The Mountain Man’s Curvy Surprise (Mountain Man Sanctuary #9)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

MCGREGOR

“ T hank God, McGregor. I wasn’t sure if you would pick up.”

I scrub my hand over my face, grumbling, “Mack, why in the hell are you calling me so early?” My Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor often calls me before the crack of dawn. But this is a new limit, even for him.

“I’ve finally done it.”

I groan. “Done what?”

“Broken away from the chains of civilization.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples and waiting for him to explain …

Silence.

Damn hippie!

“Well, boy, don’t you want to know what I mean?”

“Not at three in the fucking morning! Call me back at a reasonable time.” I go for the end call button, stopped at the last second by his screaming. Reluctantly, I hold the cell phone to my ear again.

“I’ve hit the road, which means the cabin is yours.”

Mack’s sixty-eight years young and as youthful as a twenty-something. He lives on a steady diet of sunshine, the Grateful Dead, kombucha, Japanese yoga, homemade bread, and women much younger than him. Though thankfully, he spares me most of those details.

The man has more game, nearly seven decades in, than I ever have. I don’t know how he does it. Hell, I’m not even forty yet, and I feel it when I get out of bed in the morning.

Of course, years of beating the shit out of my body as an Army Ranger and then a military contractor probably have something to do with that.

I mumble, “In other words, you’re letting me know to come water your plants while you’re away?”

“Better than that, boy. I’m selling you the cabin for a screaming deal.”

I stretch. “I still don’t see why any of this couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning.”

“It is tomorrow morning.”

I shake my head, not interested in his technicalities. “But if you’ve split town for good, then who’s going to be my sponsor?”

“Don’t worry about a thing. My girlfriend, Trixie, has promised to teach me everything about setting up a hotspot from our new off-grid location. So, you should always be able to get a hold of me.”

I grunt. “So, how much are you asking for the cabin?”

He clucks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “How about we barter for it?”

“Barter for it?” I ask, feeling my stomach sink. “What are you thinking?”

“You cleaning up the place will be a decent enough start. I know it won’t be easy.”

My mind spins. Mack’s a hoarder who hasn’t relocated in at least three decades. It’s no exaggeration to say I can’t currently walk through his house.

“And you keeping the homestead going and caring for all the animals would be another part of our deal. But it would allow you to bring Duke over from Rough and Ready Ranch. There’s more than enough room for him in the stable.

And you’d have to keep up my booths at the farmer’s markets in Hollister and Ophir City during the summer. ”

Duke’s the Arabian gelding I bought about a year after moving here.

A great horse that could do with more of my time and attention.

Having to commute to the ranch has put a damper on that.

But the trade would also come with alpacas, goats, chickens, rabbits, and the orneriest mule I’ve ever known, Snickers.

I always joke with Mack his name should really be Kickers.

You don’t want to get behind that motherfucker when he’s pissed, which is always.

As for the booths, I’ve worked them many times since Mack became my sponsor.

He’s told me ever since I first relocated to Rough and Ready Country a little over a year and a half ago that I should live off the land, settle into a simpler life, and truly find myself rather than pursue trivial pleasures.

I can’t help but think this deal of his is a way to shove my feet into the fire.

“What else?” I frown, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I need you to entertain guests who come to visit and let them know that I’ve moved on with the love of my life.”

Sounds simple enough, but what I think he’s really getting at is something altogether different. “In other words, you want me to break it to your harem?”

Mack hisses, “Shh. We can discuss this later.”

Trixie must be nearby.

Whatever. The deal doesn’t sound half bad, and he and I both know I could use a new place to hang my hat instead of the apartment I rent in Ophir City.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“Yes, and this is the most important part, boy. I need you to go through my personal papers and transcribe them.”

“No way!” I reach for the end call button again. But the old man growls into the phone.

“Don’t you dare, McGregor.”

“Your personal papers? That’s got to be hundreds upon hundreds of notebooks worth of stuff. And you and I both know your handwriting’s shit.”

“Yes, but there are computer programs that help with transcribing handwritten documents of historical significance.”

Historical significance? I want to beat my head against a wall as I think about bookshelf after bookshelf of illegible journals in no particular order.

“Sorry, man. But you need to find somebody else. Somebody who’s into book learning and writing and all that shit. I don’t even read books.”

“McGregor, McGregor, McGregor,” Mack scolds.

I see him in my mind’s eye, somber-faced and shaking his head.

He’s got a grizzled, unkempt, salt-and-pepper beard that hangs to his navel, and a wiry, lean body that’s more muscle than wrinkle from years of homesteading, hiking, and his Eastern meditations and exercises.

“Remember the discussion we had less than a month ago about being open to the opportunities the Universe delivers?”

I grind my teeth together to keep from laughing. One thing’s for sure, when this guy gets a bee in his bonnet, there’s nothing that’ll talk him out of it.

“The cabin will be yours free and clear for next to no labor and expense.”

“I beg to differ,” I mutter, finally awake enough that I won’t be able to get back to sleep after this call ends. “Just clearing all the junk out of your cabin?—”

“Clearing? What in the hell do you mean? I need you to sort through it, inventory it, and then put the items I’d like to keep in storage.”

There it is. “You do know I have a full-time job, right?”

“You mean, the shady undercover stuff you do on call?”

“Yes, and working security at the museum, too.” He and I both know that the security detail is light and informal, intended to maintain appearances. What I really do with Wolfe’s team of former Army Rangers is deadly and intermittent. It makes me perfect for Mack’s job, except I don’t want it.

“Think about it.”

“Yeah. Will do,” I answer begrudgingly. If he hadn’t been such a loyal and dependable sponsor, I wouldn’t waste another moment on this hare-brained idea.

But it’s no exaggeration to say I owe my life, sobriety, and job to this man.

Not so long ago, I was an epic mess. Mack went well beyond the extra mile to aid and support my recovery.

Tired of talking to myself, I ask, “So, what’s your story, and where are you headed with Trixie?” He’s talked about the fifty-something artist and self-proclaimed gypsy a lot lately. But I have my concerns about how serious this relationship can be.

After all, from the pictures he’s shown me of the Bohemian woman, she’s hot as they come.

Not my type, of course. Never been into fire-breathing belly dancers who make the Black Rock Desert their home each summer.

But still, I don’t want the old man getting scammed in the name of love.

It would break my heart to see him on Dateline .

“We’re getting married in Black Rock City, and then we’re heading out on the road.”

“Shit. Aren’t you too old for that kind of life?”

He scolds, “I keep telling you, man. That’s why you’re aging so quickly.

Because you’ve got the mindset of an old man, and your thinking is limited by how society has brainwashed you and every other motherfucker in this commercialized, capitalistic society.

You need to get back to the basics. What matters. ”

“And what’s that, Mack?”

“Good food, clean water, decent sleep, the best music, and plenty of fucking.”

God help me. It’s way too early for this mental image. “Call me later, Mack. After I’ve had time to think everything through.”

“One more thing, boy …”

I scowl, frustration seizing me.

“You know the women I corresponded with?”

“Yes …” This has to be good.

“I kind of used your photo when I was writing to them. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Used my photo?” I furrow my brows. “Shouldn’t you have asked me first?” The balls on this guy. I shake my head.

“Look, in a contest between an old fart and you, your face is always going to win. Anyway, what’s done is done, so be prepared when the ladies start coming around.”

“ If they come around,” I frown.

“Pretty sure they will,” he laughs. “My love letter writing skills are unsurpassed, and your face?—”

“That’s where you messed up, Mack. My picture probably scared them away. But if not, and only if I accept your offer, I’ll be sure to let them down easy.” Great, he’s already got me talking like I own the place.