Chapter 7
Lilah
Dad calls just after sunrise, before I’ve even had coffee. “Morning, Pumpkin,” he says, voice gravelly from sleep. “You up?”
“Barely. You calling to check if I froze to death?”
“You got in after I was in bed … again. I’m just an early riser. Talked to Wade this morning.”
I smile against the phone. “You called him already?”
“Course I did. He was out before dawn, said something about guiding a couple through the canyon. That man’s made of coffee and commitment.”
“Yeah. He’s reliable.”
“Always has been. You know, after your mom passed, he was the one who made sure I didn’t sell the place and move us somewhere else. We both struggled with the memories she made there for us. But Wade said I’d regret it if I did.”
I glance out the window. There’s frost on the glass, pines heavy with snow. “He was probably right.”
“He usually is.” Dad pauses, then adds, “You two seem to be running into each other a lot lately.”
The casual tone doesn’t hide the curiosity underneath. “Small town, Dad.”
“Mmhmm.” His chuckle rumbles through the line. “Just saying, he’s a good man. He’s been through a lot over the years with his divorce. Caleb grew to a certain age and only wanted to live with his dad.”
“I didn’t know,” I say, now curious. Wade’s ex-wife situation lingers long after I set the phone down and pour my coffee.
By mid-morning the sky has cleared to a pale, blinding blue.
It’s the kind that tricks you into thinking it’s warmer than it is.
I grab my gear, leave Dad a note on the counter, and head for the upper ridge near Bear Creek.
Wade mentioned the overlook there catches light differently after a snowfall. So of course, I want to see for myself.
The air is razor-sharp. My breath feels like it’s painting ghosts. The trail starts easy with packed snow and clear footing. But the higher I go, the less defined it becomes. Branches bow under white weight. Somewhere far off, a bird breaks the silence with one note that sounds like surprise.
I keep walking. The ridge opens and the world spills out revealing a cathedral of mountain peaks and shadow. I lift my camera, framing lines of pine and silver sky, snapping in short bursts until the light shifts again.
It happens fast. A misstep, a slick patch under thin powder. My boot slides sideways. I go down hard, camera clutched tight against my chest. And I wonder why I’m more concerned about the camera — which is replaceable — than my freefalling body.
“Shit.”
The sound echoes off the rocks. I sit up, breathing hard, testing the joint. I check the camera. It’s intact. At least there’s that.
Then a sound — distant at first. An engine. I twist toward it. A truck, green and familiar, crawling up the service road below.
I laugh under my breath, half relief, half disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
It’s Wade — my knight in camo green armor coming to the rescue. I’m still in a sitting position from my hard land. I raise my red scarf and wave it at him. He spots me a second later, kills the engine, and is out of the cab before the echo fades. “Lilah!”
His boots crunch fast through the snow. “What happened?”
“Gravity,” I say through a shaky smile. “And apparently my lack of coordination.”
He kneels beside me, eyes scanning how hard it is for me to walk. “You twist it?”
“Not sure. Don’t think it’s broken, but …”
He exhales through his nose, that quiet sound men make when they’re trying not to curse. “You shouldn’t have come up here alone.”
“I was being brave.”
“You were being stubborn.”
“Sometimes they overlap.”
That earns the faintest ghost of a grin. “Alright. Let’s get you out of the cold before you turn blue.”
Before I can protest, he’s scooped me up effortlessly. My camera bag bumps against his shoulder, my fingers dig instinctively into his jacket. He’s all solid warmth and steady breath.
“I can walk …”
“Not on my watch.”
His tone leaves no room for argument. He sets me gently in the passenger seat, tucks a blanket from behind the seat over my legs. “You warm enough?”
“I will be,” I say, and mean it.
He drives slow down the ridge, one hand on the wheel, the other steadying the coffee thermos between us.
“You’re lucky I was headed up to check trail washouts,” he says finally.“I’ll take a look at it when we get back.”
“Back where?”
“My cabin’s closer than the town clinic. We’ll check it out.”
“That’s … ” I start, but stop. My leg and ankle feel fine. I don’t think I’ve broken or even sprained anything. I have to admit though … I like the way he’s treating me. So, I let this play out. My car’s at the ranger station. I can get it later.
“I’m going to owe you another dinner.”
“You already do.”
“Then I’ll make it two.”
He glances at me again, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Let’s start with you staying off that leg.”
He helps me out, immediately lifting me again, carrying me up the steps and inside his cabin. I hold onto him tightly, more than I mean to. Inside, the warmth hits like a physical thing.
“I’m putting you on the couch … for now,” he says. “You definitely need your feet up.”
I sink into the leather. He kneels, unlaces my boot, and studies the ankle with a focused quiet that makes my pulse behave badly.
“I don’t see any swelling. Your rotation seems normal,” he murmurs. “You’ll live.”
“I was hoping for dramatic sympathy.”
“You’ll have to settle for an ice pack.”
He moves efficiently, wrapping it with practiced hands. When he’s done, he looks up. “You hungry?”
“I’m starting to think you ask that whenever you don’t know what else to say.”
“Probably.” He stands, smiles faintly. “I’ll make you a special tea. It will help keep the inflammation down. I give it to Caleb sometimes when he’s taken a few too many hits on the field. He should be home soon.”
“I haven’t seen him since we were kids. How old is he now?”
“Seventeen. Eats like a bear.”
“Does he know he’s getting a random houseguest?”
“He will in a couple of hours.”
I laugh. “I should call Dad and let him know I’m safe.”
“I messaged him.”
He heads into the kitchen, and I lean back. My ankle is not throbbing, only my heart. I also feel a closeness from this mock rescue encounter with Wade – a gratitude dangerously close to desire.
Through the half-open door, I hear him humming under his breath, the low tune blending with the rattle of things in the kitchen. The cabin feels lived-in but orderly. I notice books, maps, and a framed photo of him and a younger Caleb, both grinning with fishing rods.
I came to these mountains for an assignment, not a story, but today feels like both. Maybe that’s what I’ve been chasing all along — something that can’t be captured, only felt.
I’ve wanted Wade for longer than I’ve had the courage to admit. It’s not just attraction. It’s the way he listens, the quiet care in everything he does. No man my age has ever looked at me like I’m someone to be seen, understood and helped, instead of conquered.
If I ever give myself to anyone, it will be Wade. I know that now — even if it can’t happen now.