Chapter 3
Jess
The next day was both better and worse than the others.
Better because Sam's criticism didn't sting anymore—not when I knew it came from a place of genuine care rather than dismissal. Not when every correction was accompanied by patient instruction and encouragement.
Worse because I was hyperaware of every moment he was near me. Every touch, every look, made my entire body languid with desire. I couldn't stop thinking about or replaying the feeling of his hands in my hair and the way he'd held me.
"Jess, focus," he said, appearing beside me as I tried to start a fire with flint and steel. "You're thinking too hard again."
"Sorry," I said automatically.
"Don't apologize. Just try again."
I struck the flint, but the spark died before reaching the tinder.
"Your tinder's too wet," Sam said, crouching beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. "And you're not giving it enough oxygen."
He reached over to adjust my hand position, and the contact sent electricity up my arm. His fingers were rough with calluses.
"Like this," he said, his voice intimate even though there were people around us. "Let the spark catch, then blow gently. You're trying to coax the flame, not force it."
Coax. The word made me think of his mouth on mine, the way he'd coaxed responses from my body I didn't know I was capable of.
Focus, Jess. Fire. Fire is dangerous.
"Try again," Sam said, not moving away.
This time when I struck the flint, the spark caught. I blew gently, and the tinder began to smolder. A thin wisp of smoke rose between us, and then—suddenly—flame.
"I did it," I said, unreasonably proud of myself for accomplishing something humans had been doing for thousands of years.
"You did," Sam agreed, but he was looking at me instead of the fire. "You're a fast learner when you stop overthinking."
"I'm good at overthinking," I admitted. "It's kind of my superpower."
"Yeah, I noticed." His hand came up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture casual and intimate at the same time. "We're going to work on that."
"On my overthinking?"
"On you learning to trust your instincts instead of your anxiety."
Before I could respond, the sky chose that moment to darken ominously. I looked up to see thick clouds rolling in with terrifying speed, the temperature dropping noticeably even in the few seconds we'd been watching.
"Everyone, gather up," Sam called, his voice sharp with authority as he stood. The relaxed intimacy of moments before vanished, replaced by focused intensity. "We've got weather moving in. Fast."
The group assembled with varying degrees of concern. Some looked relieved at the prospect of cutting the day short and heading back to camp. Others—like me—looked uneasy at the way Sam's jaw had tightened as he studied the sky.
"How bad is it?" Richard asked, following Sam's gaze to the rapidly building cloud formation.
"Bad enough that we need to start packing up now," Sam said. "This is moving faster than the forecast predicted. We're looking at possible whiteout conditions within the hour."
"Whiteout?" Amanda's voice rose an octave. "But it's October. It's not supposed to snow yet."
"The mountains don't check the calendar," Sam replied, already moving toward his ATV to grab his radio. "And storms up here can go from manageable to deadly in minutes."
I felt my stomach drop as the first snowflakes began to fall. Light and almost pretty, drifting down like something out of a winter postcard. But I could see the tension in Sam's shoulders, the way his eyes kept tracking the darkening sky, and I knew this was anything but picturesque.
"Everyone pack your gear," he ordered. "We're evacuating to the lodge. It's about a mile and a half back down the trail. Stay together, stay visible, and do exactly what I say when I say it. Understood?"
A chorus of nervous agreement rippled through the group.
Sam's eyes found mine across the clearing, and something passed between us. A look that said stay close, stay safe, I've got you. I nodded, trying to project confidence I didn't feel as I started breaking down my tent with shaking hands.
The temperature was dropping fast now. What had been a pleasant autumn afternoon was rapidly becoming something else entirely. The wind picked up, carrying snow that was no longer gentle but driving, stinging against exposed skin.
"Faster, people," Sam called, moving through the group to help those struggling with their gear. I grabbed my pack, cramming in my gear. My hands were clumsy with cold and adrenaline, but I managed to get everything.
"Good girl," Sam murmured, and I shivered. He had to stop doing that. "Stay close to me. Right behind me in line. If visibility gets bad, hold onto my pack. Don't let go."
"Okay," I said, trying not to let my voice shake.
His hand came up to cup my face briefly. "You're going to be fine. I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."
The certainty in his voice steadied me.
Within minutes, we were moving. Sam led, setting a pace that was fast but manageable. I stayed right behind him like he'd instructed, my eyes locked on the broad expanse of his back. Behind me, the other lawyers followed in varying states of panic and determination.
The snow was falling harder now, thick flakes that clung to our clothing and obscured the trail. I was becoming harder to see, and I found myself reaching for Sam's pack like he'd suggested, needing the physical connection to feel grounded.
"Good," he said without turning around. "Keep that contact. Don't let go."
We'd been hiking for maybe twenty minutes when I heard a cry behind me. I turned to see Amanda sprawled on the ground, her face twisted in pain.
"My ankle," she gasped. "I think I twisted it."
The group stopped, clustering around her in confusion. Sam was beside her in seconds, his hands gentle but efficient as he assessed the injury.
"It's already swelling," he said grimly. "Can you walk?"
Amanda tried to stand and immediately collapsed with a cry of pain. "No. I can't."
Sam's jaw clenched as he looked at the sky. The storm was intensifying by the minute. Already, I could barely see the trees on either side of the trail. We were running out of time.
"I'll carry her," he decided. "Everyone else, we need to move fast. Jess—"
He looked at me, and I saw something in his eyes. A decision being made. A trust being offered.
"You take point," he said.
