Page 1 of Grumped By the Mountain Man

Chapter One

Jaxon, 3 years earlier.

“You really think they’re good?” Ayla asks, leaning over my shoulder as I view the photographs she’s taken around the mountainside and lake over the past year.

I chauffeured her for most of her photography sessions, something Beau Woods, her older brother, and my best friend, thought of as a friendly gesture. The Woods brothers were and still are preoccupied with building their new lodge, and Beau’s up to his eyeballs in sawdust. So, when he asked me to help Ayla out with my brand-new four-hundred and thirty-seven horsepower truck, I jumped at the chance.

For the past year, we spent sunsets, sunrises, lunar and solar eclipses, and new moons together. I helped her with lighting, developing, and fleeing.

Yeah, fleeing.

I gaze at a picture of a ferocious grizzly now. Its black jaws are wide open, its yellow canines sharp and ready to puncture my truck to get at us. Ayla managed to snap the candid photo—while screaming bloody murder—as I floored it. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea, but the bear had her cubs and she didn’t bother to pursue us more than a few bounds.

“Better than good, butterfly. They’re perfect.”

Everything about Ayla is perfect. From her bright, emerald green eyes to her wavy coppery hair that she runs a hand through now.

I try my damndest not to look at her small breasts as she bends over the table. Her locked elbows are forcing them together, and creasing the neckline of her tank top that exposes more of her pale flesh.

Her breasts are the only things that are handfuls on her curvy frame, though. Her ass and thighs are so damn thick, they swallow any shorts or bikini bottoms she wears. And given the summer heat, she wears them a lot.

“Really?” Her nose scrunch is so damn cute, as is her infectious smile. “You’re not just saying that? You think they’ll impress the college admissions team?”

I’m one hundred percent certain that they will. But even if I was unsure, it’s too late to backpedal now. These photos are just copies. She already submitted the originals six weeks ago.

I pick up a landscape portrait of the lake.

“Look at this,” I say, gesturing to the dark mud around the lakeshore. “Look how you’ve captured the texture of the bank. You can see the veins and gouges the water made in the mud as it withdrew. Then there’s the texture of the water itself. It almost looks like paint in the sunset. Like brushstrokes of lavender, orange, pale blue, and white.”

Mochi, my new Bernese puppy barks enthusiastically in agreement on my lap. Ayla helped me pick him out from the pound a month ago and I swear he’s already doubled in size.

I always wanted a dog, but it was Ayla that dragged me to get one, though she never shared why. The closer summer came to an end, the harder she pushed.

It’s the best, semi-coerced decision I’ve ever made.

I scratch Mochi’s ears and pick up another photo of the mountain cliffs. “Look at the lines you’ve captured. The curves in the background resemble a howling wolf, given the formation of the trees. In the foreground the lighting makes the boulders look so three-dimensional, it’s like I can reach out and sit on them. They draw me into the photo. They make me want to visit this place.”

“We live in this place.” Ayla’s smile deepens, her dimples popping into view.

“Not for long,” I say, turning to her. “You’re going to be in California soon with a million new muses. City life, weddings, the desert, the beach. You name it, I bet California has it.”

And Covet County doesn’t.

“Don’t get me started,” she sighs dreamily scooping Mochi into her arms. He’s happy to nuzzle her neck, his tail wagging at a dizzying speed. I can’t say I blame him.

“Every time the wind blows I swear it’s the west coast breeze chanting my name.”

I attempt a light-hearted tone as I ask, “You’re that eager to get out of here, huh?”

She looks through the window at the fir trees that stretch on for miles. “I just need to explore, you know? See something different, learn something new.”

“You think you’ve learned all the mysteries of this forest?”

She looks me dead in the eye. “No. Not all.”

Is she talking about me?

I swallow and she follows the motion of my Adam’s apple before looking away and biting her lip.

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