Page 9 of Romanced By the Mountain Man

The thought of Gwen in a white dress does something funny to my insides. Makes them hurt in a way they never have before. I rub my hand over my chest and turn to the fridge. “Can’t wait.”

I pull out the marinated steak and gesture for her to follow me. She gasps as she steps outside onto the back deck. The view is spectacular. That’s why I chose to build my cabin here. On clear nights like this one, you can see the other mountains around us for miles while the stars overhead shine like beautiful nightlights.

The back deck is my favorite area and where I spend most of my time when I’m not reading naughty books for Gwen. There’s a pavilion over it to provide shade during the heat of the day. A table and chairs give me a comfortable place to relax. The twinkle lights wrapped around the wooden columns keep it lit at night without disturbing the nocturnal wildlife while the glowing lanterns on the table add a nice touch too.

In the corner, there’s a dog dish with food and a fluffy cushion. I don’t know much about the skinny, mangy mutt that’s started sleeping on my back porch. But I won’t deny him a few basic comforts.

Sometimes, I look around at my life now, and I shake my head. I can’t believe the same kid who used to fight the other boys for enough to eat now owns a home and some land.

I start the gas grill to the soundtrack of the cicadas and the crickets, singing their love songs.

“Wow,” Gwen says in a breathy whisper. The sound goes straight to my cock. I want her whispering like that when I’m thrusting inside of her. I want her voice filled with that much awe and wonder, like she can’t believe two people could be that good together. “A girl could get used to a view like this.”

Could she? Could she fall in love with the view from my back deck? Could she give up her pretty little home by the beach and settle for a mountain cabin with a grumpy one-armed man?

She turns to me and I busy myself with the grill, so she doesn’t realize that I was staring at her like a creeper.Let me guess. They didn’t want you. No shock there, kiddo.

The social worker’s words ring in my ears again, and I force myself to push them back. There’s a reason that I was in the boys’ home growing up. Didn’t matter how many times I got out, I always had to go back.

Gwen opens her mouth as if there’s something she wants to say then snaps it closed again, probably thinking better of it.

I hate when she does that. I hate whoever taught her that no one is interested in what she has to say. “Go ahead and spit it out.”

She shakes her head. “I have no filter.”

“Don’t care too much for people with ‘em. You can’t trust a person who won’t say what’s on their mind.” There’s a reason I got passed over for promotions. I wasn’t willing to say what people wanted to hear just so I could get a head pat and an “atta boy”.

She licks her lips with no idea how sexy I find the simple gesture. For a romance writer, she seems innocent and untouched. The thought has my cock hardening even more. “Well, it’s just…I started thinking…you don’t have an arm and you don’t have a family and it made me worry that maybe you lost them in like some horrible accident and I poked at wounds that I shouldn’t have. I told you. I have no filter and—”

“No reason for apologies,” I mutter as I flip the steak. “I was a foster kid. Never knew my family. Never adopted. Lost my arm in the service. Any other questions?”

Her gaze softens, filling with sadness. Fuck, I don’t want her feeling sorry for me. The last thing I deserve is pity. I’ve made shit choices my whole life. “How do you like your steak?”

She blinks. “Blade…”

“You look like a medium rare kind of girl.”

She finally nods, seeming to accept that there are things I don’t want to talk about. “You read me right, sailor.”

I frown, and she gestures to my stump. I have an above elbow amputation, but some of the tattoos are still there among the scars.

“The anchor is a dead giveaway.”

We’re silent for a few more minutes before she smiles at the dog bowls in the corner. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“I don’t have a dog,” I answer, thinking of the white and tan Jack Russell Terrier that sniffs around every so often. Don’t even know the little guy’s name. Poor fella hasn’t been loved well.

“So then you just like putting dog food out?” She laughs. It’s a soft, tinkling sound that fills my chest with a funny feeling. I want to hear the sound of her laughter every day for the rest of my life. It’s not something I’ll get, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it.

“There’s a stray that wanders through here sometimes.” If there’s one thing I remember in my life, it’s the feeling of being a stray. The stinging knowledge that I didn’t belong to anyone. “I leave food out for him.”

“You could adopt him,” she says.

I can’t explain that I’m not the type of guy that does the whole domestic scene. There’s a reason I don’t have a wife, two kids, and the truck with toddler seats. I’m not family material. Never have been. Never will be.

Instead of focusing on the life that will never be mine, I pull the steak off the grill and plate it. It’s large enough for two. I nod to the cabinet by the grill, and she pulls out the dishes. I grab the waters from the mini fridge.

We settle at the table, and she gives me a warm smile. It strikes me then that she’s easy to please, so hopeful to be loved. The realization has me feeling like an asshole for not telling her. It’s on the tip of my tongue to confess my true identity.

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