Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Saturday morning crept across the O’Hara ranch wearing storm clouds like a warning, the mountains invisible behind gray that pressed down with the weight of winter’s first serious threat.
Dylan sat in her Charger at the base of the trail that wound up Eagle’s Point, watching dawn struggle through the overcast, her hands wrapped around a thermos of coffee she couldn’t taste past the knot in her throat.
She’d dressed for weather—thermal base layers under fleece-lined pants, her father’s old military surplus jacket over a wool sweater Sophie had insisted she buy last winter, waterproof hiking boots that had seen actual miles.
Her knit cap was pulled low over her ears, gloves tucked in her pockets.
She looked like someone who understood mountains could kill you with cold as easily as with falling.
She’d almost not come. Had spent the night constructing elaborate excuses—the weather, the restoration shop’s pending inspection, the McLaren that needed one final adjustment. But Sophie’s words had echoed through her sleepless hours—That man has been half in love with you for years.
Headlights cut through the gloom, and Aidan’s truck pulled up beside her.
Through the rain-spotted glass, she watched him check his reflection in the mirror.
Five years she’d been watching him do that.
Five years of cataloging his habits like she was writing a manual on Aidan O’Hara, never realizing she was actually writing a love letter.
He climbed out, dressed in similar layers—the expensive technical gear that spoke of someone who’d grown up with mountains as his backyard. The backpack he shouldered looked serious enough for real weather, and she noticed the ice axe strapped to its side.
“I’m glad you came,” he said when she joined him at the trailhead, and the relief in his voice made something loosen in her chest.