Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
ROSCO
T he chainsaw bites through the fallen pine like butter, sawdust flying in golden clouds around my safety goggles.
Sweat drips down my spine despite the October chill creeping through the Kootenay mountains.
I've been at this since dawn, clearing the debris from last week's windstorm that took out power lines and blocked three different access roads around Crimson Hollow.
Physical work usually clears my head, but today my mind keeps drifting to that night six months ago. The construction conference in New York that changed everything, even though I'd thought it was just another networking event. Until I met her.
Gia.
Dark eyes that seemed to see straight through me. A laugh that made my chest tight with want. Skin like silk under my hands and a night that burned itself into my memory so deep I can still taste her kiss when I close my eyes.
I've compared every woman I've met since to her, and they all come up lacking. It’s not their fault, no one can compete with perfection?
"Rosco, you magnificent bastard!"
I shut off the saw and turn to find my cousin Noah trudging through the underbrush, his usually pristine appearance slightly rumpled. Marriage to Talia has loosened him up, made him more willing to get his hands dirty. Good thing, considering we're family business partners now.
"What brings the kink wellness guru to my humble construction site?" I strip off my work gloves and grab the water bottle from my truck bed.
"Jordyn sent me to remind you about dinner tonight. Apparently, you've been avoiding family gatherings again." Noah's steel gray eyes narrow with that older cousin authority he never quite shook, even though we're both grown ass men.
I grunt and take a long pull of water. Family dinners at Iron Vine Estate have become a weekly tradition since everyone started pairing off.
First Silas and Jordyn, then Noah and Talia, then Zaire and Reign, and now Silas and Jordyn also welcomed a new baby.
The rest of us single Kane men sit around like spare parts while they make googly eyes at each other.
"I'm not avoiding anything. I'm working."
"It's Sunday, Ros. Even God rested on Sunday."
"God didn't have a construction business to run." I gesture at the scattered pine branches and torn power lines. "Besides, someone's got to clean up this mess before the next storm hits."
Noah steps closer, his expression softening. "You know you don't have to carry the weight of the whole damn mountain on your shoulders, right?"
That hits closer to home than I care to admit.
Since my uncle died and left my cousins the estate with that ridiculous stipulation that all six brothers had to keep it together or lose it completely, I've been the one helping them make sure everything holds together.
Literally. The main house needs a new roof, three of the guest cabins have foundation issues, and don't get me started on the wine cellar's flooding problem.
"Someone has to." I turn back to the fallen tree, but Noah catches my arm.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Talia and I have been discussing expanding the club operations. We're going to need someone to oversee the construction and renovation projects. Someone we trust completely."
I pause, chainsaw halfway to the log. "You offering me a job, cousin?"
"I'm offering you a partnership. Twenty percent stake in the wellness operations, full autonomy over construction and facilities management, and a salary that'll let you stop working seven days a week."
The offer hits me like a sucker punch. It's generous, more than generous. It's also exactly what I need to finally get ahead instead of just treading water. But something about it makes my gut twist.
"What's the catch?"
Noah's grin turns sheepish. "Talia thinks you need balance in your life. Work satisfaction, personal fulfillment, maybe even..." He pauses, clearly struggling with the words.
"Spit it out."
"A woman. Someone to share your life with."
I bark out a laugh that echoes off the mountain walls. "And you two think a business partnership is going to magically produce a girlfriend?"
"Actually, we think you need to be more intentional about it. Stop waiting for lightning to strike and actually put yourself out there."
Like I haven't been trying. Like every woman I've dated in the past six months hasn't felt like a pale imitation of what I had for one perfect night in New York. Like I haven't been half in love with a memory for half a year.
I restart the chainsaw, effectively ending the conversation. Noah shouts something over the engine noise, but I pretend not to hear. The last thing I need is relationship advice from my cousin who spent five years being a complete emotional disaster before Talia straightened him out.
But as I work, his words eat at me. Put myself out there. Like it's that simple. Like I haven't tried dating in this town where everyone knows everyone's business. Like I haven't struck out with every eligible woman within a fifty-mile radius because none of them are her.
Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm thinking too small. Maybe I need to stop looking for her replacement and start looking for merely capable.
By the time I finish clearing the road, an idea has taken root. Crazy, practical, probably stupid, but an idea nonetheless. I load my equipment into the truck and drive straight to Silas's law office instead of heading home.
The Mountain Retreat Legal Services occupies a converted cabin on Main Street, all exposed beams and modern technology. Silas built it to blend mountain charm with serious legal work, and it suits him perfectly. Controlled, methodical, successful.
"Rosco." Silas looks up from his computer, silver threading through his dark hair catching the afternoon light. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I need some legal advice. Hypothetically speaking."
His green eyes sharpen with interest. "Hypothetically."
I settle into the chair across from his massive oak desk. "What do you know about mail order bride services?"
Silas leans back, fingers steepled. "Are we talking about historical context or modern applications?"
"Modern. Like, legitimate matchmaking services for people who want practical arrangements instead of all that romantic bullshit."
"Ah." Understanding dawns across his features. "You're looking for a business partnership approach to marriage."
"Maybe. I don't know. It's just..." I scrub my hands through my hair. "Dating in this town is impossible. Everyone's either related to me, already taken, or completely wrong for what I need. But I'm not getting any younger, and I want what you and Jordyn have. What Noah and Talia found."
