Rescued By the Mountain Man (Whitetail Falls: Mountain Men #4)

Chapter 1 – Wendy

The forest road ends at a small gravel pull-off barely wide enough for three cars. Mine is the only one here. I cut the engine and sit for a moment, watching fat snowflakes drift past the windshield in lazy spirals.

The silence out here is immediate, the kind that wraps around you like insulation.

I glance at Bolt in the rearview mirror. He's panting against the back window, breath fogging the glass in hazy clouds, tail thumping against the seat. His leash dangles from the headrest where I hung it.

"Alright," I say, turning in my seat to look at him properly. "Quick walk. Fifteen minutes, tops."

He whines, high and insistent, and paws at the window.

I laugh softly and grab my coat from the passenger seat, shrugging into it as I step out into the cold. The air hits my face immediately carrying the clean scent of pine and fresh snow.

My boots crunch into snow that's already ankle-deep. The sound is crisp and solid beneath my weight.

I tug my hat down over my ears, the knit fabric catching on my bangs, and pull my scarf tighter around my neck. My breath clouds in front of me, white and thick.

Bolt barks once impatiently from inside the car.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

I open the back door and clip his leash to his collar. He practically drags me toward the trailhead, his claws scrabbling for grip in the snow. I let him pull, smiling despite the cold already creeping through my gloves.

The path is narrow but clear enough, marked by wooden posts every twenty feet or so, weathered and dark against the white. Tall pines press in on both sides, heavy with snow, their branches sagging under the weight.

Everything is muffled. Even Bolt's paws make barely any sound as he trots ahead, nose down, tracking scents I can't begin to imagine.

It's beautiful out here. Peaceful in a way that feels almost sacred.

The snow falls steadily but gently, each flake drifting down without hurry. It clings to my eyelashes when I blink. It catches in the loose strands of hair that escaped my hat. My cheeks sting from the cold, but it’s the kind of sting that feels alive rather than painful.

I walked trails like this as a kid, back when winter meant sledding and hot chocolate and coming home with soaked mittens. This feels uncomplicated like that. Just movement and cold air and the soft crunch of snow underfoot.

Bolt pulls ahead, his leash going taut, and I let it go slack again, following at an easy pace. My thighs warm with the effort of walking through the snow, the bundled fabric rubbing against itself with each step I take.

We're maybe ten minutes in when I notice the snowfall thickening.

The flakes come faster now, smaller and denser, no longer drifting but falling with purpose. They blur the air between the trees. The trail ahead softens at the edges, details fading into white.

I glance up at the sky, what little I can see of it through the canopy. It's a flat, featureless gray, pressing down like a low ceiling.

A faint unease prickles at the back of my mind.

"Maybe we should head back," I murmur, more to myself than to Bolt.

He doesn't look back at me. He's fixated on something ahead, ears pricked forward, body tense and still. His nose quivers.

I follow his gaze but see nothing except trees and snow and more trees.

"Bolt, come on. Let's—"

He sprints.

The leash rips through my gloved hand before I can tighten my grip, burning against my palm even through the fabric. I yelp and lunge forward, fingers grasping at empty air, but he's already gone.

I watch the blur of white fur disappearing into the trees to the left of the trail.

"Bolt!"

My voice cracks through the stillness, too loud, swallowed almost immediately by the snow. I stumble after him, boots sinking deeper than I expect, snow spilling over the tops and soaking instantly into my socks. The cold is shocking, like a wet bite against my ankles.

Branches snag at my coat. My scarf catches on something and pulls loose, the wool sliding down around my shoulders. But I don't stop to fix it.

"Bolt, come!"

I can still hear the frantic scrabble of claws on frozen ground, the rustle and snap of underbrush. I push through a gap between two pines, their needles scraping against my hat, and nearly trip over a buried log hidden beneath the snow. My arms windmill for balance.

My heart pounds, more from adrenaline than exertion.

I stop, panting, and listen.

Nothing.

The wind picks up. It wasn't blowing before, or maybe I just didn't notice.

Now it hisses through the branches overhead, a low, persistent sound that grows louder with each gust. It shakes loose clumps of snow that fall in soft thumps around me, landing on my shoulders, on the ground, disappearing into the accumulation.

I turn in a slow circle, scanning the trees, squinting through the falling snow.

Everything looks the same.

Tall, dark trunks. White ground. Gray sky pressing down through the canopy. No movement. No flash of white fur. No sound except the wind.

"Bolt!"

My voice sounds smaller now, the storm already swallowing more of it. The snow is falling hard enough that I can't see more than thirty feet in any direction. Everything beyond that is just vague and indistinct shapes.

I turn back the way I came, looking for my footprints.

They're already filling in. In another few minutes, they'll be invisible.

My breathing is loud in my ears now. The cold is sharper too, biting through my pants where wet snow clings to the denim, through my gloves where the fabric is damp.

My fingers are starting to ache.

The slope beneath my feet feels too steep, angling down when I'm sure it should be level. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe panic is already distorting everything.

I stop again, forcing myself to stand still, to breathe, to think.

The wind gusts again, harder, and snow stings my face like tiny needles. I pull my scarf back up over my nose and mouth, but my fingers fumble with the fabric. They're already numb inside my gloves, clumsy and slow.

"Bolt!"

My voice cracks.

Nothing answers except the wind.

I keep moving, telling myself I'm heading in the right direction, that if I just stay calm and keep going I'll find the trail or the road or something familiar. But the trees all look the same. The snow erases everything. My thighs burn. Each step feels heavier than the last.

I don't know how long I've been walking when I realize I'm shaking.

