Page 1 of Kidnapped By the Mountain Man

Chapter One

Cora

Fictional men. What’s not to love? They’re the perfect adaptation of real-life men, minus all the stupid things they do. I realize that’s a dim light to shed on the male species as a whole, but that’s where I am right now. And if anything, I’m honest. Honest to a fault. Honest to the core. Honest to the point where I kind of make myself sick.

“Are you listening to anything I say, Cora?” My father’s tone is condescending and wrought with frustration. My wedding is in two days, and admittedly, I’ve become less and less attached to this realm and more attached to the idea that someone on a white horse is going to come save me.

Last night I was reading this book about a mob boss. He was tall, inked, and oozed this masculinity that no one could deny. He kidnapped some girl and held her against her will because her family owed him money. Of course, they fell in love and had amazing, earth-shattering sex. I’m not saying exceptional sex is the prize…but it would be nice.

What I want, more than anything, is to be taken away and held captive. It’s the only way I think I’d ever break free of this situation.

How sad is that?

“Okay. We’ll talk later,” my father snaps, standing from the couch to head toward the back room with Mom. I remember days when I admired his patience. His favorite thing to say is,‘patience is a virtue to a farmer.’At least, that was his favorite thing to say. Since Mom got sick, he’s been wound tight as a two-dollar watch.

As he leaves the room, the doorbell rings and I’m left with the chore of opening it.Yes, opening the door is a chore. Especially considering I’d much rather be hidden upstairs in the cozy corner of the makeshift library. It’s mostly just the corner of a room with a few giant bean bags and a small bookshelf I built from scrap wood out back, but it’s cozy, and when I close the door and turn out the lights, I could be anywhere.

The doorbell rings again and I’m sprung from my thoughts.

It’s probably one of the ranch hands looking for my father, but I doubt he’ll be coming to the door or answering any questions today. He was up all night with Mom, and something tells me he just crawled back into bed with her.

I tie my robe closed, stand from the chair, and make my way to the door.

The bell rings again.

Okay, someone is impatient.

I swing open the door with a gust of frustration. “Yes… how can I help you?”

The second the words come from my mouth, I want to swallow them down and try again. The man standing in front of me is six and a half feet tall and inked from his neck as far down as I can see. He’s broad and his gaze is dark.

“Sorry, Ma’am,” he says. “I’m here to deliver a horse from Waylon’s ranch. Your dad bought breeding rights for one of our studs. He’s here for the weekend,” the man smiles the most boyish of grins, “and he’s ready to go, if you know what I mean.”

I’ve heard the voice before, but I can’t place him. My cheeks flush with warmth and I drag my fingers back through my hair, suddenly aware of how terrible I must look. It’s been at least two days since I’ve showered and I’m pretty sure I’m still wearing last night's baked ziti on my collar.

“Yeah, umm… my father. Let me call him for you. I’ll be right back.”

I slam the door shut, unexpectedly hard, and whirl in an excited circle before grabbing my cell and darting up the stairs like a lunatic.Why am I excited?Who knows? I’m set to be married in two days, so enthusiasm over an attractive man whoisn’tfictional is against the rules. Also, my father told me first thing this morning he wasn’t dealing with business today, so I’m not sure where I’m running off to.

My body seems to have a clue, though. I spray dry shampoo in my hair and brush it out quickly, cover my stench with perfume, and change into something less… dirty. I settle on a yellow sundress and a black cardigan. Not because I’m trying to impress anyone, but because it’s the first thing I see.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

All this while, I try to place the voice of the man I’ve just seen.

On my way back down the stairs, I peek out the side window. The man is still standing there, tight jeans cupping his ass as he rolls up the sleeves on his white button down, showing off even more tattoos. I can’t tell what they are from here. He strokes his big hand over his salt and pepper beard and glancesup. His eyes… they’re dark and speckled with gold, or maybe green.

His eyes!

Damn it! I’m staring.

With my face burning, I creep down the last of the stairs and peep through the door. “Sorry. I was just seeing if you were still here.”

The man nods. “I am. You’ve changed.”

“Oh, did I? I didn’t notice.” I chuckle, but again, I want to die.

“How did you not notice you changed?” The man’s voice is deep and graveled.

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