"What?" I stared at him. "Sam, I don't know the trail. I can't—"
"You can." His voice was absolute certainty. "The trail's marked with orange blazes on the trees. Stay between them and you'll be fine. I'll be right behind you with Amanda. If you lose the trail, stop and wait for me. But you can do this, Jess. I know you can."
He was asking me to lead. To trust myself. To stop second-guessing and just act.
Terror and something else—pride, maybe, or determination—warred in my chest.
"Okay," I heard myself say. "Okay, I'll do it."
"That's my girl," Sam said, and then he was lifting Amanda in a piggy back. “Let’s go.”
I turned to face the trail. The orange blazes were barely visible through the driving snow, but they were there. I could do this. I could lead us to safety.
I had to.
We started moving again, faster now. I kept my eyes locked on the trail markers, counting trees, memorizing landmarks when I could see them. Behind me, I could hear the crunch of boots on snow and my own pulse thundering in my ears.
The world had narrowed to white chaos and the next orange blaze and the desperate need to not fail. To not let Sam down. To not be the reason people got lost in a snowstorm.
And then, suddenly, I couldn't see the next marker.
I stopped, panic clawing at my throat. The snow was so thick now I could barely see ten feet ahead. The wind was howling, disorienting, making every direction look the same.
"Sam?" My voice came out higher than I wanted.
"Right here." His voice was steady, grounding. "What's wrong?"
"I can't see the next blaze. I don't know which way to go."
I felt rather than saw him move up beside me, Amanda still on his back. His free hand found my shoulder, squeezed.
"Look down," he said. "See the depression in the snow? That's the trail. Even covered, you can see where people have walked. Follow that."
I looked down and saw what he meant—a subtle difference in the snow depth that marked where the trail continued. Relief flooded through me.
"I see it," I said.
"Good. Keep going. You're doing great, Jess. We’re almost there."
The pride in his voice gave me strength. I started moving again, following the subtle trail markers through the white chaos. My world had narrowed to the next step, the next landmark, the desperate need to get everyone to the lodge before things got worse out here.
I lost track of time. It could have been minutes or hours. All I knew was snow and cold and the relentless need to keep moving. My legs burned. My lungs ached. But I kept going because Sam believed I could, and I'd be damned if I'd prove him wrong.
And then, finally—blessedly—I saw it. A dark shape through the swirling snow. The outline of a building.
"You did it," he said. "You got us here. I knew you could."
The next few minutes were chaos as everyone broke ranks and ran to get inside and get warm.
Sam laid Amanda on a bunk to check her ankle properly.
Luckily, it was just a bad twist. He elevated it and put an ice pack on it.
It should be all right by morning. Meanwhile, Richard started a fire in the massive stone fireplace.
Belinda checked to make sure everyone else was okay.
A few went to the large kitchen to see about making hot food and beverages.
I collapsed on a bench, my whole body shaking with exhaustion and adrenaline crash.
Team work.
"Everyone settle in," Sam announced, finally releasing me to address the group. "We're stuck here until the storm passes. Could be a few hours, could be overnight. Make yourselves comfortable. There's bunks in the back rooms."
The group dispersed, some heading for food, others claiming bunks. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving everyone exhausted and a little shocky.
Sam turned back to me, his hand coming up to cup my face. "You need to eat something. And get into dry clothes. You're shaking."
I was shaking, I realized. With cold and exhaustion and the crash after all that fear.
"Come on," he said gently, taking my hand. "Let me take care of you."
And for the first time in my adult life, I let someone else take control.
Let Sam guide me to a quiet room in the corner.
He helped me out of my wet jacket and wrapped me in a warm blanket.
I let him bring me food and hot tea. He sat beside me while I tried to process everything that had just happened.
"You did good today," he said quietly, his arm around my shoulders. "Really good, Jess. You should be proud."
"I was terrified," I admitted.
"I know. But you did it anyway. That's what courage is. Not being unafraid, but being terrified and doing it anyway."
I leaned into him, letting my head rest on his shoulder. Outside, the storm raged on. But in here, wrapped in Sam's arms, I felt safe. Protected. Seen.
"What happens after the storm?" I asked. "After this week is over?"
His arm tightened around me. "That's up to you."
"What do you want to happen?"
"I want you to stay," he said simply. "I want you to quit your job and move to Vermont and let me teach you everything about these mountains.
I want you to be my partner in every adventure.
I want to build a life with you that has nothing to do with billable hours or corporate hierarchies and everything to do with being alive. "
My heart was pounding. "That's crazy. We barely know each other.”
"Doesn't change what I want. Doesn't change the fact that I knew you were mine the moment I saw you."
"I can't just quit my job," I said weakly. "I have student loans. A career. Responsibilities."
"I'm not asking you to decide right now. I'm just telling you what I want. What I'm going to work toward every day you're here. By the time this week is over, you're going to know exactly what it feels like to be mine."
His offer should have sent me running back to my safe, controlled life. Instead, it felt like a lifeline. Like maybe—just maybe—I could choose something different. Something that felt like coming alive.
"Okay," I whispered.
"Okay?"
"Okay, show me. This week. Show me what it could be like."
His smile was slow and devastating. "Oh, baby. You have no idea what you just agreed to."
And then he was kissing me again, slower this time, deeper, like he had all the time in the world to learn every inch of my mouth. Like he was already claiming me in ways that went far beyond physical.
When he finally pulled back, I didn’t want to let him go.
"Get some rest," he said. "You're going to need it. Tomorrow, I start showing you exactly what it means to be mine."
The promise in his words sent pleasure curling through me. I wondered exactly what I'd gotten myself into. I couldn't wait to find out.