Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
JEN
Istare at the address Jared texted me, then back at the winding dirt road that supposedly leads to his cabin. My ancient Honda Civic isn't exactly built for mountain terrain, but it's gotten me this far.
"Come on, Betsy," I pat the dashboard encouragingly. "Just a little farther."
The car responds with an ominous rattling noise that I choose to interpret as enthusiasm.
I still can't believe I agreed to this. Pretending to be married to Jared Calloway for two weeks?
The Mountain Hermit of Whisper Vale? Ridge is going to have a coronary when he finds out.
But twelve thousand dollars would solve a lot of problems right now.
Like the fact that my ex boyfriend cleaned out our joint savings account before I could remove my name from it.
Or that three of my biggest design clients dropped me after said ex lied and told them I was stealing his work.
Starting over at twenty-eight wasn't part of my five-year plan, but here I am. Living in my foster brother's spare cabin, rebuilding my portfolio, and now apparently getting fake married for Christmas.
The cabin appears around the next bend, and I nearly drive off the road.
Holy shit. This isn't a cabin. It's a lodge.
Two stories of natural timber and stone with a wraparound porch and floor to ceiling windows that must offer spectacular views of the valley below.
Nothing like the small, cozy place Ridge owns.
I park next to a massive black pickup truck that could probably eat my Honda for breakfast and still have room for dessert.
Taking a deep breath, I check my reflection in the rearview mirror.
My dark curls are doing that wild thing they do in the mountain air, but there's not much I can do about it.
I apply a fresh coat of cherry lip balm and straighten my sweater.
"Time to meet your husband, Jen," I mutter to myself.
The moment I step out of the car, the front door opens. And there he stands. Jared Calloway in the flesh, looking even more imposing than I remember from my brief visit to his store yesterday.
Ridge always described him as "intense," which I now realize was a massive understatement.
He's tall, at least six foot three, with shoulders that fill the entire doorframe.
Dark hair, just long enough to show a hint of curl.
A jawline that could cut glass, currently covered in stubble that's somewhere between deliberate scruff and an actual beard.
Eyes so blue they're visible even from this distance.
And that scar. A jagged line that runs from his right cheekbone down toward his jaw. It should make him look menacing, but somehow it just adds to his whole rugged mountain man aesthetic.
The butterflies in my stomach are purely professional. Obviously. This is a business arrangement, not a date.
"You found it," he calls out, his deep voice carrying across the yard.
"Your directions were very thorough." I grab my bag and make my way up the steps. "Though you might have forgotten to mentioned the part where your 'cabin' is actually a small resort."
One corner of his mouth quirks up. Not quite a smile, but close. "My grandfather built it. I added the east wing a few years ago."
Up close, he's even more intimidating. His plain black henley can't quite disguise the muscle underneath, and when he steps back to let me in, I catch a whiff of sandalwood and pine. He smells like the forest.
The interior of the cabin is just as impressive as the outside. Soaring ceilings. A stone fireplace you could roast a whole deer in. Comfortable but masculine furniture. And surprisingly clean for a bachelor mountain man.
"This is..." I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in. "Not what I expected."
"What did you expect? Animal skins and unwashed dishes?"
"Maybe a skull or two mounted on the wall. Some mysterious bloodstains. The typical serial killer decor."
There it is again. That almost smile. "The bloodstains are in the basement."
"Excellent. I like a man who keeps his murder tidy."
He gestures toward the kitchen. "I made lunch. No pickles, as requested."
The kitchen is a chef's dream. Gleaming stainless steel appliances. Granite countertops. A center island where he's laid out a spread of sandwiches, chips, and what looks like homemade potato salad.
"You cook?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice.
"I live alone on a mountain. It was either learn to cook or survive on beef jerky."
"I see you chose wisely."
We sit at the island, and I notice how he positions himself slightly sideways, never fully turning his back to the windows or doorways. Old military habits, maybe? Ridge does the same thing sometimes.
"So," I say, taking a bite of what turns out to be an excellent turkey sandwich. "Let's talk details. What exactly does this fake marriage entail? Hand holding? Cheek kisses? Synchronized bathroom schedules?"
He chokes slightly on his water. "My aunt Mildred believes we've been married for a year. She's very traditional, so yes, we'd need to act like a couple. But nothing... excessive."
"Define excessive."
His cheeks actually redden slightly. It's weirdly adorable on such an intimidating man.
"We share a room," he says gruffly. "You take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch or floor. We act affectionate in front of her. Use pet names or whatever couples do."
"Whatever couples do?" I repeat. "Have you never been in a relationship?"
The look he gives me could freeze water. "I've been in relationships."
"Recently?"
"Define recently."
I grin. "This decade."
He focuses intently on his sandwich. "I've been busy."
"Busy growing a beard and glaring at woodland creatures?"
"Among other things."
I decide to have mercy on him. "Okay, so we pretend to be happily married. How did we meet? How long did we date before getting hitched? These are details your aunt will want to know."
He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up in attractive disarray. "I hadn't thought that far ahead."
"Clearly." I pull out my phone. "Let's create our love story. We met... how about at Ridge's wedding last year?"
"Ridge isn't married. He only just got with Stella. Do you even know your foster brother at all?"
I glare at him, trying hard not to roll my eyes. "Your aunt won't know that. Fine. At a wilderness survival course you were teaching. I was hopeless at starting fires and you took pity on me."
He frowns. "You don't seem like someone who'd be hopeless at anything."
The unexpected compliment catches me off guard. "Thank you? I think?"
"And you wouldn't have taken a wilderness survival course. You've been living in San Diego until last week."
"How do you know what kind of girl I am?" I challenge. "You haven't seen me in what, fifteen years? And even then, I was just Ridge's annoying foster sister who followed you guys around."
