Heatwave with the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Summer 2026 #6)

1. Tamra

TAMRA

Ihad not driven twenty minutes up a mountain to stare at a man's arms, and yet…

He was at the back of a pickup in the gravel lot, lifting a coil of climbing rope out of the bed.

Shirtless. Shirt slung over the tailgate like he'd taken it off and forgotten about it.

I could see the line where the sun had stopped on his chest and the line where it hadn't, and I could see the way his shoulders worked when he set the coil down and reached for the next one.

I stepped from my car with a clipboard pressed to my chest and three pens in my bag, along with a printed partnership agreement. None of it was going to help me.

He hadn't seen me yet. That was the only good news.

I told myself to walk. The sign on the office read Hollister Heights in a font chosen by someone who knew what they were doing. Bookings, gear rentals, group rates. The kind of sign that said this was a real business, and I was here for a real meeting.

I could be a professional. I'd been a professional my entire adult life.

I walked.

The gravel was loud. He turned.

His eyes found me and stopped. Not a scan. Not the up-and-down a woman gets in a parking lot. His eyes went to my face and locked there, and for a half second he didn't move at all.

Then his jaw worked once, and he set the coil of rope down on the tailgate without looking at it. I'd just been registered by a man who did not have a habit of being surprised.

"You must be Tamra."

He pulled the shirt off the tailgate and dragged it on over his head. No apology. No comment. He walked toward me, stopping a foot closer than a stranger should have.

"Alec Hollister," he said.

He wasn't offering a handshake. I noticed that, then I noticed that I'd noticed it.

"Tamra Woods. From the Hartsville library." I lifted the clipboard half an inch and then lowered it because there was no reason to lift it. "Thanks for making time."

"You're welcome."

Flat. Unhurried. He was looking at my face and nowhere else. I'd spent the past few years being looked at by men who scanned and assessed, and Alec Hollister hadn't done any of those things. He was holding my eyes like he'd already decided something and was waiting on me to catch up.

"I have seven questions," I said.

The side of his mouth moved. Not a smile.

"Okay."

"Inside, or—" I gestured at the truck. "I'm happy to wait if you need to finish."

"Inside's fine."

He went around me and held the office door. He did not touch me. He stood a step too close.

The office was wood and topo maps and one of those high counters that comes up to the ribs. I went to the counter because it seemed like the right place to be. He went to the other side of it, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited for me.

I'd been in a hundred meetings in my life. This was not like any of them.

I uncapped a pen.

"First question. Tell me a little about the operation, in your own words." I had a pleasant smile on. I’d used that smile on grants people. "I want to be able to describe it accurately for our materials."

"We do three things. Bungee, off the main platform out back.

Zip lines, eight of them across the property.

And cliff jumping at a permitted site on the river.

Guided. The main lines are sixteen-plus.

We've got a separate kids' line—shorter run, lower platform, six and up.

Bungee's eighteen-plus, cliff jumping eighteen-plus with parental waiver between sixteen and eighteen. "

I wrote.

"Okay. Second question." I was not going to look up from the clipboard. I was going to stay focused on the clipboard. "Could you tell me a little about your safety record? I'll be sharing this with our director and she'll want to feel confident?—"

"Eight years open, no serious injuries. One broken wrist on a customer who unclipped her own harness."

"She unclipped it?"

"Coming back to the platform. Thought she was done. Stepped off the wrong direction and the harness was already loose."

"Why did she unclip it?"

"I never got a good answer to that."

I bit the inside of my cheek. He seemed to notice. The side of his mouth moved again.

"Third question," I said, voice steady. "What kind of partnerships do you currently have with community organizations?"

"None."

I wrote none.

"Would you be open to one?"

"Depends what it is."

"The summer reading program at the Hartsville library.

" I lifted the printout of the agreement and slid it across the counter to him the way I’d practiced.

"The theme this year is Wildwood Valley Adventures.

We're asking businesses across the region to donate an experience as a reading reward.

Kids who hit their reading goals get a coupon.

Parents make the booking. You get foot traffic and a write-up in our partner spotlight, we get a kid who's excited to read all summer. Everybody wins."

He read the page. He took his time about it. I watched him read and did not breathe.

"How many kids?"

"This year? Probably ninety."

"What's the age range?"

"Six to twelve."

"For the zip line, I can do an introductory ride with one parent in attendance. Free. Through Labor Day."

"That's very generous."

"It's the kids' zip line."

"It's still?—"

"Tamra."

He said my name like he had thought about saying it before he said it. He pushed the agreement back across the counter to me with two fingers. I watched the fingers.

"Sign it," I said. "Please."

He signed it. He had a careful signature for a man whose job involved throwing people off things.

"Question four." My voice was even. "Marketing photos. Could I come back for the open house tomorrow and take some shots for the flyer? With your permission, obviously."

"Tomorrow's good."

"Around two? I'd want to catch the afternoon light."

"Two."

"Question five." I made a note in the margin. The note was not relevant. The note was get out of here. "Are there any age or?—"

"Tamra."

I looked up.

"What?"

"You don't have to ask all seven."

I closed the clipboard around the pen and held it against my chest. He hadn't moved. His arms were crossed over his chest and the back of his neck was still damp from the sun and he was looking at me like he'd answer all seven if I insisted.

"I think I should ask all seven."

"Okay."

I asked the rest. He answered the rest. I did not look at his forearms when he braced them on the counter.

I did not look at the place his shirt was sticking to his collarbone.

I asked about insurance carriers. I asked about liability waivers.

I asked whether there was anything else I should know for the partnership materials, a question I'd written down at the last minute because I'd been trying to be thorough.

"There's a community open house tomorrow afternoon," he said. "Two to seven. Locals come up, children try the kids' line, we do a grill. You could see the operation in action."

"That works with the photos."

"Tamra?"

"Yes?"

"Wear something you can move in."

It was not a wicked thing to say. It was a practical thing.

He was telling me, as the owner of an outdoor operation, that if I was coming up to a property with zip lines and a swimming hole and dust and a grill, the sundress I was currently wearing and the sandals I'd chosen because they looked nice were going to be a problem. He was being helpful.

My face was hot anyway.

"Noted," I said.

"Good."

I tucked the clipboard under my arm. I held my hand out across the counter because that was what you did at the end of a meeting.

He took it. His hand was warm and dry and it closed all the way around mine and stayed there a half second past what a handshake required.

Then he let go and stepped back, opening the door for me without saying anything else.

I walked across the gravel. I did not look at the truck.

I got into my car but didn't start it. I sat there with my hands on the steering wheel at ten and two and waited until I couldn't see him in the office doorway anymore. Then I started the car, backed up, and drove down the access road.

I was halfway down the mountain before I realized I was still holding my breath. I let it out.

I was going to come back tomorrow. I had photos to take. I had a flyer to make. I had professional reasons.

I was going to come back tomorrow.