The Mountain Man’s Fake Christmas Bride (Mountain Man Brides For Christmas #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

JARED

The buck's antlers are magnificent. At least a twelve pointer, possibly more. I track him through my scope, breath steady despite the December chill biting at my exposed skin. He's about two hundred yards away, completely unaware as he grazes in the small clearing.

I don't pull the trigger.

Instead, I lower my rifle and watch him through binoculars. I haven't actually hunted for meat in years. These days, I mostly just track animals to see if I still can. To maintain the skills that kept me and my unit alive during three tours in Afghanistan.

"Beautiful, aren't you?" I mutter as the buck raises its head, ears twitching. A moment later, he bounds away, disappearing into the thick pines that blanket these Nevada mountains.

My mountains. My sanctuary.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore it. Cell service is spotty up here anyway, which is exactly how I like it. But it buzzes again. And again. Whoever it is, they're persistent.

I pull out my phone, scowling at the screen. Three missed calls from my aunt Beverly. Four text messages.

Aunt Beverly: Jared, call me. Important news.

Aunt Beverly: Jared Calloway, I know you're ignoring me.

Aunt Beverly: JARED. CALL ME BACK.

Aunt Beverly: Fine. I'll just tell you. Aunt Mildred is coming for Christmas. Yes, THAT Aunt Mildred. The one with the money. The one who's been asking about you. She wants to meet your wife.

I read the last message twice, a cold feeling spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the December air. I text back.

Me: I don't have a wife.

The response comes immediately.

Aunt Beverly: She thinks you do. Remember that Christmas card I sent her last year with the family updates? I might have mentioned you got married.

"What the fuck?" I growl at my phone.

Me: Why would you do that? I type, fingers clumsy with anger and the cold.

Aunt Beverly: She was going on about how you'd never settle down.

How you're too damaged from the war. I couldn't stand hearing her talk about you like that, so I told her you found someone.

A nice girl. She's been asking to meet this mystery woman for a year.

Now she's coming. December 23rd. Two weeks from now.

Aunt Beverly: Look, she's dying, Jared. This might be her last Christmas. Can't you find someone to pretend for a couple of weeks? Just to make her happy?

"Jesus Christ." I stuff the phone back in my pocket without responding and start the hike back to my truck.

My aunt Beverly means well. She raised me after my parents died when I was fourteen, and I know she only wants to see me happy. But this? This is a special kind of disaster.

Aunt Mildred is my grand aunt, technically. Beverly's aunt. She's ninety two, filthy rich from her deceased husband's oil investments, and has strong opinions on how everyone should live their lives. Especially mine.

Too damaged from the war. Her words, not mine, but they hit a nerve I'd rather not acknowledge. The scar on my cheekbone throbs, a phantom pain that always flares when I'm stressed.

By the time I reach my truck, I've run through my options.

I could tell the truth. Admit I'm not married.

Deal with Aunt Mildred's disappointment and lectures about how I'm wasting my life hiding in these mountains.

Fake a emergency. Sorry Aunt Mildred, can't make it.

Broken leg. Rabid bear attack. Anything.

Or find someone to pretend to be my wife for two weeks.

Option three is ridiculous. I know exactly zero women who would agree to such a scheme.

I'm not exactly known for my charm in Whisper Vale.

Most locals call me the Mountain Hermit behind my back.

They're not wrong. I own the general store in town, sure, but I have employees who handle most customer interactions.

I mainly deal with inventory and suppliers. Minimal human contact is my specialty.

I start my truck and begin the winding drive down the mountain toward town. The road is slick with ice in spots, requiring my full attention, which is good. Keeps my mind off the impending disaster of Aunt Mildred's visit.

When I reach Whisper Vale proper, the town is transformed. Christmas decorations everywhere. Lights strung across Main Street. A massive tree stands in the town square. Holiday music drifts from storefronts. The whole town looks like it's been vomited on by Christmas elves.

Great. Another reason to avoid town for the next month.

I park behind my store, The Outpost, entering through the back to avoid the Christmas shoppers. The store is busier than usual, which isn't saying much for a town with a population of 2,347. Tourists passing through on their way to the ski resorts up north, probably.

My assistant manager, Chloe, spots me and waves. "Thought you were taking the whole day off, boss."

"Change of plans." I head straight to my office, but Chloe follows me.

"Everything okay? You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're about to murder the next person who mentions Christmas."

I drop into my chair, running a hand over my face. "My aunt Mildred is coming for Christmas."

"The rich one you never talk about?"

"That's her. And she thinks I'm married."

Chloe's eyebrows shoot up. "Married? To who?"

"No one. That's the problem. My aunt Beverly told her I got married last year to get her off my back."

Chloe leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "So you need a fake wife."

"I need a miracle."

She taps her chin thoughtfully. "What about Jennifer Walsh?"

"Who?"

"Jennifer Walsh. Ridge's foster sister? You know, your ‘best buddy’ Ridge? The one you went hunting with last month? His foster sister just moved back to town."

I vaguely remember Ridge mentioning his foster sister was coming back to Whisper Vale after some bad breakup in the city. Wait. Jennifer Walsh. The name finally clicks.

"The scrawny girl with braces who used to follow us around when we went fishing? The one from his foster family?"

Chloe snorts. "She's twenty eight now, Jared. Not exactly a kid anymore. And definitely not scrawny. She came in yesterday for supplies. Smart as a whip and pretty too, in that curvy, sassy way. You'd like her."

"I'm not looking to actually date anyone."

"No, you're looking for someone to pretend to be your wife for two weeks so your rich aunt doesn't cut you out of her will or whatever."

