Page 7 of Engaged to the Mountain Man

“Anything you can tell me might be helpful in getting the answers faster.”

The orange glow that haunts my dreams flashes in my mind, but I push against it too. That’s a nightmare. I must have seen something scary on TV when I was young. “Find what you can.”

No one else has ever been able to answer questions about my past. When I was young, the center holding my records was damaged in a tornado, and most of the records were lost. Back then, everything was still on paper, so no digital copies exist of who I am.

“This could open up some things that you don’t want to know,” Roman warns like I haven’t already considered that possibility a dozen times before. But it’s time to face this and figure out who I am.

He sighs, and I hear the soft shuffle of feet against carpet. He must be away on a job, staying overnight at a hotel. He does that sometimes. “What does she want from you?”

“She wants to marry me.” The thought is laughable. I’ve never had a family. I bounced around the system for years without finding a permanent home. I figure that was a good thing. I learned early on in life that people leave me behind.

He smothers a snort. “She pretty?”

An irrational surge of anger floods my veins. “What the fuck does it matter to you?”

He barks out a laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes. Listen, she figured out you have some zeroes in the bank and wants a piece of the action. That’s all this is.”

When I aged out of the system, all I had was the t-shirt on my back and a few scant toiletries tucked away in a garbage bag. I spent time on the streets until I bought a winning lottery ticket. I claimed the jackpot anonymously and spent the next few years traveling the country in an RV with all the amenities.

Somehow though, my identity must have been compromised. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I grip the phone tighter, hating the thought. “Check into her.”

“I’ll turn over every rock,” he promises before we disconnect the call.

After that, I try to settle back into my bed and sleep. But instead, I spend the night restless, wondering about the curvy woman on my couch. She can’t really be a princess because I’m no prince.

* * *

The next morning,I’m in the kitchen sipping one of my overpriced coffees. Coffee is one of my few addictions. Despite my simple way of living, I still find myself going into town to purchase these special little pods.

I spent an uneasy night in my bed. For the few minutes I did manage to sleep, the orange glow was back. But it was different this time. There wasn’t just orange. There was a strange man, a figure cloaked in darkness. He came for me, beckoned me close.

When I got up, I shook off the dream and took a long shower. During it, I decided to let this girl stick around for a couple of days until Roman figures out what’s going on. For some reason, I feel protective over her. Like she’s mine to look after.

Once Roman brings me evidence that she’s a con artist, I’ll get her the help she needs. Then I can go back to my quiet life.

Aurora rises from the couch and stumbles into the kitchen. Her hair is matted and plastered to her head. Dark circles are under her eyes as though she didn’t sleep at all. I feel a stab of guilt for that. I could have given her the bed. See, further proof I’m no prince. A real prince would have given her the bed.

“You snore,” she hisses instead of greeting me.

“Herbert has never complained,” I counter, not sure why I find her so damn adorable like this. What would it be like to have a woman around, someone to spend my days annoying?

“And who is Herbert? Because he must be deaf!”

“My turtle.”

She whirls around and pins me with a look that tells me she does not find this amusing.

I fight a grin and jerk my head toward the coffee machine. “Want some?”

She moves to stand in front of it then she freezes as though she has no clue what she’s doing. She blinks up at me with her big doe eyes and my gaze goes to her puffy, pink lips. What would they feel like under mine? Fuck, I should not be thinking that when she’s here to deceive me and take my money.

The slightest ring of vulnerability is in her tone when she says, “Can you show me how? I have people to do this for me.”

“Of course, you do,” I mutter under my breath as I reach for the machine. It’s not meant to come out as grumpy as it does. Then again, I’ve never been a people person. There’s a reason I only have Herbert for company.

I show her how to load the machine and point to the buttons. “Choose your size.”

She studies the buttons for so long it’s almost comical.

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