Protective (Mail Order Mountain Men #1)

Chapter One

Trish

If I were creating my own town, I’d make one just like this. A Main Street with a dozen shops cozied into the side of a mountain with a population of less than a few thousand people. The postmaster would know everyone by name and by sunset, the diner would be filled with folks talking about their day. The only thing I’d change is the number of available men.

You’d think we’d have loads of them with all the logging, ranching, and seasonal work going on up here, yet there’s a shortage. A long term, hardcore, definite shortage that doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

Thankfully, that’s not my concern. Not tonight, maybe not ever. I decided last week that I’m happy to spend eternity in love with myself. I mean, what’s not to like? Me and myself both love cheesy romance novels, long walks to the fridge, and snuggly puppies. I can’t lose with myself, and I’m happy to keep things that way.

“Where’d you go?” My friend Sasha hangs on the other end of the phone line. We do this most nights. I correct papers and she reads quietly while we sit on the phone with each other. It started a couple of months ago when a friend of hers moved out and it rolled into a nightly thing. Apparently, I’m the kind of lonely that holds up my friend’s evening as well.

How thoughtful of me.

“Still reading Ethan Baxter’s essay on legalizing prostitution. You’d be amazed at the thoughts a seventh grader has on the topic.”

Sasha laughs. “A seventh grader writing an essay on prostitution? What the hell?”

“He’s using the ‘my body, my choice’ argument.”

She laughs harder as the wind howls through the cracks in the wood boards on the east side of the house. I really need to get someone out here to fix this place up, but first I need money, which is something I don’t have much of on a teacher's salary.

It’s fine. I didn’t go into teaching because I loved the money. I went into it because I loved connecting with kids. Trouble is, I haven’t been able to do much of that lately either. “Well, that’s one we should keep our eye on.”

“You’re not kidding. I’ll hand deliver this essay to his parents at the parent-teacher conference next week. I haven’t met them yet, and I can’t wait to see who raised this opinionated little monster. What are you reading?”

“Some stupid romance that’s only gonna depress me, so I’m not sure why I picked it up.” She sighs and I hear the heavy flip of pages as though she’s closed the book.

I haven’t read in ages. I really should. I used to love kicking my feet up by the back window to read while I watched the woodland critters play in the yard. Now, if I sit by the back window, I have to bring a parka with me because of all the cold air that makes its way through the cracks in the seal. Yet another thing that money would be helpful for.

“So maybe you should put your name down at that new ranch everyone is talking about. The Mail Order Mountain Man thing. A friend of mine just had great luck with it.”

“I did, like weeks ago, but the guys are all… weird. Besides, you’ve been on that site for a while now. What have you found?”

“Don’t use me as an example.”

“Why not? We’re practically the same person. If you can’t find someone, how am I gonna find anyone?”

“We’re not the same person, Sasha. You’re way cooler than me.”

I can almost see her playful scowl over the phone. “ What are you talking about? You’re way more interesting than me, and you have a classroom of kids that would for sure back me up.”

“Well, that’s not what the ranch guys think. I’ve put in for at least eight dates and I’ve been rejected all but once.”

“Okay, so how’d that one time go?”

I laugh. “It was a train wreck, but that’s just me. You have—”

“No, no, no. Wait…you didn’t tell me about this train wreck of a date. How come?”

“Because it’s depressing.” I lift my coffee mug from the counter, taking a long, warm sip before settling it down again.

“Why is it depressing? You actually got a date. That’s a big deal. Come on. Tell me why it wasn’t right.”

I sigh and fold back the first sheet of paper on Ethan's prostitution essay. “The guy was weird.”

“Weird, how?” she presses. I get the feeling she’s not letting this go.

“He was arrogant.”

“We like arrogant.”

“No… you think you like arrogant because of all those books you read, but this guy was real-life arrogant. It’s not sexy, it’s annoying. I don’t want to be loading the dishwasher thirty years from now with someone micromanaging how the plates go in.”

She giggles. “That tracks.” This conversation reminds me of how young Sasha is. I sort of envy it. I wish I could go back to the days when I thought arrogance and superiority were sexy. Two failed relationships and a decade later, I know better than to fall for the take-charge, bossy guy. It’s really hot in bed, but day to day living with a man like that is a nightmare.

