To Claim the Mountain Man

Chapter 41

HEATH

I told myself I wouldn't worry about Isla leaving for New York until we knew whether she got into the program. But, fuck, it was all I could think about.

Since the night she told me about her phone call with that damn professor, my mind tormented me with thoughts of her leaving Laurel Peak. Leaving her family. Leaving me. It felt like a punch to the gut, twenty-four hours a day, every day.

My only reprieve came when we made love. When I was buried so deep inside of her that it felt like we were one, that our bodies were melded together so she couldn't go to New York. Not without me. Even then, every kiss and every touch felt like a desperate attempt to keep her here. Most nights, my passion turned frenzied, dominating and fraught with the words I couldn't say out loud: Stay with me. Don't go.

But how could I ask that of her? How could I possibly ask the woman I love to abandon her dreams? To give up what she loved.

And, to top off this absolute mind-fuck, a large part of me wanted her to go to New York. She deserved it. She worked so fucking hard, and that was one of the reasons I loved her. She had dreams, and she wanted to chase them. I'd be damned if I didn't support her, even if it meant that I'd have to live without her for a few years.

Honestly... It was killing me inside.

Still, I forced myself to take it a day at a time, just like we promised one another. I savored every moment we spent together, so that, if she did leave me at the new year, I'd have parts of her, memories of her, to hold on to.

Memories like today.

The weekend before Thanksgiving, Isla buzzed around my kitchen, an apron tied over her light-colored jeans and burnt orange, baggy sweater. She'd put the apple pie in the oven, then raced to my bedroom to get showered and dressed for our upcoming afternoon. She made it back to the kitchen before the oven's timer finished.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I questioned for what might've been the tenth time in twenty-four hours.

She scowled at me from where she bent over the oven. The oven mitts, which she'd brought over from her own place weeks ago, had little flowers hand-embroidered on their exterior. "Positive. You're not going to scare me away, Heath." She carefully lifted the apple pie and carried it to the stove, adding under her breath, "No matter how much you seem to be trying to."

She was right. I'd been recounting some of myworstmemories from Thanksgivings past, hoping that one might slip under her iron skin and strike fear in her heart. At least, enough fear to make her second-guess her decision to join me for Thanksgiving dinner at my mother's.

Isla wouldn't budge. I simultaneously wanted to kiss and throttle her for it.

Every year on the Saturday afternoon before Thanksgiving, the trailer park community put on a communal cook-out and potluck. Every resident brought a single dish, which helped cut down on individual costs, and a folding lawn chair to sit in. They drank hot cider, sat around bonfires, smoked cigarettes to stay warm, and ate their fill, and it was one of the more bearable days of the year in Mountain Lake community. It was also the only holiday I spent with Ma.

When I first told Isla about it, she'd shyly asked to come with me. After what happened during her first and only time meeting my mother, I'd been shocked by her request. When I asked her why she wanted to come, she simply answered that she wanted to support me. And she wanted to try out a new apple pie recipe.

If I hadn't already been head-over-heels for this girl, that would've done me in.

With the pie cooling on the stove, Isla slipped the apron off, brushed a honeyed curl away from her brow, and turned to face me with a big smile. "Are you sure this is alright for tonight?" She gestured toward her jeans and sweater, and I noticed a pair of pumpkin earrings dangling from her ears, too.