Chapter 2
L auren adjusted the angle of her phone, tilting her chin just so, letting the golden hour light kiss her cheekbones.
The alpine lake behind her shimmered like a spilled bottle of sapphire nail polish, and the pine trees framed the scene like nature's own Instagram filter.
She grinned at the screen, snapped a few selfies, then turned to get a wider shot of the water.
Her followers would eat this up.
Many creators captured footage of lakes, but the highly sought-after alpine lakes, which were rarely visited by humans, were a highly prized commodity on social media.
Most people knew they would never venture that far away from civilization to see or experience the solitude of living on the mountain, so they searched and followed those who braved the rugged terrain to bring them proof that such beauty exists.
Coming here was the best decision she'd made lately. To celebrate reaching one million followers on two out of her three social media platforms, she planned to use her vacation to create more content that her viewers loved. Ever since the pandemic, nature has become a significant online trend.
The Bitterroot Ridge Campground was like a mysterious location.
It wasn't advertised. She ran across the website looking for an alpine lake she could hike to within a day's trip from home.
Instead, she found a campground in Idaho, less than a mile over the Montana state line, offering off-grid cabins and tent sites.
She couldn't pass it up, considering it was only two hours away from her apartment in Missoula.
The location wouldn't matter online. The big catch with travel and nature accounts was the mystery surrounding the places showcased. People would always comment, asking where it was located. More comments meant more views, which meant more money coming her way.
Keeping locations secret also motivated others to get outdoors and explore on their own, to discover their own paradise.
She'd met several content creators in person after following them online.
They all had their own rules, plus the unspoken rules every creator or influencer followed.
It was more complex work than most people assumed.
There were highs and lows. There were months when money was good and other months when she wondered if she'd have to get another job.
But overall, she could afford an apartment, bought her Jeep, and all the equipment she needed.
She traveled now, because someday, she hoped to have a family and settle down.
She wore a lemon-yellow sundress that embraced her curves perfectly.
It highlighted her chest but concealed her thick thighs.
The hem fluttered around her legs as the breeze flirted with the fabric.
She had gathered her hair into a messy bun, with a few strands framing her face.
Everything about the outfit radiated confidence.
But out here, with no Wi-Fi and only the sounds of birds and occasional splashes of fish, she wasn't sure her outfit was even necessary to catch her followers' attention. The lake was majestic.
There was something so serene about the campground. Having never camped, she struggled to find adequate words to describe the peace that filled the air.
Even though she could see people on the lake in canoes and hiking on the trails, nobody bothered her.
She stepped closer to the edge of the lake, trying to capture the perfect shot of her reflection in the water. Her foot caught on a root, and before she could yelp, she fell forward.
Strong arms caught her mid-tumble.
Lauren gasped, her phone clattering to the ground.
She blinked up into the face of the man from yesterday, who looked like he'd been carved out of the mountain.
Tall. Broad. Bearded. His worn flannel shirt strained against his chest, and his forearms—dear Lord, his forearms—were the stuff of lumberjack fantasies.
"Careful," he muttered in a low, gravelly voice.
She stared. "You caught me."
His eyes, a stormy gray, flicked over her face, then down to where his hands still gripped her waist. He let go abruptly, stepping back like she'd burned him.
He picked up her phone and handed it to her.
"Thanks for saving me." She smiled, brushing off her dress and trying to ignore the way her heart was doing cartwheels.
"You need to watch your step around the lake.
It's best if you stay over in the clearing where the sand and swimming area are roped off.
When you're on the side of the lake, the shoulders drop off fast. Mountain lakes are always cold.
It's a shock to your body if you're not ready for it," he said, gruff and clearly annoyed. "These woods aren't made for selfies."
Lauren blinked. "Excuse me?"
His gaze narrowed, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Accidents happen. You need to pay attention to where you're walking and not look at yourself on your phone."
"I was...I will." She blew out her breath. "It's not my intent to injure myself."
Mac—she remembered his name from yesterday—shifted his weight like he wanted to disappear into the trees. "You take pictures of yourself for social media?"
She straightened. "Guilty. Though you make it sound like I'm selling pictures of my feet online."
He cocked his brow. "Are you?"
She couldn't tell if he was serious or teasing. Deciding it was better if she changed the subject, she asked, "How long have you worked here?"
"Since I was a kid. Now, I live here with my son." He paused. "I'm one of the owners."
"Oh, that's fantastic. Do you—"
"We like our quiet." His upper cheek twitched, cutting her off from asking anything else about him.
Lauren tilted her head, studying him. He was older than her usual type. Probably mid-forties, but there was something extremely manly about him. Something raw. He wasn't polished or polite. He didn't smell like cologne or wear designer boots. He smelled like pine, firewood, and masculinity.
She looked down, studying both of his hands. There was no ring. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't married. He'd mentioned a son.
"I didn't mean to intrude or fall," she said softly. "I was... exploring."
Mac looked at her then, really looked. His gaze lingered a beat too long on the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the way her dress clung to her body.
He kept his gaze on the front of her dress and said, "You should make sure you have sunscreen on. You're pale."
She smiled, a slow, teasing curve of her lips. "Are you always this charming, or is today special?"
He didn't smile back. But his eyes flicked to her mouth, and for a moment, she swore the air between them crackled.
"You're not from around here," he said.
"Actually, not far. Missoula. Two hours away. I'm a city girl. Born and scrolled."
"Huh?"
She waved her hand and laughed. "It means I grew up with social media and seek my entertainment online by..." She wiggled her thumb. "Scrolling."
Mac exhaled through his nose. "If you say so."
Lauren stepped closer, ignoring the warning bells in her head. "Are you married or are you cranky because you don't like city girls?"
"Not married." His voice deepened. "Like I said, I like the quiet."
She could've laughed. She was anything but quiet. "Well, lucky for you, I'm only here for the month of August."
Mac's eyes darkened. "Then we won't have a problem."
But Lauren wasn't so sure. Standing this close to him, her heart pounding like a drum, she knew one thing for sure.
She wanted to be his problem.
At first, she thought it was his size that attracted her. He was like her own personal Bigfoot in the wild. Nobody would believe she saw him. The world didn't make a man like that. A man like that made the world.