My Big Mountain Rescuer (Burly Grumps #4)

Chapter 1

CAT

Dogs are my life.

Monday through Friday, I work a boring office job that pays the bills and builds my retirement. But every weekend, I give my time to pups in need.

“Almost there, boys.” I take a sip of coffee from my thermos and turn the music up. “I bet you’re going to have tons of space to run around.”

This is the life: the open road, two puppies, and a nice hot coffee for the drive.

I picked these two up from a pound in the city. They were left in a cardboard box on the street, slated for euthanization if they couldn’t be rehoused. Only five months old, already abandoned by some asshole without a heart.

Not on my watch.

I roll my window down. Dog hair dances around the cabin. The mountain air is crisp. Both dogs perk up and set their little noses working.

“Smell that? It’s your new home. Well, for a little while. I’m sure some wonderful family will adopt you cuties in no time.”

One of the shelters I volunteer with called me this morning. They told me about these two pups. If I could foster or adopt them, I would. Unfortunately, my apartment doesn’t allow pets. Shameful blasphemy is what that is. Who doesn’t love dogs?

The shelter was already at capacity, but they told me about a man who hasn’t turned down a dog for fostering yet. A man in the mountains with a ranch. All I have to do is get them there. It’s a six-hour drive, so the shelter was having a hard time finding a willing volunteer.

I’d do anything to help an innocent dog in need. That’s my life’s ambition, the only thing that brings me joy, really. Six hours. Ten hours. Three days of driving. I don’t care. If it needs doing, I’m the girl that will do it.

The mission came with a warning, however.

He’s an asshole, the woman on the phone said. A grumpy, scary, mean old bastard. He loves dogs… he hates people. Just drop the dogs off and be quick about it.

How bad could he be?

I understand being misanthropic. Most people are weird, selfish, and a little too dumb to hold my interest. Especially in the dating scene…

Every guy I meet is the same. They take a look at the inside of my car, caked in dog hair and smelling of drool, and they run for the hills.

They don’t like the way I dress because cargo shorts stuffed with dog treats and poop bags aren’t sexy.

They don’t like that I volunteer all my free time at shelters because they’d rather go out, get drunk, and spend their Sunday mornings nursing hangovers.

Sorry, but that sounds like a boring, unfulfilling life.

Besides, when I’ve got two adorable pups to spend my Saturday with, what do I need a man for?

We reach the property, and the dogs start going crazy. They yelp and yip, probably smelling the other canines on the ranch. These poor boys have never seen trees so tall, never smelled air so fresh. They’re dying to get out and run.

A long stretch of dirt road digs between the thick woods, and the house comes into view. Two stories, dark wood, and a wrap-around porch. It’s an old place, but it looks well taken care of. A stone chimney stands along the side of the house, a bit of smoke twirling out in the breeze.

I don’t see any dogs as I park in the gravel driveway, but I’m sure he’s got a bit of land here for them to range on.

Along either side of the house, a chain-link fence runs off into the woods.

My Labrador cargo loses their minds as I get out of the car, but I decide to keep them locked in until I find this guy.

The house looks dark and quiet through the windows, so I head around the porch, boots thudding on the wood.

Trees surround the property, huge pines home to squirrels and singing birds.

A little wind kicks up, and I finally smell the wonderful smell of dogs.

I hear them barking, welcoming the newcomers.

I round the porch on the backside of the house, stretching my limbs after the long drive. There’s a small gate built into the porch on the side of the house to keep the dogs in the backyard, and I head through it. Finally, I see them.

The backyard is huge , an open field of grass that rolls into the trees in the distance.

A little over a dozen dogs are in view. Little terriers chasing squirrels from tree to tree; two huskies whining in their conversational tones; a beagle disconnected from the pack, minding its own business and sniffing each individual blade of grass.

Everywhere I look, I see dogs in their happy place.

How can a man who gives these dogs such a lovely home be an asshole?

There’s a decent-sized barn at the end of the field. It looks newer than the house, rustic red paint still bold in the afternoon sun. A couple of dogs rush out, followed by the largest dog I’ve ever seen. He’s walking on his hind legs, dark fur catching in the breeze.

Not a dog… A man.

The biggest, most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

He’s got a beard darker than the coats on the chocolate Labs in my car.

