Page 7 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Mountain Man

“Good. Close the deal, Kaylee. I’m losing patience here.” And then he hangs up, no goodbye, no words of encouragement.

I toss my phone onto my couch beside me, my hands shaking slightly. I hate that he has so much power over me. I hate the way he talks to me. I hate that I don’t have anyone I can talk to, get advice from.

In this moment, I hate that I’m completely, utterly on my own.

I rub a hand over my face and stand up off the couch, going to where I set my bag down by the front door and pulling my laptop out. I head into the kitchen and turn the kettle on, making some tea to help chase away the permanent chill in here.

And then I open my laptop and get to work. I will find Logan a house. Not just a house. The perfect house.

I have to.

Four

Logan

The cold wind soothes my hot skin as I heft an axe over my head and bring it down swiftly, cracking the log sitting on the stump smoothly in half. Without a word, my friend Beau slides another one into place, then sips his beer.

I lift the hem of my dark blue Henley to wipe the sweat off my brow, and then I swing the axe again, splitting the log in one efficient stroke.

But it doesn’t matter how hard I exert myself. I could cut down the entire forest surrounding my large, cabin-like home nestled here among the pines and it wouldn’t be enough to chase a certain young realtor from my mind.

“Maybe…” Beau starts but doesn’t finish, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Beau’s known me my entire adult life. We first met over twenty years ago when we spent summers working for the same logging company, doing real “mountain man shit” as we used to call it. I became a master carpenter, while Beau settled in town and became a park ranger, eventually working his way up to the head of the Mountain Rescue Service.While he was doing that, I started Armstrong Construction, pouring everything I’d learned about carpentry, forestry and conservation into building sustainable, aesthetically pleasing commercial spaces.

“Maybe what?” I ask, tipping my chin at the pile of logs I need to split. Beau places another on the large stump.

“Maybe you should just…I dunno. Ask her out. Or fuck her. Or fuck someone else. Do something, because it’s clearly eating at you.”

“I can’t, Beau. She’s twenty-one.” I swing the axe again, sweat pouring down my spine now. “She’s younger than Hailey. I can’t be that guy.”

“What guy?”

“The middle-aged guy who chases girls half his age.”

“Mmm.” He sips his beer and sets up another log for me. “Fair point.” He shrugs. “So fuck someone else.”

“I don’t want to fuck someone else.”

“Then fuck her.”

“I can’t fuck her.”

“Then you’d better stock up on lotion and tissues.” He shrugs. “Or, you know. Stop jerking the poor girl around and actually buy a house and be done with it.”

My head snaps in Beau’s direction. “I’m not…” But I don’t have the conviction to finish that sentence, because that’s exactly what I’m doing.

“Not what? Dicking around and rejecting every house just so you can keep seeing her?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“You’re as transparent as a wet T-shirt.”

“That’s colorful,” I say, setting up another log for myself since Beau’s too busy taking the piss out of me to help.

“No, it’s see-through. That’s what transparent means,” he deadpans. I roll my eyes as I swing my axe and split the wood.

“Just give me another log,” I say, pointing my axe at the wood pile.

“Doesn’t matter how much wood you cut. You can’t outrun this,” he says, sipping his beer and crossing his arms. Then he adds something under his breath that sounds a hell of a lot like, “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

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