Page 1 of Fierce Mountain Man

1

EMMY

Construction Zone. Keep Out.

The sign wasn’t exactly inviting. But I hadn’t been invited here, so I couldn’t complain.

I stepped around the plastic barricade and crossed my arms over my chest to shut out the cold. This enclave, which would go by the name The Shoppes at Brighton Village, was where my bakery would be. Somewhere in this mess of framed buildings and rubble on the ground, my dreams would come true.

Emma’s Bakery.

Yeah, not very creative. I’d have to work on that.

Visualize what you want.I’d heard a couple of the other contestants talking about that the first day we’d arrived. They didn’t know I was one of the bakers, but I was sitting by the window in the lobby of the Seduction Summit Ski Lodge, staring at a laptop. They were all bonding on the couches by the fireplace, and I’d overheard them talking about how they wanted to start up bakeries, so I eavesdropped.

Hopefully, none of them had their sights set on Seduction Summit. This was my territory.

Crunch, crunch.

I continued walking, stepping on debris and wood shavings from the work they’d been doing earlier that day. It was late—after eight o’clock. I’d skipped out on the invitation to meet everyone in the lobby and head down to get burgers at Rosie’s Diner. Instead, I ordered room service and ate alone, then drove down the mountain to check out how I’d spend the fifty thousand dollars I’d won today.

Crunch, crunch.

I was visualizing it now. As I walked, I pictured a charming pink storefront with a big sign. It would be classy and elegant to match the rest of the stores that would eventually populate The Shoppes at Brighton Village.

The town would probably have rules against things like neon, but I wouldn’t need it back here, anyway. They’d have to light up the whole area for tourists to be able to see where they were going at night. The fact that I couldn’t see a damn thing right now, even with the moon shining down, only proved that point.

Crunch, crunch.

There’d be little bistro tables all around, like in a European café. It would also need to have some sort of coffee shop where people could grab a cup of coffee, and of course, they’d need a slice of cake or pie to go with it. I’d make apple fritters for breakfast to catch tourists who came out early to grab a latte or chai tea from the coffee shop. Or maybe danishes and eclairs. There were all kinds of possibilities in a town with zero standalone dessert options.

A smile spread across my face, but it quickly froze, as did the rest of me. A sharp pain was shooting through my right foot.

Holy hell, that hurt. Was it a cramp? Was something in my shoe? No, I’d been walking just fine, although ballet flats probably weren’t the best choice for wandering around a construction zone after dark.

I started to pull my phone out of my back pocket, but the pain was too severe. I lifted my foot out of my shoe, and that was when I saw the blood.

I let out a scream that could probably be heard for miles. But no one was around to hear me. No one was around to help me, either. I was stuck with an injury to my right foot and a nail sticking through the bottom of my shoe.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here.”

Thirty seconds ago, that male voice would have annoyed the hell out of me, but right now, it was music to my ears. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned, holding up my shoe, the nail still sticking out of the bottom.

All I could see up ahead, standing near the barricade I’d crossed, was the hulking form of a very large man. A mountain man. A lumberjack. A logger. I’d heard the guys around here called all three. This guy might not be a lumberjack or a logger, though. If he was in charge of this construction site, wouldn’t that make him some kind of construction worker?

“I stepped on a nail,” I said.

At least I assumed it was a nail. It sure looked like it. I should pull it out of my shoe, but meanwhile, my right foot was perched on top of my left, just so I didn’t have to set it on the ground. The ground was covered in mess, and the last thing I needed was an infection.

“I’m bleeding. I think I’m hurt. Should I call an ambulance?”

I was asking some stranger that question. Some faceless stranger at that. I couldn’t even tell if he was friendly or mean.

“Stay right there,” he said.

Crunch, crunch.

He was walking toward me. What if he stepped on a nail too? No, he probably had the right shoes for this. Only a moron wandered into a construction site in ballet flats.

---