Page 1 of Rugged Mountain Man

1

WILLOW

I’d never sat at a bar by myself in my life.

Well, I wasn’t exactly by myself. I was surrounded by big guys in sweatshirts and vests and lumberjack plaid. They were from the local logging crew, someone said last night. They came here to eat dinner after work.

The weird thing was, they didn’t talk to each other. Didn’t they know each other if they worked together? Maybe there was an unspoken pact between them all.

“Another glass of wine?” the bartender, a friendly guy who was scrawny compared to the guys around me, asked.

I nodded and slid my empty glass that way. I didn’t normally drink, but this day had been a rollercoaster ride. I was sure I’d be eliminated right away, but somehow, I’d made my way into the top three finalists in the national baking championship that was happening in the tent near this ski lodge.

The other two finalists weren’t around when I breezed through the lobby. But I was early. I was hoping to grab a little liquid courage before dinner.

And that was how I’d ended up sitting on a stool, in a mostly empty restaurant, watching as it gradually filled up. First one mountain man on a stool, then another, then another. And now I was sandwiched in between two of them and scared to move.

The one on my right was hot as hell. Okay, so the one on the left was pretty good-looking too, but he wasn’t my type. My type was this guy with the dark hair and the tattoo that was peeking above the collar of his sweatshirt.

When had that guy become my type? I usually went for scrawny dudes like the one pouring Pinot Grigio into my glass. He wasn’t exactly my type either, but he was closer to it than these guys. I dated nerds, mostly because I was a nerd. Always had been, always would be.

“You here for the competition?” the bartender suddenly asked.

Oh. I hadn’t expected to be drawn into conversation. He didn’t seem all that interested in talking to me when no one was around. Was this something he was doing because it was busy? If so, why?

“Yes,” I said. “I’m a finalist.”

There were only three of us. I was damn proud to be one of them. But at the same time, I felt bad for all the contestants who hadn’t made the finals. Like me, they’d all gone to the trouble of traveling here with baked goods to give to the judges. They’d practiced and practiced, knowing this was their one shot.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the only shot, but it was a big shot. The winner got fifty thousand dollars and help with starting a bakery.

It was something I’d dreamed of doing all my life. Well, since I got a little toy oven for Christmas when I was six, anyway.

“That’s awesome,” the bartender said, setting down the bottle of wine. “You know, if you want to celebrate, I get off work at eleven.”

My eyes widened. Was this guy hitting on me? No, he probably legit wanted to celebrate. I wasn’t used to being hit on. Usually, I blended into the background. But tonight, I’d really gone all out—fixing my hair, wearing contacts instead of glasses, and putting on the makeup my friend had given me for my birthday. At the time, she’d dared me to wear it and even sent me a bunch of video tutorials. I’d practiced, but it was rare I actually went out in public looking this way.

“We start early in the morning,” I said. “And it’s the finals. There’s a lot at stake. I’ll be going to bed early.”

The bartender nodded. “Well, if you change your mind, give me a call.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the booklet servers kept their tickets in. He extracted a business card and set it down. Then, with a wink, he headed down the bar to a guy who had been motioning for him for the past thirty seconds or so.

I didn’t move to touch the card. Instead, I grabbed my wineglass and lifted it by the stem as my friend had shown me. Otherwise, the heat in your hand transferred to the liquid in the glass, warming it up, she’d said.

“You going to call him?”

I nearly choked on my swallow of wine when the hot guy to my right spoke. He didn’t look at me, so it took me a second to verify that yes, the words had come from him.

I shook my head. “You can have the card if you want.”

“Yeah, I don’t swing that way.”

This time, there was no danger of choking on my drink. I’d set it down and given my full attention to the guy next to me. Now, I actually dared to look at him.

“You don’t, huh?” I said. “Yeah, I would have guessed that about you.”

He frowned, but still didn’t look at me. He was staring straight ahead. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I would have thought maybe I’d imagined he’d spoken to me.

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