Page 1 of The Mountain Man's Valentine Baby

Chapter1

Thea

Ithread through the crowd, ducking my fourth handsy cowboy of the night. When I finally step outside of the bed and breakfast in Sweetheart, North Carolina, I let out a small sigh of relief.

I’m on a second-floor balcony and I seem to have found the only one that’s unoccupied. It’s filled with a long row of rocking chairs, no doubt set up this way so newlyweds can serenely enjoy their first morning cup of coffee together after a wild night spent making love in the honeymoon suite. Ugh, couples are the worst.

Weddings aren’t really my thing. I wouldn’t be here except that my biggest client, Zac Maple, has gotten married today. He’s a great guy, and he fell for an amazing woman named Dotty. I’m sure they’ll have decades of wedded bliss together.

But right now, I’m stuffed into a too-tiny red dress that’s called to every cowboy in a hundred-foot radius. I’m never wearing a dress again after this. Or attending another wedding.

“Weddings are what people do when they fall in love and want to brag about their happiness to all of their single friends,” I mutter as I pace down the balcony, aiming for the corner rocking chair that’s tucked away in the darkness.

“I couldn’t agree more,” a deep, masculine voice says. It has a raspy sound, like whiskey poured over gravel.

I look up to find a man with dark eyes staring back at me in the fading light of dusk. He rakes his gaze down my figure, and I shiver as if he just caressed me.

He’s seated in the rocking chair like he had the same idea I did—to hide away from the wedding festivities.

There’s a small sketchbook resting on one of his thick thighs and a pencil clutched too tightly in his scarred hand.

I saw him with Zac’s brothers. He’s one of the best men. Actually, he was theonlybest man I could focus on. It was something about his dark eyes and the way he carried himself with quiet confidence despite his limp.

Suddenly, my plans are dashed. I can’t hide away and work on the crochet project in my purse.

Crochet was a hobby I started when I first began touring with Zac in a crappy secondhand tour bus that smelled like moldy cheese. Back then, he was a no-name country music singer with more dreams than money. I was a no-name manager with more dreams than clients. Now years later, he headlines sold-out concerts across the country, and I’m the most-sought-after talent manager in Nashville.

The best man tucks away his pencil and sketchbook into his suit coat. “Seems I’m not the only one whose plans for solitude were dashed.”

As he moves, I can’t help but notice the way the material of his suit clings to his big, bulky frame. I imagine what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped around me, squeezing me tight. His full, bushy beard would probably brush the top of my head. Why does that thought make me feel warm all over?

“I thought I was alone,” I explain to him, my voice sounding too breathy to my own ears.

“Clearly, you are.” His brown gaze is still assessing me, like a predator that has spotted prey and is trying to size it up. The thought should make me uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. I like the way this big man is looking at me. I like the idea that he’s sizing me up and deciding which part of my body he’d like to feast on first.

I shrug. I’ve never had anyone so I can’t be sad about it. “I always have been.”

Something flickers across his face, sorrow and grief mixing. In this one moment, I think maybe he’s as lonely as I am. Maybe he understands what it’s like to be completely alone in the world. Whatever he’s feeling, he blinks it away and the emotion is gone from his face. He clears his throat. “I’m Jasper, Zac’s best man. Despite the title, I also hate our happy friend.”

I relax at his introduction and consider taking the seat in the rocking chair next to him. But it’s hard to breathe as it is and if I don’t sit exactly right, the wire in this shapewear will spear into me like Moby Dick.

I keep standing, trying to ignore the chill in the late December air. In my desperate attempt to leave the wedding reception, I left my white cardigan behind. “I’m Thea. It’s great that he’s happy. But give the rest of us a break, right? I’m wearing shapewear, for fuck’s sake.”

He looks me up and down again, and his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. “I don’t know what that is, but damn if I’m not curious now, Thea.”

He says my name softly like he’s savoring it, and I can’t help it. I feel giddy under his attention. I’m surrounded by handsome, powerful men every day who can have whatever they want. But there’s something about this man and his gaze. He makes me feel like I’m the powerful one for a change.

I spin around and show off the sheath dress that accents my figure. “It molds my curves, so I can look fantastic in my dress and also look longingly at the dessert bar.”

He grunts, the wooden rocking chair creaking beneath his big frame as he shifts in his seat. “That doesn’t sound like too much fun.”

I give him a grin. “What about you? Do they have you in some torture device too?”

He pats his knee. In a low, seductive voice, he says, “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

I chuckle. I’ve never been the type to flirt. The fastest way for a woman to lose credibility in my industry is to be caught dating or sleeping with a client. I keep every man at arm’s length, careful to avoid even the hint of a scandal.

But with Jasper, I feel carefree and relaxed. He’s not in my industry, and I’m hundreds of miles from my home. “You don’t look like the type to wear shapewear.”

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