Page 1 of Forbidden Mountain Man

1

FOREST

“Can I get you some more water?” I ask my mother as I head into the kitchen. It hasn’t changed one bit since I left home at eighteen. God, that was nearly two decades ago.

“My glass is still half full from the last time you asked,” she replies.

“A sandwich, then? Or another pillow for your knee?” I call out.

“Just make yourself a snack and come sit down,” my mother insists. “You’re stressing me out by wandering all over creation.”

I smirk at her quaint turn of phrase. My mom is kind, loyal, and independent to boot. Which has made the last twenty-four hours of trying to keep her on the couch after her knee surgery a fuckin’ migraine.

I love the woman. She raised me on her own and made sure I had everything I needed to succeed in life. But good lord, she has no concept of slowing down or taking a break.

Finishing up my post-dinner turkey sandwich, I walk back into the living room and sit in the recliner next to the couch. My mother is propped up on a mountain of pillows with her knee wrapped and elevated. She's surrounded by several drinks, theremnants of the dinner I made on her plate, a bag of popcorn for snacking, and of course, the TV remote. Without soap operas and chick flicks to distract my mother, the whole system falls apart.

"What Hallmark movie is featured in tonight's showing?" I ask as I get settled in. "A small-town girl in the big city who finds a secret billionaire to fall in love with? Or maybe she's from a big city and is forced to move back to the family ranch and ends up falling for the foreman?"

“Oh, hush,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me. A smile tugs at her lips and I know she’s teasing. “New house rule: No making fun of my shows until you find yourself a woman.”

I roll my eyes and lean back in the recliner. I should have known better than to bring up anything related to relationships. My mom has been on me to “settle down” and “find a nice woman.” She acts as if I party my life away, which is the complete opposite of the truth.

After sticking it out for four years in college to get my degree in history, I knew I wasn’t cut out for mainstream life. The world is loud, busy, and overwhelming. I’m not a hermit, per se, but I prefer to spend my time tucked away in the mountains in my cabin.

“I’m serious,” my mother continues. “You know I’m proud of you and the work you do way out there in the middle of nowhere. Crafting tables, chairs, and custom furniture is a respectable trade and you’ve done well for yourself. Don’t you go thinkin’ I’m not grateful for how much you’ve helped me over the years.”

I nod, though all I want to do is bolt out the door and drive my truck back up the mountain. I don’t know how many times we can have this talk before she gives it a rest. Still, I’m here for the rest of the night, so I might as well buck up and listen.

“I know, Ma.”

“I’m sure you’re tired of hearing me say it, but I worry about you. All alone most days in your workshop and then alone at night in your cabin.”

“I have friends, you know,” I grumble. “You make me sound like a loser.”

My mother laughs, which makes me laugh, too. “I didn’t raise a loser,” she says, making me laugh harder. “I raised a good man who knows how to take care of their partner and remain loyal. There aren’t many of those left, you know. It’d be a shame for you to waste that just rotting away in your cabin.”

“I’m not opposed to dating or marriage,” I tell her for the hundredth time. “I just haven’t found anyone that’s sparked my interest.”

“Hard to find a woman when you’re hidden on the top of a mountain,” she counters.

“There are lots of ways to meet people these days. Like dating apps or Facebook or whatever.”

“Oh, and are you using those things to find your match?”

“Well, no,” I admit, looking away from her.

My mother nods, satisfied with my confession. “Just promise me you’re happy. That’s what I really want for you, son. My luck with love was never there, but you… you’re special.”

“I’m not sure that’s the compliment you think it is,” I joke. “Besides, it takes time to build that kind of relationship.”

“Yeah, more time when you’re not even looking.”

“Ma,” I sigh in exasperation. “Your show is starting. Wouldn’t want to miss the opening premise. These things have pretty complex plot lines, so you’ll need to pay close attention,” I say sarcastically.

My mother tosses a piece of popcorn at my face, which I catch before it hits me. “This conversation isn’t over. There’s a commercial break in ten minutes,” she informs me before turning her attention back to the TV.

I’m about to settle in for a cheesy movie when the phone rings. I always forget my mother still has a landline. Good thing, too, because she always forgets to charge the cell phone I got her.

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