I stop and brace one hand against a tree trunk, trying to catch my breath. My chest feels tight, like there's a band around my ribs squeezing tighter with each inhale.

My legs feel heavy. Unsteady.

I'm lost, and the storm is getting worse, and I don't have my phone because I left it in the car because I thought this would take fifteen minutes and I wouldn't need it.

The panic I've been holding back rises fast and sharp, clawing up my throat.

I press my forehead against the tree and close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe slowly.

In. Out. In. Out.

A sound cuts through the wind, low and distant, but unmistakable.

Bolt’s bark.

My eyes snap open. My heart leaps so hard it hurts.

"Bolt!"

I push off the tree and stumble forward, boots slipping on uneven ground hidden beneath the snow. My arms pump for balance. My breath comes in gasps now, fogging thick in front of me.

The barking comes again, clearer this time. Closer.

Relief floods through me, dizzying and bright.

I push through a dense cluster of pines, branches scraping at my face, and nearly fall when the ground drops away more sharply than I expect. I catch myself hard on my hands, and snow soaks through my gloves instantly, burning cold against my palms.

I drag myself upright, gasping, and keep moving.

The barking is louder now.

And then I see him.

Bolt is sitting at the base of a massive pine, tail wagging lazily, snow crusted thick on his back and head like he's been there awhile. He looks completely unbothered, tongue lolling out, eyes bright.

Relief crashes over me so hard my knees almost buckle.

"You—" I start, voice shaking. "You stupid, stupid—"

That's when I see the man.

He's standing just beyond Bolt, partially obscured by the falling snow, and he's huge.

Broad-shouldered, thick-chested, wearing a heavy coat that makes him look even larger than he probably is.

His arms are solid, his stance wide and grounded.

A dark beard covers the lower half of his face, thick and well-kept, flecked with gray I can just make out through the snow.

His eyes are pale blue, though it's hard to tell in the dim, snow-filtered light.

He's holding Bolt's leash in one large hand.

I freeze.

He doesn't move toward me. Doesn't speak. Just watches me with a stillness that feels calculated, like he's assessing something.

I don't know this man. I don't know where I am. I don't know how far I've gone or how long I've been walking.

But Bolt is sitting calmly at his feet, unbothered, like this man is trustworthy.

"That's—" My voice comes out thin and breathless. I clear my throat and try again, forcing steadiness I don't feel. "That's my dog."

"I know." His voice is low, rough-edged, quiet enough that I almost don't hear it over the wind.

He steps forward.

Instinct tells me I should back up. Should feel afraid. Should do something other than stand here shaking and staring.

But I don't move.

He closes the distance between us in three long strides and stops just in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face properly. Up close, he's even bigger than I thought, radiating warmth I can feel even through the cold air between us.

Snow clings to his shoulders. His beard. The creases of his coat.

"You're lost," he says.

I nod, teeth chattering. I didn't realize I was shaking this badly until now, my muscles even feel tight and exhausted.

He doesn't ask how it happened. Doesn't tell me I shouldn't have wandered off the trail. Doesn't say anything at all.

He just moves.

His hands close around my upper arms, firm and steady, and he turns me slightly, angling my body so the wind hits his back instead of mine. The relief is immediate, the sharp bite of the wind suddenly blocked by his size.

Then he shrugs out of his coat.

"Wait," I manage, the word sluggish. "You'll—"

He doesn't respond. He just wraps the coat around my shoulders before I can finish the sentence, settling the heavy weight of it over me like a blanket.

"I'm fine," he says quietly.

He is, impossibly.

Beneath the coat, he's wearing a thick flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows despite the cold. His forearms are corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair, completely unbothered by the freezing air. He doesn't shiver. Doesn't tense against the wind.

He looks like the cold doesn't touch him at all.

He bends slightly and picks up Bolt's leash from where it's trailing in the snow, then straightens and hands it to me without a word. I take it automatically, my numb fingers clumsy around the fabric loop.

Bolt wags his tail, panting happily.

The man places one broad hand between my shoulder blades and begins guiding me forward.

I go. I just follow his lead, one foot in front of the other, his hand a constant presence against my back.

The storm is howling now, wind whipping snow into horizontal sheets that sting my face and blur everything beyond a few feet. I can barely see where I'm stepping. My legs feel like lead, each step requiring effort I'm not sure I have.

But he moves with absolute certainty, never hesitating, never slowing, like he knows this forest by heart even in a whiteout.

Bolt trots beside us, unbothered, his tail still wagging.

I don't know how long we walk.

Time feels strange, stretched thin by adrenaline and cold and exhaustion. My legs are shaking. My lungs burn with each breath. The hem of my jeans is frozen stiff, scraping against my ankles with every step.

My thoughts are slow and sluggish, like the cold is seeping into my brain.

Then, through the white, I see a cabin.

Low and solid, built from dark logs that look weathered and permanent, like they've been here longer than the forest around them. Smoke rises from a stone chimney, a thin gray line cutting up through the falling snow. The windows glow faintly with warm light.

It looks like something out of a storybook.

Safe.

He guides me toward the door, his hand never leaving my back, and I follow numbly, my boots dragging through the snow.

Relief crashes over me so hard I almost stumble.

My vision blurs, tears or snowmelt or exhaustion, I'm not sure. He stops at the door and looks down at me.

His pale eyes hold mine for a long moment, steady and unreadable, and I realize distantly that I still don't know his name.

"You're safe," he says quietly.

He reaches past me and opens the door.

He gestures me inside, and I step over the threshold, Bolt padding in beside me. The door closes behind us, shutting out the wind and the cold and the storm.

And for the first time in what feels like hours, I can breathe.