Made for Wilde (Made for the Mountain Man #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

KODA

The ax splits the pine log with a satisfying crack. The impact vibrates through my arms.

I’ve been at this for nearly two hours. My shoulder is sore, and my t-shirt is already soaked with sweat despite the March chill that clings to the Wyoming mountains. The pile of split wood grows steadily beside me.

But I have no intention of stopping.

Physical pain is a blessing compared to the alternative.

I set up another log on the stump.

Position. Inhale. Swing. Split. Repeat.

There’s comfort in the rhythm, in knowing exactly what comes next.

No surprises. No disappointments.

Just me, the ax, and the satisfying ache building in my muscles.

A bead of sweat rolls down my temple despite the cold. I pause to wipe my brow with my forearm and look out across the valley below my cabin.

From up here, Cooper Heights looks like a toy town with miniature buildings nestled between the mountains and forest. It’s close enough to access when necessary, but far enough to keep its noise and complications at bay.

That’s why I built my cabin here. The silence lets me hear my own thoughts or drown them out with physical labor when they become too loud.

Up here, I answer to no one but myself and the changing seasons.

Suddenly, the distant sound of a car engine cuts through the steady thud of the ax.

I stop mid-swing and listen as the sound grows louder, echoing off the mountainside. Few people come up this way, and even fewer without calling first.

I lower the ax and watch as a sleek black sedan navigates the narrow dirt road that leads to my property. The car looks out of place against the rugged landscape, like a high heel in a hiking trail.

I already know who it is before the car pulls to a stop in the clearing beside my truck.

A few seconds later, my sister, Dana, steps out in a tailored navy suit and heels that sink immediately into the soft earth.

I can’t help but chuckle.

“Might as well turn around now,” I call out to her. I rest the ax handle against the chopping block. “You’re going to ruin your shoes if you keep walking over here.”

Dana glances down at her mud-caked heels and shrugs.

“They’re last season anyway.”

I grab a rag from my back pocket and wipe my hands while she tiptoes her way carefully across the yard toward me.

Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek knot, and not a strand is out of place despite the mountain breeze. We share the same brown eyes, but where mine are usually narrowed in concentration or caution, hers sparkle with ambition and mischief.

“See,” she says triumphantly as she reaches me. “Barely a scratch on them. These Italian designers know what they’re doing.”

I ignore her comment and lean against the chopping block.

“What do you want, Dana?”

She smiles, unfazed by my bluntness.

“Can’t a sister visit her favorite brother without an agenda?”

“I’m your only brother.”

“That doesn’t make it less true.”

I grunt and toss the rag onto the wood pile. “You could have called first.”

“I did. Three times.” She raises an eyebrow. “Do you ever check your phone?”

I pat my pockets and realize that I left my phone charging inside. “I’ve been busy.”

Dana looks pointedly at the mountain of split logs. “I can see that. No one needs this much firewood, Koda.”

“I do.”

A cold gust of wind cuts through the clearing, making Dana shiver despite her tailored suit.

“You going to invite me in or are we having this conversation out here in the cold?” she asks, wrapping her arms around herself.

I sigh and glance at the darkening sky. There’s no getting rid of her now that she’s made the drive up here. Whatever she wants, it must be important.

“Fine,” I mutter, grabbing my flannel shirt from where it hangs on the porch railing. I shrug it on and gesture toward the cabin. “Come on.”

Dana follows me up the wooden steps.

I hold the door open, and she walks past me, bringing with her the scent of expensive perfume that seems out of place in my rustic home. I close the door behind us and flip the lock. It’s a habit I’ve never been able to break, even up here where the nearest neighbor is three miles away.

“Coffee?” I ask, heading toward the kitchen.

“Please.” Dana moves around the main room, her gaze sweeping over the stone fireplace, the hand-built shelves lined with books, the clean pine floors. “You’ve kept the place up nicely. It looks good.”

“Thanks.” I fill the coffee maker with water and measure grounds into the filter. “Finished the back deck last month. Added railings.”

“I noticed.” She walks to the large windows that overlook the valley. The view is spectacular this time of day, with the sun starting to sink behind the mountains, painting everything gold. “You always did have an eye for location.”

I hit the brew button and lean against the counter, watching my sister as she takes in the view. “How are things at the gym?”

“Busy.” She doesn’t turn from the window. “We’ve had a good influx of new members since the rebrand.”

