Forbidden Mountain Man (Iron Peak Mountain Man #7)

Chapter 1 Kellan

KELLAN

“She’s the only one of my girls that isn’t laying,” Miss Lackney taps her foot on the floor. “I can’t afford any more freeloaders.”

I shake a few mealworms into the bowl in front of Geraldine. “Unfortunately, Gerry’s going to have to find another way to make rent.”

“Another way?” She gestures emphatically to the fowl. “I just need her to stop holding my damn breakfast hostage.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s a lot to ask of ‘em.”

“It’s her only job! I provide the food and shelter; she provides the eggs!”

“Except that she can’t.”

“Hen menopause?”

“Nope. It’s because she is actually a he.”

Miss Lackney stares blankly at me, then at Geraldine. “No…that can’t be right.”

“With some, it’s harder to tell.” I don’t tell her that in Geraldine’s case, it was obvious. “He can still be of use protecting the flock.”

“That doesn’t make me my breakfast.”

“No, it doesn’t, but he’s not useless.”

“No, he’s not.” She sighs. “In fact, he’s just been promoted to dinner.”

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “Dinner?”

She opens the carrier, grabs Geraldine, and shoves him inside. “I’m sure there’s a YouTube that’ll show me how to prep him.”

As she yanks the zipper closed, I grab her wrist gently. “Let’s not be hasty. There’s hardly any meat on Gerry, and it’d be a shame to disrupt the flock.”

“Ain’t no one getting a free ride in my pen.”

“He’ll end up being a lot of work for very little reward.”

She yanks her wrist free and grabs the carrier. “Learning a new skill will be reward enough.”

I pull out my wallet and take out a twenty. “Here, I’ll buy Gerry off of you, and you can buy three rotisserie chickens from the grocer. It’ll save you a lot of work, and you’ll get more food out of it.”

She glares down at the bill, then over at Gerry’s carrier. “Is he some rare chicken that’s worth something? Like the cats born with two faces?”

“I wouldn’t call him rare.” I shrug. “I just think there’s a lot of life left in him, and it’d be a shame if he ended up on a dinner plate before his time.”

“Fine.” She grabs the money and takes Gerry from his carrier, shoving him in my arms. “Enjoy your new basement baby.”

She exits the clinic, leaving me with a new pet.

I set Gerry down on the exam table and give him a handful of seeds, mumbling, “I sure hope my other roosers like you.”

A voicemail comes through. The area code tells me who it’s from. I know I should delete it and block the number, but something inside me forces my thumb to hit PLAY.

Kell, please pick up the phone. I’m not the same person I was years ago. I regret what I did, but I can’t take it back. Just give me another chance. We could be happy together.

I press my eyes closed, letting old memories wash over me. It’s too easy to get lost in the past, when smiles were plentiful and I thought I had my whole damn world mapped out. My self-enforced celebacy doesn’t help matters.

Before I let the fantasy take root, I open my desk drawer and take out a sticky pad and a thick, black marker, writing:

Don’t think with your dick.

You deserve better.

She ain’t worth it.

An hour later, after my last client, I load Gerry into my truck and head home.

As I walk inside my cabin, my phone buzzes to life with a ghost from my past. Rus Silverthorn’s name illuminates my screen, nearly making me drop my phone.

In the span of seconds, I’m taken back to a time I’ve tried hard to forget, to wounds that still feel fresh.

His parents owned a restaurant next to my mother’s tax service business, and she’d often take me there for lunch. We became best friends, so close, that he was a pallbearer at my mother’s funeral.

When I enlisted in the military, he sent me care packages and checked in on my girl from time to time, and when I came back from my enlistment, our friendship picked up right where it left off.

Then, life kicked me in the balls so hard, I fled to the mountains, where my good-for-nothing father was from, taking up residence in the old family cabin.

For months, he tried to call, and I’m ashamed to say I was too broken to pick up. Then, silence.

Which means that what he has to say is important.

I hit accept before I can talk myself out of it, blurting the word “Hello?”.

“Damn, I didn’t think you’d pick up.” Rus chuckles, like he’s just won a bet.

“To be honest, I didn’t want to.” I don’t know why I tell him that. It’s rude and lacks context.

“Well, ya did, so you might as well hear me out.”

“Go on.”

“I need a favor.” He clears his throat. “It’s my baby sis, Greer. She needs a place to crash for a bit, and I was hoping it would be with you.”

After nearly a decade of my ghosting him, I was hoping I could do something to make up for the pain and confusion I left behind. But this is no small favor.

“Why?”

“Because I trust you,” he says, his voice weary. “Despite everything, I know you’re a good man. One of the only good men. One of the few who I know will honor the bro-code and keep your hands off her.”

“I mean, why does she need a place to crash?”

He’s silent for a time, as though weighing what to say. “It’s her situation to tell, if she wants to tell it. She just needs a safe place to land.”

Nothing good could come from Greer Silverthorn staying under my roof. Not one damn thing. My cabin only has one bedroom, and I work all day. Plus, I don’t like company.

But how could I say no to him after all this time? After how hard it must have been to pick up that phone after being ghosted for over half a decade.

This could be my way to make things right.

“When should I—”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

“Hold on,” I huff, heading toward the door.

Instead of calling in off-hours emergencies, many of the townsfolk drive up the mountain to my home, and I’ve learned no amount of scolding is likely to change that.

Swinging open the door, I growl, “I only take patients at my clinic.”

But the girl standing on my porch isn’t clutching a beloved pet. Instead, there’s a backpack slung over her shoulder and a look of fear and pure desperation on her face. A very comely face, I can’t help but notice.

“Who are youuuuu….” I start.

Then it hits me.

Greer Silverthorn stands on my porch like a damn vision—curves that weren’t there the last time I saw her, soft and full under a shabby jacket, freckles scattered across her pink cheeks.

And those eyes—those big, green eyes—the same ones that used to follow me around when she was just Rus’s kid sister, now hit me square in the chest.

She needs a place to stay. Rus desperate request after seven years of ghosting.

But how the hell am I supposed to keep the bro-code when his little sister looks like she was handcrafted to test every ounce of my restraint?