The Mountain Man’s Mail Order Surprise (Mountain Man Sanctuary #2)

Prologue

GIA

S IX MONTHS AGO - NEW YORK CITY

The Marriott hotel bar is supposed to be networking, but all I want to do is disappear. My cheek still throbs where Zack's hand connected three hours ago, the concealer doing its best to hide the evidence of what my relationship has become.

"Another whiskey sour, miss?" The bartender's kind eyes hold concern I don't deserve.

"Please." I touch my face unconsciously, then force my hand down. No one can know. Not here, not when my company sent me to represent them at the biggest marketing conference of the year. Not when my professional reputation is the only thing I have left that's actually mine.

The conference has been a blur of presentations and networking sessions where I smiled and handed out business cards while my mind replayed Zack's words from this morning. "You're nothing without me, Gia. Nothing. And if you ever try to leave me again, I'll make sure you lose everything."

I believed him. I always believe him.

The whiskey burns going down, but it's nothing compared to the ache in my chest. Two years of my life wasted on a man who started charming and ended up controlling every aspect of my existence. My job, my friends, my family, even my clothes had to meet his approval.

"Rough day?"

The voice is deep, with a slight Canadian accent that makes me look up from my drink.

The man settling onto the barstool beside me is the kind of gorgeous that should be illegal.

Dark hair that looks like he's been running his hands through it, warm brown eyes that seem to see everything, and shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world.

He's exactly the kind of man Zack would hate me talking to. Which makes him exactly the kind of man I want to talk to right now.

"Something like that." I gesture to my drink. "What's your excuse?"

"Well my construction conference ended three hours ago. My hotel room is too quiet, and I'm tired of my own company." He signals the bartender. "Whiskey, neat. Make it a double."

A construction worker. Zack would lose his mind. His definition of acceptable men starts with trust fund babies and ends with investment bankers. Blue collar is beneath his social circle, which means this stranger is absolutely perfect for my current mood.

"Construction, huh? What kind?"

"Whatever needs building, honestly. Started with residential, moved into commercial projects. Currently working on some wellness retreat up in British Columbia." He extends a calloused hand. "Rosco Kane."

"Gia Moreau." His handshake is firm, confident, and sends an unexpected jolt of awareness through my system. "Wellness retreat sounds interesting."

"Family business. My cousins have this idea about creating a high-end healing space in the mountains. I just make sure the buildings don't fall down while people find their inner peace."

I laugh, and it feels rusty from disuse. When was the last time I genuinely laughed? "Very noble work. I design marketing campaigns that convince people they need things they absolutely don't need."

"Ah, one of those." But he's smiling when he says it. "What brings you to New York?"

"Conference, but nothing as fun as yours sounded. Digital marketing trends, consumer psychology, all the ways to part people from their money more efficiently." I take another sip of whiskey, feeling looser than I have in months. "Riveting stuff."

"Sounds like it." His eyes crinkle with humor. "So why do you look like you'd rather be anywhere else?"

The question hits too close to home. I should deflect, change the subject, make polite small talk like the good corporate representative I'm supposed to be. Instead, I find myself being honest.

"Because I'm supposed to be here with my boyfriend, but we had a fight after we broke up this morning and..." I touch my cheek again, then catch myself. "Let's just say he has strong opinions about my career choices."

Something dangerous flashes in Rosco's eyes. "Strong opinions that leave marks?"

My breath catches. He noticed. Of course he noticed. The concealer is good, but it's not magic.

"It's not what you think."

"Isn't it?" He turns his body toward me fully, and I feel the weight of his complete attention. "Because it looks exactly like what I think it is."

"You don't know me. You don't know the situation."

"You're right. I don't know you." He pauses, studying my face with an intensity that makes my skin heat. "But I know that no man should ever put his hands on a woman in anger. I know that whoever did this to you doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you."

The fierce protectiveness in his voice does something to my insides that I wasn't prepared for. When was the last time someone defended me? When did anyone last look at me like I was worth defending?

"It's complicated."

"No, it's not." His voice is gentle but absolute. "You deserve better than someone who hurts you."