“That’s something, at least.”

“It is.” She finally turns to face me. “We’re starting to rebuild our reputation after the mess Vega left behind.”

When Dana took over as CEO of Worthington Sports six months ago, the place was a disaster. The previous owner had been using it to launder money, and the Worthington family needed someone who could turn it around fast. Dana was their first choice. She has a talent for fixing broken businesses.

I pull two mugs from the cabinet as the coffee maker gurgles and hisses. “Equipment holding up okay?”

Dana makes a face. “Not exactly. We had a pipe burst in the men’s locker room last week. Flooded half the facility.”

“Shit.”

“Had to close for two days while they fixed it.” She walks to the kitchen table and pulls out a chair but remains standing. “And the week before that, some idiot broke one of the weight machines by overloading it.”

The coffee maker beeps. I fill both mugs and carry them to the table, setting one in front of Dana as she finally sits down.

“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” I say, taking the seat across from her.

“I do.” She wraps her hands around the mug, and I notice the slight tension in her shoulders. “Actually, something else came up yesterday.”

I take a sip of my coffee and wait. Here it comes, the real reason for her visit.

“Our newest instructor quit.” She says it flatly, like she’s still processing the annoyance. “He just started last week, but now he’s moving to Texas.”

“Texas?” I frown. “What’s in Texas?”

“A woman he met online two weeks ago.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s packing up his entire life to go be with her.”

“He’s moving across the country for a woman he just met?”

Dana shrugs. “You know how men fall hard in this town.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe that Fit Mountain Curse bullshit.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” She leans forward, getting to the point. “What matters is that I need someone to take over Thomas’s beginner boxing class.”

And there it is.

“No.”

“Koda—”

“I said no, Dana.” I set my mug down. “I don’t do beginners. You know that.”

“I know.” Her voice softens slightly. “But I need you on this. I wouldn’t ask if I had another option.”

“What about Martinez? Or that new kid—what’s his name—Oscar?”

“Martinez is already teaching three classes. He’s maxed out.” Her fingers drum lightly on the table—her tell when she’s holding something back. “And Oscar doesn’t have the credentials for this particular group.”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean, ‘this particular group’?”

“One of our new shareholders specifically requested you.” She takes a careful sip of her coffee. “Darian DeLuca. He bought a forty percent stake in the gym last month. His son wants boxing lessons, and he asked for you by name.”

That catches me off guard. “Why me?”

“Because you’re Koda Wilde. Former professional boxer with years of experience in the ring. You’ve trained champions.” She sets her mug down with precision. “He wants the best for his son.”

Ever since Ben Mitchell won his fight last year, every kid in town thinks they can step into the ring and become the next champion.

They see the glory. The money. The fame.

They don’t see the years of getting your ass handed to you.

The broken ribs. The concussions that leave you seeing double for weeks.

“Dana, everyone isn’t cut out to be a boxer,” I tell her.

“You know that, and I know that. But Mr. DeLuca is paying us very well to find that out the hard way,” she says finally.

I glare at her across the table. “I’m starting to regret helping you get this CEO job.”

She laughs. “Oh, please. I got this job all on my own, thank you very much.”

She’s right. My sister has never needed anyone’s help climbing the corporate ladder. The fact that her brother happened to be one of the gym’s best trainers was just a bonus for the Worthingtons. She earned her position through her own track record.

“Besides, you know you love me,” She grins. “You’d turn into a hermit up here if I didn’t check on you.”

“Maybe I want to be a hermit.”

Dana’s grin fades, and concern takes its place. “Koda, I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t start.”

“You’re wasting away up here.” She gestures around the cabin. “You never come into town unless you have to. You don’t see anyone. You don’t talk to anyone. Ever since Vanessa—”

“Don’t.” I give her a warning look that would make most people flinch. “Just don’t.”

Her mouth closes, but the concern doesn’t leave her eyes.

She knows better than to push when it comes to my ex. That doesn’t stop her from trying every few months. But the last thing I need right now is to think about Vanessa. Let alone talk about her.

The silence stretches between us. Dana picks up her mug and takes another sip. I stare out the window at the trees.

“So, are you going to help me or not?” she asks finally.

I look back at her. At the worry lines that have appeared since she took this job. At the exhaustion she tries to hide behind her professional makeup.