tell her, meaning more than just the physical sensation. "So beautiful. So perfect."
Her inner muscles clench around me at the praise, drawing a groan from deep in my chest. I slide a hand between us, finding the spot that makes her gasp, determined to feel her come again with me inside her.
"That's it," I encourage as her breathing quickens, as her nails dig into my shoulders. "Let go for me, Elisa. Want to feel you."
It’s all I can do to hold on, watching her eyes roll back as she comes, shuddering. The rhythmic pulse of her body around me pushing me over the edge I've been fighting. I bury my face in her neck as I come, her name a rough whisper against her skin.
In the aftermath, I hold her close, unwilling to break the connection between us. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, her breathing gradually slowing to match mine. This feeling—this contentment, this sense of rightness—is as unfamiliar as it is powerful.
"What are you thinking?" she asks softly, her lips brushing my shoulder.
The truth rises to my lips before I can stop it. "That I don't want this to end."
I feel her still beneath me, and for a moment I regret the admission. But then her arms tighten around me, and she presses a kiss to my throat that feels like understanding.
"Me neither," she whispers.
The simple reply carries more weight than any passionate declaration could. I roll to my side, bringing her with me, keeping our bodies connected as I face the terrifying possibility that what I'm feeling might be reciprocated.
As she curls against me, her head finding its place on my chest as if it belongs there, I realize I've never felt more exposed—or more complete. This woman, with her city ways and her meticulous planning, has worked her way past every defense I've built around myself.
And against all logic, I don't want those defenses back.