Luring the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Summer)

Chapter 1

Dean

Summer on the river is controlled chaos.

The gravel parking lot at Johnson River Adventures is already half full when I pull in just after seven.

Families are unloading coolers and canvas bags filled with sunscreen, visors, and snacks.

Teenagers complain about wearing life jackets.

Someone's kid is chasing a wild duck across the gravel lot while their mother pretends not to notice.

Over a decade of working for the family business, I can testify that every group is the same. Someone’s excited, someone’s nervous, and someone is overstimulated. Occasionally, someone is all three.

I don’t really care and neither does the river.

The Etowah rushes past the weathered docks the same way it did yesterday and the day before that. It’s pure mountain spring water fed by snowmelt high in the Viridian Mountains. Here the river is wide and slow but a few miles downstream, the river splits in two.

Most tourists stick to the easy branch. The current slows to a lazy drift perfect for inflatable tubes and cheap coolers full of beer.

It doesn't branch again, and the pickup point is impossible to miss.

One of my older brothers, Dermot, who is home from law school spends most summer afternoons there loading sunburned tourists into a company van.

Even the day-drunk ones usually manage to find it.

The other route is where the Etowah stops playing nice.

Class II rapids quickly turn into Class III and IV, and every summer some entrepreneurial manchild decides he's the next great outdoorsman.

By sunset he's stranded in a side channel with a dead phone battery and mountain rescue wondering how he managed to get himself stuck in the exact same place we warned him about.

I grab a stack of paddles from the equipment shed and haul them toward the dock. Dylan and Duke are handling the kayak rentals, but the twins never remember to grab enough equipment.

“You got the first group,” Diesel mutters when I pass him.

None of my four brothers could ever pass for civilized, but Diesel is a bit more gruff than the others. Any day now I’m sure he’ll run off into the wilderness and become one of the reclusive mountain men our small town is known for.

The four of us alternate guiding tours down the river, and it never fails that I get the earliest group.

Not that I mind. Diesel might be a jaded grump, but I loved growing up on this river. By noon, I'll be soaked. By sunset, my shoulders will ache and tomorrow, I'll do it all again because it’s the best job in the world.

A gust of cool air drifts off the water, providing a brief break from the summer heat already settling over the ridge. It won't last. The forecast says ninety degrees. Half the tourists showing up today are here because they heard kayaking is a good way to cool off.

They're right. The river is freezing cold on a good day thanks to the snowmelt. I spent half my childhood getting thrown into it by my older brothers. As the youngest, it was my due.

"Morning, Dean."

I glance up to find my dad carrying a crate of bright yellow life jackets.

His beard has more gray in it than it did last summer, but he'd deny it if I pointed it out. The only person allowed to mock Doug Johnson is my mom.

"Morning,” I reply, wondering if he’s going to start lecturing me about the importance of proper hydration or the heat index. The old man never misses an opportunity for a safety lecture.

"Big group today,” he says, green eyes sweeping over the crowd gathering by the dock.

"Classic peak season."

"Good point,” he agrees, adding nothing to the conversation he started.

We load gear in comfortable silence. We've been doing this together for so long that talking isn't always necessary.

Dad founded Johnson River Adventures with my grandfather before I was born. These docks practically raised me. I learned to swim before I learned to ride a bike. Learned how to read river currents before I learned algebra.

Some people dream about leaving their hometown. I've never understood that. Everything I need is right here.

"You're guiding the beginner kayak group?" Dad asks.

"Yep."

He gives me a sympathetic look.

"Good luck."

I snort. The beginner groups are always entertaining. Half the people are terrified of tipping over. The other half are so confident they ignore my instructions and fall behind immediately.

Either way, somebody usually falls in.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel draws my attention toward the parking lot. More tourists. The river’s going to be full today.

A dark SUV pulls into one of the last open spaces and the driver pops out before the engine’s smooth rumble dies.

The first thing I notice is her hair. Auburn red with faint blonde highlights, it’s twisted into a loose braid hanging over one freckled shoulder.

The second thing I notice is her smile.

Bright and easy, it’s the kind of smile that makes people smile back without realizing it. Her arms reach toward the sky as she stretches. A sliver of pale skin appears between her tank top and shorts.

My mouth goes dry and my mind goes blank.

I've spent my entire life around tourists. Pretty women come through town all the time. None of them have ever made my brain stop working.

She reaches back into her vehicle and grabs a water bottle before sliding a pair of sunglasses into her hair.

Then she starts walking toward the check-in area.

Toward me.

My pulse kicks up. I don't think that's ever happened before.

"Dean."

I blink.

Dad’s staring at me expectantly. Like he’s waiting for an answer to a question I didn’t hear him ask.

"What?"

A slow grin spreads across his face.

Oh no.

"What?" I repeat.

"You were staring."

"I wasn't,” I deny out of habit but then I look back toward the parking lot confirming his suspicion.

The woman is gone. Panic immediately settles in my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I don’t relax until I see her standing by the rental counter.

Dad follows my gaze as his grin grows.

Damn it.

"Don’t say whatever you're about to say," I mutter.

He chuckles and heads toward the office, leaving me to finish up by myself. No doubt he’s going to gossip about me to the boss AKA my mom.

By the time I finish helping a family of six into life jackets, the sun is high enough to turn the dock into a frying pan.

Sweat dampens the back of my shirt. The river sparkles beneath the sunlight, and somehow, I keep sneaking glances at her. She's standing near the edge of the dock, listening carefully to Dylan’s safety speech as she adjusts her life jacket and tucks loose strands of hair behind her ears.

My chest tightens every time I look at her.

The kayakers begin collecting paddles. She grabs one from the pile, and I rush forward.

Finally.

I have an excuse to talk to her.

Our eyes meet and my smooth introduction runs aground. Hazel. Her eyes are hazel and so very pretty. Light brown with sage green flecks close to the pupil they shimmer like a holographic lure mesmerizing me as I turn into a babbling idiot.

"First time?"

She laughs nervously.

"Is it that obvious?"

I smile and she smiles back. And just like that, the rest of the world disappears.

The river, the tourists, and the summer heat burning the back of my neck. All of it. Gone.

For one beautiful brief moment it’s just us and I know this is the moment we’ll tell our grandchildren about.

Then she turns to look at the kayaks lined up by the dock. The paddle in her hand swings with her and straight into my face.

Crack.

Pain explodes across my cheek and nose.

"What the—"

My vision blurs as stinging tears fill my eyes. The woman gasps, dropping the paddle.

"Oh my God!" she shouts.

I touch my nose and my fingers come away bloody. Not a few drops or a small crimson smear. They’re drenched in blood.

She looks horrified.

"I am so sorry!" she cries.

Blood drips onto my shirt, but I barely notice, because she's still looking at me.

It might be crazy but getting hit in the face feels like the best thing that's ever happened to me.