"What we have isn't a business arrangement, Rosco."
"No, but it started practical, didn't it? You were working my uncle’s case, while trying to help Jordyn, who was technically your clent. The feelings came later."
Silas considers this, his lawyer brain clearly working through the implications. "There are legitimate services. High end, thorough background checks, detailed compatibility assessments. Not what most people think of when they hear 'mail order bride.'"
I nod slowly. "More like professional matchmaking?"
"Exactly. For people who value honesty and practicality over romantic games." He turns to his computer. "Give me a few minutes."
While Silas researches, I pace to the window overlooking Main Street. Crimson Hollow bustles with Sunday afternoon activity. Families walk to Bean & Bloom for coffee, couples browse the farmers market, kids play in the small park near the bookstore. Normal life. The kind I want for myself.
The kind I had a taste of in New York, even if it was just for one night.
"Here." Silas turns his monitor toward me. "Signed, Sealed, Hitched. They specialize in what they call 'intentional partnerships' for successful professionals who want companionship without the traditional dating drama."
I study the website. Clean, professional, discrete. Testimonials from doctors, lawyers, business owners who found compatible partners through their service. No sleazy photos or desperate personal ads. Just straightforward information about their process.
"How does it work?"
"Well, there's an extensive questionnaire covering everything from lifestyle preferences to long term goals that you'll need to fill out.
Then there's professional background checks, health screenings, and psychological compatibility assessments.
They then match you with pre-screened candidates who share your practical approach to relationships. "
"And then what? You just pick someone from a catalog?"
"Then you communicate through email, video calls, and phone conversations. Get to know each other's expectations and boundaries. If you're both interested, you arrange to meet. If that goes well, you discuss terms."
"Terms?"
"Living arrangements, financial responsibilities, timelines for major life decisions, stuff like that. Think of it as a relationship contract with built in flexibility for emotional development."
The whole thing sounds cold when he explains it like that, but also refreshingly honest. No games, no wondering where you stand, no waiting for someone to make the first move or decode mixed signals. No hoping some stranger will measure up to a perfect memory.
"What's it cost?"
"Five thousand for the full service package. Includes six months of active matching, background checks, and relationship counseling support."
Five grand. That's a new truck payment, or materials for the estate's roof repair. But it's also potentially a solution to the growing loneliness that's been eating at me for the past six months. Ever since I left a hotel room in New York and a woman whose last name I never learned.
"I'll think about it."
"Rosco." Silas's voice carries that older brother authority he picked up from growing up around us over the years. "Whatever you decide, make sure you're doing it for the right reasons. Marriage, even a practical one, changes everything."
I nod and head for the door, but his words follow me to the truck. Right reasons. What are the right reasons? Loneliness? Practical compatibility? The desire to build something lasting with someone who understands that love isn't always lightning strikes and fairy tale romance?
Or the hope that maybe, somehow, I'll find her again?
By the time I get home to my cabin on the outskirts of town, I've made my decision.
The place feels too quiet, too empty. Three bedrooms for one man, a kitchen that never gets used for more than coffee and sandwiches, a living room where I watch TV alone every night and think about dark eyes and soft skin and the way she said my name.
I could keep waiting for lightning to strike twice. Keep hoping some perfect woman will wander into Crimson Hollow and fall for a grumpy mountain man who's better with his hands than his words. Or I can take control of my own damn life.
I pull up the Signed, Sealed, Hitched website and start filling out the questionnaire.
Name: Rosco Kane
Age: 34
Occupation: Construction contractor and facilities manager
Location: Crimson Hollow, British Columbia
Relationship goals: Long term partnership leading to marriage and family
Deal breakers: Drama, dishonesty, inability to handle small town life
The questions get deeper from there. Communication style (direct, honest, sometimes blunt). Living preferences (mountain cabin with room for expansion). Family goals (yes to kids, flexible on timeline). Financial approach (shared responsibilities, full transparency).
Two hours later, I hit submit and immediately want to take it back. This is insane. Who finds a wife through a website? What kind of woman would even sign up for something like this?
But the deed is done. In five to seven business days, I'll have a response. Either they'll accept my application and start the matching process, or they'll politely decline and I'll be back to square one.
I grab a beer from the fridge and step onto my back deck. The sun sets behind the mountain peaks, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that would make Darius grab his paintbrushes. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls, answered by another from across the valley.
This is what I want to share with someone. The beauty, the peace, the sense of belonging to something bigger than yourself. Maybe that's naive, thinking some stranger from God knows where would want this life. But stranger things have happened in Crimson Hollow.
My phone buzzes with a text from Noah:
Noah:
Dinner's at seven. Don't make me send Talia after you.
Me:
I'll be there. And thanks for the talk today.
Three dots appear immediately, then:
Noah:
Everything okay?
Better than okay, I think. For the first time in months, I feel like I'm moving forward instead of just surviving. Maybe toward something real. Maybe toward someone who could understand what I'm looking for.
Me:
Yeah. Everything's good.
The lie comes easily, but maybe it's not entirely a lie. Maybe it's just premature truth. In a week or two, I might have prospects. Real, viable options for building the kind of life I want.
Or I might have nothing but wounded pride and a lighter bank account.
Either way, I'm done waiting for lightning to strike twice. If I want something, I'm going to make it happen. That's what Kane men do. We build things that last.
Starting with my own damn love life.