I glare at her. "That's not why I care what Aunt Mildred thinks."

It's not. Probably. The truth is, Aunt Mildred is dying.

Cancer. Hence her increasingly urgent attempts to get me to visit.

This might be the last Christmas Aunt Mildred has and despite her judgmental nature, she's still family.

The thought of disappointing her in her final days sits like a stone in my gut.

"Look," Chloe continues, "Jennifer's staying at Ridge's cabin temporarily while he's away guiding that hunting expedition. She's a freelance graphic designer, so she works from home. Perfect candidate for your fake wife scheme."

"It's not a scheme." But it's not a terrible idea either. Ridge and I go way back. He'd understand. Maybe. If I explained about Aunt Mildred being sick. And offered his foster sister a significant amount of money for her trouble.

"It's definitely a scheme," Chloe says, grinning. "A holiday scheme. Like something out of a Hallmark movie."

"I'm not living in a Hallmark movie."

"Says the grumpy mountain man who needs a fake wife for Christmas." She winks and heads back to the front of the store, calling over her shoulder, "Her number's in the customer database. She ordered some art supplies yesterday."

I sit in my office for a long time, staring at the wall.

This is ridiculous. I'm a thirty seven year old ex-wildland firefighter who's been hiding in these mountains for a reason.

I don't do relationships, real or fake. The scar on my cheekbone is just one of many physical reminders of why I keep to myself.

Then my phone buzzes again. A picture from Beverly. Aunt Mildred in a hospital bed, thin and frail but smiling. The message reads:

Aunt Beverly: She's so excited to meet your wife. Don't break her heart, Jared.

Fuck.

I pull up our customer database and search for Jennifer Walsh. There she is. Contact info, recent purchases (art supplies, coffee, groceries, a space heater), delivery address (Ridge's cabin on Pine Ridge Road). I grab my cell and punch in her number before I can talk myself out of it.

The phone rings four times. I'm about to hang up when a breathless female voice answers.

"Hello? Sorry, dropped my phone under the couch and had to dive for it."

"Is this Jennifer Walsh?" My voice sounds rougher than intended.

"Yes? Who's calling?" There's wariness in her tone now.

"Jared Calloway. I own The Outpost. You were in yesterday."

"Oh! Mountain Man Jared. Ridge's friend." There's a smile in her voice now. "The guy who sells everything from fishing hooks to fancy Italian coffee."

"Mountain Man Jared?" I repeat, caught off guard.

She laughs, a warm sound that travels through the phone and does something strange to my chest. "That's what everyone calls you in town. Well, that or the Hermit of Whisper Vale. But I prefer Mountain Man. It has a certain rugged charm to it."

I'm momentarily speechless. No one talks to me like this. Direct. Teasing. Most people in town treat me like I might bite if approached incorrectly.

"Anyway," she continues, "did I forget to sign something yesterday? Or is this about the special order colored pencils? The ones from Germany?"

"No, it's not about your purchase." I clear my throat. "I have a proposition for you. A business proposition."

"A business proposition," she repeats slowly. "From the town hermit. Should I be intrigued or concerned?"

"Both, probably." Despite myself, I almost smile. "Look, this is going to sound strange, but I need a fake wife for Christmas."

The silence that follows is so long I check to make sure the call hasn't dropped.

"Are you still there?" I ask.

"I'm trying to decide if this is a prank call or if Ridge put you up to this."

"Neither. It's a real request. I need someone to pretend to be my wife for two weeks while my aunt visits. She's sick and she thinks I'm married and it's a long story, but I'm willing to pay."

Another pause. "How much?"

This is not the response I expected. "Ten thousand dollars."

"For two weeks of pretending to be married to Whisper Vale's most eligible mountain hermit?" She makes a considering noise. "Make it fifteen and you have a deal."

"Fifteen thousand dollars? That's absurd."

"Is it? Two weeks of my time during the holidays. Living with a stranger. Pretending to be in love. Meeting your family. That's a lot of acting, Mountain Man."

I grimace. She's not wrong. "Twelve thousand. Final offer."

"Throw in full access to your fancy Italian coffee for the duration and we have a deal."

"Done."

"Well, then." She sounds amused. "Looks like I'm getting married for Christmas."

Something about her easy agreement makes me suspicious. "Why are you saying yes to this? Most people would hang up."

"Most people aren't broke graphic designers hiding from their ex in their foster brother's cabin." Her voice turns businesslike. "Let's meet to discuss the details. Tomorrow? Darlene's Diner at noon?"

"I don't do public places if I can avoid them."

She sighs dramatically. "Fine. Your place or mine, husband?"

The way she says "husband" does something strange to my stomach. "My cabin. I'll text you the address."

"Perfect. Oh, and Jared?"

"Yeah?"

"If this is some weird serial killer thing, just know that Ridge taught me to shoot when I was twelve and I have excellent aim."

I actually laugh at that, surprising myself. "Not a serial killer. Just a desperate man with a dying aunt."

"Well, when you put it that way, how could a girl resist? See you tomorrow, Mountain Man."

She hangs up, leaving me staring at my phone. What the hell just happened? Did I really just hire my best friend's foster sister to be my fake wife?

My phone buzzes again. A text from Jennifer.

Jennifer: By the way, what do fake husbands typically make for lunch? I prefer sandwiches, but I'm open to suggestions. Nothing with pickles though. Pickles are an abomination.

I find myself smiling as I type back.

Me: I'll make sure the abominations stay in the jar.

I release a sigh of relief that quickly convert into anticipation. Now to fill Aunt Beverly in on the plan. What am I getting myself into?