Updated Apr 11, 2026 • ~8 min read
Chapter 30: The Wedding
Sloane
*The Wedding – Spring, eighteen months after the rescue*
I’m getting married in a clearing in the Montana wilderness, wearing a simple cream dress and hiking boots, and I’ve never been happier.
The ceremony is small—exactly what we wanted. Mike Chen is officiating, grinning like he knew this would happen from the start. Kenzie is my maid of honor, crying openly. My parents are here, my dad looking proud and my mom dabbing at her eyes. A few other rangers, some locals from town who’ve become friends, and Jackson’s old buddy from the service who flew in from California.
That’s it. Thirty people, max. All of them people who matter.
The clearing is beautiful in late April—wildflowers blooming, the mountains still snow-capped in the distance, the sun warm on my skin. We’ve decorated simply: wildflowers in mason jars, a simple arch made from birch branches that Jackson built.
And there he is, waiting for me at the end of the short aisle.
Jackson Torres. My mountain man. My rescuer. My love.
He’s wearing a dark suit that he bought specifically for this—his first suit in five years—and he looks uncomfortable but devastatingly handsome. His eyes are locked on me, and I can see the emotion in them even from here.
Bear is sitting beside him in a bow tie, looking dignified despite being a wolf-dog.
Kenzie walks me down the aisle—we decided against the traditional giving away since my dad already gave his blessing and I’m not property to be transferred. And when I reach Jackson, he takes my hands and we just look at each other for a moment.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he whispers back. “You look beautiful.”
“You clean up pretty good yourself.”
Mike clears his throat. “Should I start, or do you two want to keep flirting?”
Everyone laughs, and the ceremony begins.
Mike keeps it short—we didn’t want anything long or elaborate. Just the important parts. The promises. The commitment. The choosing.
And then it’s time for vows.
Jackson goes first, his hands shaking slightly as he holds mine.
“Sloane,” he begins, his voice rough with emotion. “When you stumbled into my life eighteen months ago, I thought you were a complication I didn’t want. But you turned out to be exactly what I needed. You saved me from isolation. You taught me that letting someone in doesn’t mean losing myself. You showed me that I deserve love and happiness and good things. You’re my home. Not this cabin, not these mountains—you. Wherever you are, that’s where I belong. I promise to choose you every day, to be patient when you need it, to be brave when I’m scared, and to love you with everything I have for the rest of our lives.”
I’m crying by the time he finishes, and I have to take a breath before I can start my own vows.
“Jackson,” I manage. “You saved my life that first night. Literally. But more than that, you taught me how to live it. You showed me what it means to be brave, to be authentic, to choose a life that actually makes me happy instead of one that looks good on paper. You’re my adventure. My peace. My home. I promise to choose you every day, to be stubborn when you try to push me away, to love all of you—the broken parts and the whole parts—and to build this beautiful, messy, perfect life with you for as long as we both shall live.”
Mike is smiling as he says, “By the power vested in me by the state of Montana, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Jackson, you may kiss your bride.”
And he does.
He kisses me there in the clearing where he found me, where our story began, and it feels like everything coming full circle. From rescue to this—to marriage, to partnership, to a future we’re building together.
When we break apart, everyone is cheering, and Bear is barking, and I’m married.
To Jackson Torres.
To my mountain man.
To my home.
***
*Epilogue – Two years later*
I’m sitting on our porch, one hand on my very pregnant belly, watching the sunset paint the mountains in shades of orange and gold.
The cabin has changed so much in the three and a half years since I first arrived. Jackson has built two more additions—one for the nursery we’re about to need, and one for my office where I write.
Because I’m a writer now.
My memoir—”Saved by the Mountain Man”—came out six months ago and somehow became a bestseller. People love the story of the city lawyer who got lost in the wilderness, fell in love with her rescuer, and gave up everything to build a life in the mountains. I’ve been on podcasts, done virtual interviews, and even have a small wilderness skills blog that’s gained a following.
Jackson teaches now too—wilderness survival skills to small groups who want to learn. He was nervous at first about being around strangers, but it’s been good for him. Controlled exposure, manageable numbers, doing something he’s passionate about.
We’re partners in every sense of the word.
“How’s my girl?” Jackson asks, settling into the chair beside me, his hand joining mine on my belly.
“Active. She’s been kicking all afternoon.”
“Takes after her mom. Stubborn.”
“Takes after her dad. Survivor.”
Our daughter kicks as if in agreement, and we both laugh.
Bear is lying at our feet—older now, grayer around the muzzle, moving slower than he used to. But still here, still part of our pack, still the dog who led Jackson to me that first night.
“Best rescue ever,” I say, echoing words I’ve said a hundred times.
“Best thing I ever found in the woods,” Jackson responds, the same way he always does.
“You know,” I lean my head on his shoulder, “if you’d told me four years ago that I’d be living in a cabin in Montana, married to a mountain man, pregnant with our first child and writing books about survival, I would have thought you were insane.”
“And now?”
“Now I can’t imagine any other life. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”
We sit there as the sun sets, his hand on my belly feeling our daughter move, and I think about the path that led us here.
Getting lost on that hike—the best mistake I ever made.
Being rescued by a grumpy man who taught me how to survive.
Falling in love during a blizzard.
Fighting for that love when it seemed impossible.
Choosing this life over everything I thought I wanted.
And finding, in the process, everything I actually needed.
“What are you thinking about?” Jackson asks.
“Just that I’m grateful. For all of it. Even the scary parts. Even the parts that hurt. Because it all led here. To this porch, this life, this family.”
“Our daughter is going to grow up thinking this is normal,” he muses. “Growing up in the wilderness, learning to track and hunt and survive. She’s going to be the toughest kid in Montana.”
“She’s going to be amazing,” I agree. “Just like her dad.”
“Just like her mom,” he counters.
We’re both right.
Our daughter—we’ve already decided to name her Skye, after the mountains—is going to be raised with the best of both of us. My determination and his competence. My stubbornness and his patience. My love of learning and his wisdom about the wilderness.
She’s going to be loved fiercely, taught well, and given the tools to be whoever she wants to be.
“I love you,” I say, not for the first time today, not for the thousandth time since we met.
“I love you too.” He kisses my temple. “Thank you for getting lost in my woods.”
“Thank you for finding me.”
“Always.”
The stars are starting to come out, and in a month, maybe less, our daughter will be here. Our family will be complete. The cabin that was once a shelter for one broken man will be a home for three—soon to be four.
This is my life now.
Not the one I planned. Not the one I thought I wanted. But the one I chose. The one I fought for. The one that makes me happier than any corner office or partnership ever could.
I’m Sloane Torres now. Park ranger. Writer. Wife. Soon-to-be mother. Wilderness woman.
And I wouldn’t change a single thing.
Not the getting lost. Not the hypothermia. Not the fear or the struggle or the hard days learning to adapt.
Because all of it—every single moment—led me here.
To this man.
To this life.
To this perfect, impossible, beautiful happily ever after.
Home.
THE END
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