“I’m too old. I need a man who’s got his shit together, ya know? A guy who’s been around. A guy who’s in touch with his feelings. A guy who can talk through an argument without getting defensive. A guy who can do home repairs and be patient while I work late Thursday night because I have a load of essays to read.”

“And you don’t think a man that good would be arrogant?”

I laugh. “If he is, he ain’t for me.”

“So that’s it? He was arrogant, and you bailed? Did you do the meetup?”

“Nope. We never made it past the two blind dates.”

She sighs. “I like that there’s a wall between folks to start. You get to know each other deeper before looks get entered into the picture. What about work? What did he do?”

“He buys and sells real estate. None of it matters, though. I can’t go back, and I have no idea who he is in real-life. The ranch only gives first names.” I take another sip of coffee. I should really stop if I want to sleep tonight. “So, the mail order experience didn’t work for me, but you shouldn’t give up.”

“What about your sister’s birthday party? You have what…a couple days left to find a date?”

“Yeah, and a couple days isn’t long enough to go through that whole process again, anyway. Besides, my family will tear whoever I bring to shreds.” I wish I were being dramatic, but I’m not. I should’ve never mentioned having a date. I’m too old for that, but at the time my mother asked me, it made more sense to lie than put myself through another round of her drama. Also, why does my groan-ass sister need a birthday party every single year? “What about you? You up to anything good this weekend?”

“Reading and maybe writing a little.”

“You still writing that one shifter novel?”

“No, I switched to something else. I couldn’t find the characters in that one. I don’t know,” she sighs, “maybe writing isn’t for me.”

“It is. You’ve loved it since I met you. Why don’t you send over what you have, and I’ll give you advice.”

She laughs. “Yeah right, and let you rip me apart like you did Ethan’s essay? No thanks!”

A smile stretches onto my face. “I love you.” I’m so lucky to have Sasha in my life. We met a while back down at the library off Main Street. She was picking up a stack of romance novels and I was looking for a change of scenery while I corrected papers. She dropped a book near my table, and we got into a debate on which was superior… Edward or Jacob. For the record, I’ve always been team Edward. He was completely devoted to Bella’s happiness and protection. Jacob was sweet and warm, but he lacked intensity. I think Sasha and I are still having that debate to this day.

A heavy knock hits my cabin door and startles me out of the conversation. “ Shit. Sorry, someone’s at the door. Can I call you back?”

“I’ll text you in the morning. I’m kind of exhausted. You expecting someone? It’s kind of late for visitors, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure it’s the neighbor. His dog has been getting loose lately. He gets under the porch and tries digging into the root cellar.”

“Alright,” Sasha yawns. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

The line disconnects and I stretch up from the couch, feeling the ache in my back as I step forward. I really need to start yoga or something. I spend way too much time on my ass correcting papers or pacing back and forth in the classroom. Come to think of it, maybe I need more comfortable shoes. Apparently, I’m both lonely and in need of better orthopedic support. Hooray!

Another knock hits the front door, and I pull back the sheer curtain on the glass panel to peek out into the darkness. I’m expecting to see my seventy-five-year-old neighbor with the wild, gray eyebrows and the stained overalls. Instead, there’s a tall, square jawed man standing wide on the front porch staring straight ahead. His shoulders are thick, and his stance is like that of a man who’s here on business. Really, really, late business.

“Can I help you?” I say through the glass as any woman alone in a cabin at night would.

“Yes,” the man leans forward, “you can.” He glances down at a piece of paper, then up at the window again. “Are you Trisha Marshall?”

“Why? Who are you?”

The man steps closer to the glass and I flick on the front porch light, studying his salted beard and the tattoos that streak up his neck. Despite the ink, he wears a pair of leather gloves and a tweed jacket with a scarf. Men around here like flannel and jeans, and their beards never look quite so well groomed.

“I’m Christopher Becker. You might remember me from the ranch.”

The ranch? Christopher? Oh my God!

My heart stalls and my throat goes dry. “Mail Order Mountain Man?”

He nods and strokes his hand down over his beard. The man is gorgeous. There’s no doubt about it. I can’t believe this was who I was talking to.

