Page 1 of My Fearless Mountain Man
Chapter 1 - Nora
There’s something about a perfect summer day that makes everything feel possible. Today is exactly that. It’s beautiful and cloudless with a gentle coasting breeze that fills my car with the scent of pine, sweet grass, and a floral hint. The combined scents create a cocktail of something I’d call summer sunshine.
You’d never guess a fire ever touched this place. But I remember it all the same.
I remember the sharp, biting heat trying to spread across my skin. I remember every choking, smoky breath as my chest seized with coughs. Ashes raining down, branches getting heavy with flames, crackling and crashing as they hit the ground and spread the flames across every fallen leaf.
Curling, popping flames burning my eyes and singing my shoes felt a lot like death swirling around me, cutting off any escape… untilheappeared. A stranger, scarred and silent, emerging through the smoke like something out of a dream or a memory I hadn’t made yet. He swept me up into his arms without hesitation, curling me against his body and bathing me in a scent far better than smoke and dirt. He smelled like sandalwood and oak, barely touched by ash.
His deep, velvety voice, promising, “I have you. You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m not letting go.”
I shudder at the memory and my toes curl in my shoes.
He’d been shockingly rugged—dark brown hair, intense eyes the color of strong coffee, and a presence that cut through the chaos like a lifeline. There was something in those eyes, something steady and solemn, that told me he’d been through hell before—and made it back. Every scar etched into his skin wasn’t just survival. It was strength.
No man has compared in the last six years to him, to how safe and secure I felt in his arms. He’s lingered in my head in more than one way. Popping up whenever I feel like giving up, reappearing when I’m questioning myself, always saying those same few sentences.
He alone is the reason that I keep visiting. Every summer I come back to this exact place. Each year, I’m shocked at the lack of fire damage that’s obvious. Every summer, I leave anonymous letters at an old ranger post, hoping that he’ll understand how thankful I am that he saved me.
Maybe it’s romantic. Maybe it’s ridiculous. But I want him to know what he gave me—that his actions mattered. That he mattered. I want to thank him, really thank him, and show him who I’ve become. To let him see that he didn’t save someone who wasted the second chance he gave her.
And, if I’m being honest… a part of me just wants to see how he measures up to that memory I’ve locked into place over the last six years. If he’s still that ruggedly handsome. If he really has a scar that needs softening with a kiss.
I steer closer to the ranger station, knowing I’ll probably just leave another anonymous letter—like I have every year. I don’t expect an answer. I just want to keep the connection alive,however fragile or one-sided it may be. Maybe it’s a little crazy. Maybe the rangers open them and laugh at the girl who still writes to a stranger from six years ago—a man just doing his job. But somehow, the ritual brings me comfort. I like keeping the tradition alive.
My hero never has to respond. He already gave me more than I could ever repay—he saved my life. And even if some small, stubborn part of me still dreams of seeing him again… I can live without that. I have the memory. The rest is just wishful thinking.
I cross my fingers on the steering wheel anyway as I pull into the station. This year feels new and different. It’s ripe with possibilities and alive with hope in a way I’ve never felt. Anticipation nips at my heels.
Every year, I whisper the same hope:Maybe this is the year I’ll see him.And every year, I leave with nothing but silence. But today, the flowers are in bloom, the forest feels like it’s leaning closer and the little ranger cabin stands quietly among the trees—cleaner, cozier, almost expectant, like it knows exactly why I’m here and is promising the kind of warmth and kindness I need.
With the envelope in hand, I get out of my car and walk to the station. Rather than knocking, since it means the ranger who is there has to get up – if they are there – I head inside. I hum to myself lightly as my honey-blonde braid slides over my shoulder to brush my chest. My sun dress brushes the top of my knees, and I prepare myself to drop off the letter before heading into the town nearby to enjoy a few days of peace.
When I turn to set the letter on the main desk, I freeze.
I’m not alone.
There’s a man—large, broad-shouldered, solid in a way that makes the room feel smaller. His dark brown hair is slightly mussed, brushing the back of his neck in soft, unruly waves. It’s shorter than I remember, but still wild. His muscles are taut, his posture alert, like he wasn’t expecting anyone either. Slowly, he turns to face me.
My fingers tighten, crumpling the edge of the envelope.
It’s him.
That same scar slices across his cheek and jawline, impossible to forget. His worn jeans and faded black T-shirt hug a frame I couldn’t mistake—stretched over a chest that still looks like it could block out the sun. His eyes—dark, intense, almost black—lock onto mine, and my breath catches.
He looks… better than I remember.
Maybe it’s the absence of smoke. Maybe it’s the quiet. Or maybe it’s just us, here, now, with nothing between us but six years of silence and one letter that never made it into his hands.
My lips part, but no sound comes out. He’s older. Rougher. More scars. Eyes that have seen too much—but it’s still him. Still the man who pulled me from the fire and held me like I mattered.
I take a step forward, afraid he might disappear. That I’ve imagined this. That he’ll vanish the moment I blink.
But he doesn’t move.
And neither do I.
And now that he studies my eyes, studiesme, something zings through my whole body, more potent than any touch I’ve ever felt. His stare echoes through me until my heart thuds loudly in my chest, faster and faster. I’m afraid to breathe, afraidto move, I don’t want to break the moment. I don’t want to lose him now that he’s right here in front of me.