Tears threaten, but I blink them back. I can't fall apart in a hotel bar with a stranger, no matter how safe he makes me feel.

"Sorry," I mumble. "You came here for a quiet drink, not to listen to some woman's sob story."

"Hey." He touches my hand lightly, just a brush of fingers that sends electricity up my arm. "Don't apologize for telling the truth. And for what it's worth, I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be right now."

The sincerity in his voice breaks something loose in my chest. "You don't even know me."

"Maybe not. But I'd like to." His thumb strokes across my knuckles, and I don't pull away. "Tell me something real about you. Something that has nothing to do with marketing or ex-boyfriends or any of that bullshit."

I consider deflecting again, but there's something about this man that makes me want to be honest. Maybe it's the way he looks at me like I'm worth listening to.

Maybe it's the whiskey. Maybe it's just the desperate need to remember who I used to be before Zack systematically dismantled my confidence.

"I wanted to be a photographer," I say quietly. "Before marketing, before everything else. I wanted to travel the world and capture moments that mattered. Weddings, births, celebrations. All the times when people are purely, authentically happy."

"What stopped you?"

I shrug. "Life. Student loans. The practical need for steady income." I don't mention Zack's systematic campaign to convince me that artistic dreams were childish, that I needed to focus on "real" career goals. "What about you? Always wanted to build things?"

"Always. Even as a kid, I was taking apart everything I could get my hands on just to see how it worked. Drove my mom crazy." His smile is soft with memory. "She used to say I had magic hands, that I could fix anything."

"Can you?"

"Most things. Though I'm better with wood and steel than I am with people."

"I don't know about that." The words slip out before I can stop them. "You're doing pretty well with me right now."

The air between us shifts, becoming charged with something I haven't felt in years. Attraction, yes, but more than that. Connection. Understanding. The sense that this stranger sees me in a way Zack never has.

"Gia." My name sounds different in his voice. Richer, warmer, like something precious. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you going back to him? Tonight, I mean. After this."

The question is loaded with implications that make my heart race. "I don't know."

"What if you didn't have to?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if you could stay here tonight? With me. No expectations, no pressure. Just... not alone."

The offer should terrify me. I don't know this man, don't know anything about him except that he makes me feel safer than I have in months. But instead of fear, I feel something that might be hope.

"I couldn't. I shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because..." I search for a reason that doesn't sound pathetic. "Because I don't do things like this."

"Maybe it's time you started." He leans closer, and I catch his scent, sawdust and something clean and masculine that makes my head spin. "Maybe it's time you did something just for you."

When was the last time I did anything just for me? When did I last make a choice based on what I wanted instead of what was expected, what was safe, what would keep the peace?

"I don't even know you," I whisper.

"Then let me fix that." His hand covers mine completely. "I'm thirty-four years old. I live in a cabin in the mountains of British Columbia where the air is so clean it hurts your lungs the first time you breathe it. I built that cabin with my own hands, along with most of the furniture inside it."

"Rosco..."

"I have seven cousins who drive me crazy but who I'd die for without question. I've never been married, never found anyone who wanted the life I was offering. I work with my hands because it's honest, and I sleep like the dead because I earn my rest."

Each detail he shares feels like a gift, a piece of himself offered freely. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to know who you'd be spending the night with.

I want you to know that I'm not going to hurt you, not going to push you for anything you don't want to give.

" His thumb traces patterns on my skin that make me shiver.

"And I want you to know that the beautiful woman sitting beside me deserves so much better than whatever asshole put that mark on her face. "

Beautiful. When did anyone last call me beautiful and mean it?

"This is crazy," I say, but I don't pull my hand away.

"Maybe. But sometimes crazy is exactly what we need."

I look into his dark eyes and see nothing but sincerity and a heat that makes my breath catch. For two years, I've played it safe. I've been the good girlfriend, the compliant partner, the woman who never rocks the boat or asks for too much.

And where has it gotten me? Sitting in a hotel bar with a bruised face and a broken spirit, afraid to go back to my own room.

"Okay," I whisper.

"Okay?"