“Okay,” I manage. “How did you find my address, or my name, or… anything?”

“I have my ways. Anyway, I’m here to offer you a proposition.”

I laugh. “A proposition? No… how did you get my address? The ranch promises anonymity.”

Christopher’s deep, raspy voice isn’t hard to recognize. It’s unique as the spiked dragon tattoo crawling up his neck.

“I paid an employee. The right amount of money will get you anything you want,” the man swipes his enormous hand over his beard to hide a grin, “which is why I’m here.”

My chest tightens. There’s that arrogance again. I’ll be calling the ranch first thing in the morning. How could they say something is anonymous, then hire employees who give out your information so willingly?

I blow out a heavy breath, fogging up the window still between us. “Well, you’re wasting your time. Whatever you’re here for, I’m not interested.”

“Are you sure… because this house looks like it could use some repairs?”

I narrow my gaze. “So, you stole my information to come out here in the middle of the night and insult my house?”

He grins while shaking his head like the arrogant prick he is. “No. I’ve come to pay you for your time.”

“My time?” What the hell could he want with my time?

The man glances to the side as he tightens his leather gloves over his massive hands. “Why did you say no to me at the ranch?”

“Oh,” I laugh. “This is about you never having heard the word ‘no.’ Well… I’m sorry for that. I feel bad for you.”

He steps forward. “I’d like to offer you a million dollars for one night.”

I glance to the side and back again. Clearly, I’m dreaming. I wonder how badly I’ve drooled over all the essays I’m supposed to be slapping stickers on.

“Oh, okay… a million dollars? Well, I’d like to offer you a billion dollars to leave.”

“I’m serious.” The man straightens his back. “I went out to that ranch to find love, and I found it.”

I bite back nervous laughter. “Nope. If you’d found love, you wouldn’t have to offer it a million dollars to spend time with you. Also, where did you get a million dollars? Are you a contract killer? A drug dealer? I know you didn’t make that much as a real estate developer.”

He grins. “I did, actually. My family owned old land up in Aspen that sold big, and I took it from there. You’d be surprised how much a good spot will go for. Anyway, I’d like to parlay those benefits onto you. Spend one weekend with me and I’ll make it worth your while.”

I’m not sure if it’s the time of night, the fact that I’ve been up since five this morning, or the part where dinner was a few crackers and a cheese stick, but I can’t stop laughing. It’s hysterical laughter. The kind of laughter that bends me over in place.

“Yeah, okay.” I flick off the porch light and head down the hall, trying to stop the mirth that’s spilling from me. Clearly, this is some sort of nervous reaction. I should’ve taken that self-defense course down at the shooting range. The sheriff was offering it free to everyone last month. Of course, I was knee deep in mid-term papers back then. I guess I could cover this man in scratch and sniff stickers if I had to.

Where is my Edward when I need him?

Blowing out a heavy breath, I close the blinds in the living room, turn off the lights, and sit back on the couch, holding Ethan’s essay under the light of my cell phone. I guess the rationalization is that if my lights are off, the weirdo outside will leave me alone, but he doesn’t. He knocks again, and I swear it sounds louder and more aggressive this time.

What the hell does this dude want? No one on Earth would really offer me a million dollars for my time, especially someone that hot. He’s clearly a psychopath. Of course, I’d hook up with the one weirdo that slipped through the background checks at the ranch.

Shit, I’m going to end up on the news. ‘Stupid teacher tries subduing giant, aggressive man with scratch and sniff stickers before being dragged into the woods.’

Standing, I grab the very illegal, sawed-off shotgun my dad left me when he passed. I’ve never used the thing and I’m not sure it’s even loaded, but I keep it under the sofa, just in case. At this point, I’m hoping the threatening nature of this boom stick is enough to get this man off my property.

Peeling back the curtain with the short barrel of the gun, I peek out onto the front porch. “Do you need to learn things the hard way?”

The man laughs under his breath and holds up his hands before turning off the front porch. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon with the first half of the cash. Dress warm.”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Not a word, not a breath, not a single thing. Instead, I stand behind the door like an imbecile, wondering what I have to wear.