In a forest-green flannel and jeans, he looks even more at home than the animals he fosters on his land.

He runs out with the pack surrounding him, darting around as playfully as a puppy, built like the stockiest of pit bulls.

He kneels and gently picks up a Chihuahua, cradling the shaking creature in his beefy arm. The tiny dog looks even smaller now. A mouse plucked up by a giant.

All the dogs beg for his attention, and he gives it to them in turn. I want to get in line, get on my knees, and pout until he sweeps me up too.

I drift around the porch, hand dragging along the railing. He hasn’t noticed me. That’s fine. I’m perfectly happy standing here, drinking him in all afternoon. The deck stretches out from under the house, and I walk out until I’m standing near the edge by the stairs.

I bet he’s covered in dog hair…

I bet he smells a lot like a husky.

He even has dog-like qualities. He moves like an animal; he lunges and jumps and squats down, playing with his pack. His hair is a little shaggy on top, and the features of his face are dark, hard, and stoic.

And I keep drifting, gravitating toward him.

When will he notice me?

When will—

For some reason, the world tumbles. I scream and throw my arms out. The ground hits me, and I catch my ankle on the wooden steps of his porch. Mesmerized by all that man standing there, I didn’t even realize that I’d walked right off the stairs…

I’ve never been great at first impressions.

In seconds, I’m swarmed by all the dogs on his property.

They run right into the patch of mud that broke my fall, doing an excellent job of splashing it all over me.

A few of them lick my face, whine, and paw at me.

A hound lies its head down on my belly and pouts at me with those adorable brown eyes.

“I’m alright. I’m alright. Yes… thank you. Aw, you’re so cute!”

Strong arms take me from behind. I’m lifted to my feet.

Slowly, I turn, staring up at the looming mountain of muscle and dark features. Now that he’s close, I can look into his eyes. Heterochromia! One earthy, soulful brown eye that’s warm and inviting. One wild blue eye as clear as a cloudless sky.

I’ve only ever seen that in dogs…

“You fell…” His voice is a low rumble. It cracks out of him as if he hasn’t spoken in years. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh. No, no,” I insist, wiping mud off my cargo shorts. “I was distracted… by the dogs. You have so many here!”

The man stares at me like I’ve stumbled upon a great secret, and he’s deciding whether or not to let me live.

“More in the woods,” he says.

“You let them go out into the woods?”

“Fence… six acres fenced in… for the dogs…”

His lips stay parted as if there’s more to say, but no other words emerge from the depths of his cavernous soul.

That’s what I feel looking into his eyes— depth .

A frightening, enticing, inevitable ocean of a man staring back at me.

His gaze is a wave threatening to pull me under… I don’t swim away.

“I’m Cat,” I finally say, offering him my hand. “Did the shelter call you? I’ve got two Labs in the car. They said you would take them.”

He nods.

“And… will you?”

The way he’s looking at me, I’m not even sure we’re having the same conversation.

“I will,” he finally says.

As carefully as he picked up that Chihuahua, he engulfs my hand in his. Warmth swallows me, a fire from his palm that spreads to my heart.

“Arlen Reed,” he says.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Arlen. You’ve got quite the pack of dogs here. I’m impressed.”

Smitten would be a better word.

Have the dog gods heard my prayers? Is this the man who cares for dogs as much as I do—maybe more—and he just so happens to be the hottest, hunkiest, furriest man I’ve ever seen?

He doesn’t smile, or talk much, or do anything, really, other than stare at me… but maybe he’s not so good at first impressions, either.

I look down at our hands, still bouncing up and down.

“Should we go get the dogs?” I ask. “They’re five months old. It might be smart to slowly introduce them to the pack.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips under his beard. “Bring them.”

“A-are you sure? It might be overwhelming for them.”

A sharp whistle flies from his lips.

Every dog around us promptly drops to their butts. Some of the younger ones are still bursting with energy, but none of them move.

“Bring them,” Arlen says, slipping his hand from mine.

The dogs sit patiently.

I have the strangest instinct to drop to my knees before him and wait for his whistle. What would I do next if he were staring down at me, big bulge in his jeans, and he nodded his head?

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

Arlen doesn’t move, watching me go. “Good.”

I feel the eyes of all those dogs on my back.

More than all of them combined, though, I feel him .