Something flickers in his eyes. "You were never annoying."
"Please. I was thirteen and had braces. I spent an entire summer trailing after you and Ridge with a notebook, documenting the types of fish you caught because I thought it would impress you."
"I remember." His voice is unexpectedly soft. "You had a system. Color coding for species, size, location. You were thorough."
The fact that he remembers this ridiculous detail about teenage me does something funny to my heart rate.
"Well," I clear my throat. "The point is, we need a believable backstory. One that explains why a reclusive mountain man and a graphic designer who just moved back to town would be secretly married."
"Long-distance relationship," he suggests. "We reconnected online after you reached out to Ridge about moving back. Started talking, met up a few times when you came to visit over the year before we got married."
"That's... actually not bad." I type it into my notes app. "We reconnected online through Ridge, fell for each other through video calls and texts, and got married during one of my visits to Whisper Vale a year ago. Quick courtship because when you know, you know."
"Is that believable?"
"It's practically a modern romance cliche. Childhood acquaintances reconnect online as adults and fall in love despite the distance. No one in town knew because I wasn't living here yet. Works for me." I look up from my phone. "What else should Aunt Mildred know about us?"
For the next hour, we construct our fake relationship.
Jared is surprisingly detailed once he gets going.
Our first date was a hike to Eagle's Peak followed by a picnic he packed.
He proposed six months after we reconnected, during the first snowfall of last winter.
Simple gold bands because I supposedly don't like flashy jewelry.
A small wedding at the courthouse with just Ridge and Chloe as witnesses.
"You've thought a lot about this," I observe.
He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. "I wanted it to sound real."
"It does. Almost like you've imagined your ideal relationship."
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, something electric passes between us. "Just trying to be thorough."
"Like me with my fish notebook."
"Exactly."
Clearing my throat, I stand and move to the large windows that overlook the valley. "This view is incredible. Do you ever get tired of it?"
"Never." He comes to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth but not quite touching. "That's Baker's Peak to the west. The valley floor is about two thousand feet below us. In spring, the whole meadow fills with wildflowers."
His voice softens when he talks about the mountains. Like they're old friends.
"It's beautiful," I say honestly. "I can see why you stay up here."
"People think I'm hiding," he says quietly. "Maybe I am. But there's a peace here I've never found anywhere else."
The vulnerability in his voice surprises me. I turn to look at him, really look at him, and for a moment the gruff exterior falls away. There's sadness there. And something else. Loneliness, maybe.
"So," he says, abruptly stepping back. "When can you move in?"
I blink at the sudden change of subject. "Move in?"
"Aunt Mildred arrives in twelve days. We should get used to being around each other before she gets here. Make it look natural."
"I need to get my things from Ridge's cabin." My mind races through the logistics. "And let my clients know I'll be working remotely. But I could move in tomorrow?"
He nods. "I'll help you move your stuff."
"It's not much. Just clothes, my computer, design equipment."
"Still." He crosses his arms, all business now. "We should establish some ground rules."
"Like what?"
"Privacy. You can use the master bedroom and bathroom. I'll use the guest bath. The office downstairs is yours during the day for work. Kitchen is shared, but I usually eat breakfast early."
"How early?"
"Five."
I grimace. "Yeah, we won't be crossing paths at breakfast. I'm more of a ten AM coffee person."
"Noted." He hesitates. "And there's the physical aspect."
"The physical aspect," I repeat, enjoying how uncomfortable he looks. "You mean the kissing and hand holding and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes?"
His jaw tightens. "Yes. That. We should discuss boundaries."
"Okay. I'm comfortable with whatever sells our story. Casual touching, hand holding, the occasional kiss if necessary. Nothing tongue related." I pause. "Unless your aunt Mildred is particularly skeptical. Then I'm willing to negotiate."
His eyes widen slightly. "That won't be necessary."
"Just covering all bases." I grin at his discomfort. "Don't worry, Mountain Man. I'll be a perfectly respectable fake wife."
"I'm not worried."
"Liar." I check the time on my phone. "I should get back. I have a client call at three, and the WiFi at Ridge's cabin is spotty at best."
He walks me to the door. "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. Around nine?"
"Make it ten. I need my beauty sleep."
"You don't," he says automatically, then looks like he wants to swallow his tongue.
I laugh. "Was that an accidental compliment, Mountain Man?"
"It was an observation." His ears are slightly pink. "Ten it is."
At the door, I impulsively stand on tiptoe and brush a kiss against his cheek, right below the scar. "There. Practice for the real thing."
He goes completely still, like a startled deer. "What was that for?"
"Just making sure we have chemistry." I step back, oddly affected by the brief contact. His skin was warm, his stubble soft against my lips. "See you tomorrow, husband."
I practically skip to my car, feeling his eyes on my back the entire way. As I start the engine, I catch sight of him still standing in the doorway, one hand touching his cheek where I kissed him.
This fake marriage might be more interesting than I expected.
On the drive back to Ridge's cabin, I let myself admit the truth. Jared Calloway isn't just intimidating. He's attractive in that rugged, reserved way that makes you want to break through his defenses. And those moments when his gruff exterior slips, revealing something vulnerable underneath?
Dangerous. For my heart and probably my bank account.
"Focus, Jen," I tell myself firmly. "This is a business arrangement. Twelve thousand dollars. Two weeks of your life. No catching feelings for the grumpy mountain hermit."
But as I wind down the mountain, I can't help but wonder what Jared Calloway might be like if he ever fully let someone in. And why he's so determined to keep everyone at a distance.
Well, I have two weeks to find out. And if there's one thing Jennifer Walsh has never backed down from, it's a challenge.
Especially one with cheekbones that could cut glass and eyes the color of the mountain sky.