Page 2 of Mixed Up with the Mountain Man
"More than you'd think. Scammers steal photos from real estate sites, social media, anywhere they can find them. Create fake listings and collect money from people like you." His expression darkens. "Usually the victims realize it when they can't contact the 'owner' or when they arrive to find a completely different property."
"But this is the right property," I say slowly. "Just the wrong owner."
"Lucky for you, I guess. If you'd shown up to some random house..." He shakes his head grimly.
The full scope of my stupidity crashes down on me. Not only was I scammed, but I could have ended up in a genuinely dangerous situation. Instead, I'm standing in a gorgeous cabin with what appears to be a decent man who's offering me coffee instead of calling the police.
"I should go," I say, though the thought of driving all night back to Vancouver in the dark makes me want to cry. "Find a hotel or something."
He sharks his head and pours coffee into two mugs, handing me one. "The roads get dangerous after dark."
The coffee smells like heaven, and I wrap my hands around the warm mug gratefully. "So what do you suggest?"
"Stay."
The single word hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibility.
"Here? With you?" My voice comes out high, like a mouse.
"Couch pulls out." His eyes suggest he's not necessarily planning on me using it. "Unless you'd rather risk mountain roads in the dark after getting scammed once today."
When he puts it like that, staying suddenly seems like the only reasonable option. And if the way he's looking at me is any indication, this weekend might turn out better than I'd originally planned.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "I'll stay."
two
Leo
Shesaysyes,andsomething primitive roars to life in my chest.
Mine.
The thought hits me like a falling tree. This woman who appeared on my doorstep—city-soft and beautiful and clearly lost—belongs to me. I've never believed in love at first sight, but looking at Emma Hartley with her honey-blonde hair and eyes like storm clouds, I suddenly understand why my grandfather used to say mountain men know their mates within minutes.
Dangerous thinking. I barely know her name.
"Good," I tell her, trying to keep my voice steady. "Now, what's in that bottle you brought?"
She glances at the wine she'd set down, color rising in her cheeks. "Pinot noir. I was planning to drink it while contemplating my life choices."
"Perfect. We can contemplate your life choices together."
Her laugh is bright and genuine, nothing like the practiced sounds city women usually make. I move to the kitchen, giving myself space to think while I hunt for a corkscrew.
Emma Hartley. Even her name fits her. It’s elegant but strong, like wildflowers that bloom in harsh mountain soil.
"So what brings you to Silver Ridge?" I ask, opening the wine. "Besides getting scammed."
"Midlife crisis at twenty-eight." She settles on the couch, tucking her legs under her. "Caught my ex cheating, quit my job, decided I needed to figure out what I actually want from life."
"Lawyer?" I guess, pouring wine into two glasses.
"Good guess. Corporate law. Soul-sucking but well-paid." She accepts the glass I offer, our fingers brushing. The contact sends electricity up my arm. "What about you? What does aMacKenziedo for work?"
"Sustainable logging operations. Make sure we harvest responsibly, replant what we take." I settle on the opposite end of the couch, though every instinct wants me closer to her. "Family business, more or less."
"So you're actually a lumberjack." Her eyes spark with interest. "That's very authentic."
