My Big Mountain Recluse (Burly Grumps #7)

Chapter 1

SANDY

Rain patters my windshield, relentless against the old wipers moaning against the glass. Nothing like a rainy drive on a mountain road.

I’ve got my phone mounted on the dash, pointed right at me. I hit record and put on my smile.

“You all know that I love mountain vibes,” I say, gesturing out the window at all the passing pines, speaking to an audience that isn’t listening yet.

“Well, this place is promising. Look at these trees, y’all.

And the rain! We’ll see if the lodge lives up to its notorious reputation.

Oh! I just heard thunder. I’d better focus on driving… ”

Stop recording.

Being a travel vlogger means getting lots of footage.

A ton of it is me saying the same things over and over, then picking out the best shots to use in the video.

I’ll probably record that bit three more times before I arrive at the Willow Lake Lodge.

It makes editing much easier when I have extra footage to forage through.

There hasn’t been another car on this lonely road in an hour. It winds up the mountain, flanked by huge pines, with signs for dirt roads that lead into the woods.

Most travel influencers visit the same spots as everyone else.

They go to the places that are already drowning in five-star reviews and hype them up even more.

Boring. I travel off the beaten path. The unique and overlooked are what I’m looking for.

The hotels, restaurants, and bathhouses that have scathing one-star reviews that are six paragraphs too long and a little too personal.

I’m hunting for hidden gems, wherever they may be. And there be gold in them hills.

Willow Lake Lodge is promising. It has a terrible, almost impossible-to-navigate website; it’s a pain in the ass to get to (three hours from the closest airport), and the reviews are a mix of adventurers who cherish the lodge for its location and scathing reports from Karens who insist that the owner is the biggest asshole on the planet.

Interestingly, the reviews took a collective nosedive about three years ago.

Before, they all raved about the lodge’s friendly owner. Now, they all complain about him.

I’m going to find the truth.

After another hour of driving through the rain, and a few more videos taken, I round a bend and find Willow Lake waiting for me. Placid and pure, it sprawls out from the sea of trees, soaking up the storm.

“Beautiful,” I say with a smile.

Some might find the weather too dreary to enjoy the view. Not me. This is perfect.

It doesn’t take much longer to find the lodge. The website had directions from the airport (even if it took me twenty minutes to find the page), and the lodge is exactly where it should be.

“So far so good.”

It’s what you might expect. Dark wood that matches the trees, as if the men who built it cut from the very forest that surrounds the grounds.

The two-story structure is shaped like a ‘U’, with the wings surrounding a stone drive that circles back to the road.

Everything looks well-maintained, and the landscaping is gorgeous.

Even through the rain, I can see wildflowers that have bloomed in the grass along the edges, joined by manicured shrubs.

“Well, well.” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I pull up, phone recording. ‘This place is much nicer than the reviews let on.”

There are a few warm lights in the smaller windows, and I can see firelight dancing through the wide pane of glass in the main lodge. Other than that, though, I see no signs of life.

It feels rather spooky now that I’m parked. With the engine off, the sounds of the storm swallow me up.

I sweep my camera around toward the double doors of the entrance. “This is it. Let’s get checked in and—“

The doors burst open.

A man and a woman are dragging along two children like luggage on wheels while they struggle with their actual luggage. The woman looks back, yelling something I can’t hear.

I crack my window.

“—take a course on customer service. Or, better yet, find a new line of work! The customer is always right,” she shrieks, tugging on her young daughter’s arm. “And I expect a full refund.”

“Refund? I’d pay you to fucking leave!”

I instinctively point my camera toward the new voice. A man walks through the doors, out into the rain.

A Sasquatch. Bigfoot. The mountain’s biggest, grumpiest grizzly just woken up early from hibernation.

His beard is dark as a black bear’s fur, just as thick, just as tempting to warm my fingers in.

As the family of four stomps toward the parking lot, he storms after them, getting completely soaked, black shirt sticking to his muscular body.

That’s the type of body that makes you stand a little taller, bat your eyes, and pray that you put your makeup on properly this morning.

And those eyes… fierce, dark, and furious.

Even as he roars and curses and tells that family to fuck right off, I can’t help but want to be the target of his fury. Let him scream at me. Screw them. I want that attention. To even be in his presence would be a blessing.

He looks right at me.

The storm disappears. No thunder, no rain, no wind.

Nothing can survive his gaze.

It rips me to shreds, destroying everything I ever knew about myself. Travel vlogger? No, no. I’m his plaything—that’s all. I’ve only ever been this stranger’s toy.

At least, I hope I am.

The man, whom I can only assume is the lodge’s owner, stomps toward me. He moves with such powerful strides that I imagine he’s about to flip my rental car over. A charging rhinoceros I can’t help but watch helplessly as I’m impaled.

Instead, he comes right up to my window, raps his heavy knuckles against the glass, and motions for me to roll it down. He’s dripping wet, messy curly hair draped over his eyes.

The window hums down.

He leans in a bit, hands on the car. I stare at him stupidly, hoping that all logic has gone out the window and he’ll kiss me without ever saying a word.

Those lips, mostly hidden by his beard, part a few times. He doesn’t speak, though. Something in those fierce eyes softens as he looks at me; they scan me up and down, searching for something.

For what? Whatever it is, whatever he’s looking for, I’ll give it to him if I have it. I’ll give him anything.

“Uh,” I finally say over the rain. “Reservation for Sandy Lockeheart?”

His eyes narrow. “Is that a question?”

“… no?”

“I have you,” he says.

Oh. Yes, you most certainly do have me. Please, have me.

“Two-day stay,” he grunts. “Single bed.”

“How do you know that? Don’t you have to check the computer or something?”

“Does it look like I’m full up with guests?” he growls. “In fact, since they ended their stay early, you’ll have the place to yourself. Pretty easy to keep track of one guest’s reservation…”

It seems that some of those snarky one-star reviews were not unfounded.

“Bags?” he asks gruffly.

“Sorry?”

“Do you have luggage? I’d like to get out of the fucking rain.”

I scoff. “Then why’d you walk out into a storm?”

He stares at me like I’ve just asked him why the sky is blue.

“You think I was gonna let that witch get the last word? She called me a classless caveman.”

“Really? On what grounds?” I pop the SUV’s trunk with a smile. “My luggage is in the trunk, sir.”

He storms off, huffing and puffing.

I check my makeup in the mirror, practically hyperventilating.

“Get it together,” I say, trying to steady my breathing. “Be normal. Sure, he’s hot. But treat him like anyone else…”

From behind me, I hear his deep, rumbling voice. “I can hear you.”

I lock eyes with him in the rearview mirror. He’s leaning in through the back, hand on my suitcase, a knowing smirk on his handsome face.

Damn this rental! I’m not used to driving an SUV…

“You heard nothing!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” I lie, turned around in my seat to face him. “It’s for my vlog. I’m a travel vlogger. I say all sorts of crazy things for the camera. It’s my job…”

He shrugs, tugs out my bags, and says, “Good for you.” The trunk slams.

This time, I wait for him to walk back into the lodge before I start speaking.

“Shit. Stupid. Stupid!” Well, maybe more screaming than speaking. “Sooo smooth! Sure, he’s hot. Are you insane?”

My phone’s recording icon blinks at me in response.

Great. I caught that embarrassing moment and my meltdown on camera.

“Maybe I’ll show this to our future children,” I say, scoffing at myself. “Hey, kids. Today’s the day I met your father! Cute, huh?”

I grab my phone, finagle my jacket on, and get my umbrella ready.

Out into the storm.