The Mountain Man’s Sweet Treat (Courage County Holidays #2)

Chapter 1

Sophie

Golden sunlight slants through the red leaves of the Maple trees lining Main Street in Courage County. Pumpkins, decorative scarecrows, and hay bales dot the store front displays, showcasing a small town that embraces autumn like a dear friend.

My mom would say the only thing missing from the idyllic scene is a few hungry zombies and some rotting corpses. She films the zombie show. Yeah, the one that became a breakout hit two years ago.

She’ll be calling in a little while, probably to tell me about the tensions that are running high with the cast and how the new makeup artist isn’t nearly as good as me.

That’s a lie, and we both know it. I was good at my job.

But one day, I walked off the set that felt like a second home and never came back.

Shaking off the memories, I park my car in the lot for Emma May’s Groceries. Tobias meows softly as if to remind me that he’s still in his travel carrier. He’s only a few months old, and he’s endlessly curious about the world.

“Just be patient a little while longer, and we’ll have a yummy dinner,” I promise him. I’ve already stopped twice to let him stretch his furry little legs for a few minutes at a time. He’s so little and traveling a long distance must seem scary to him.

When I step onto the cracked asphalt with its faded white lines, my hips and back protest from the long hours. I’ll be at my destination soon—a beautiful cabin tucked away in the mountains of this tiny town.

I hurry into the grocery store past a group of old men sitting on benches. They’re telling each other tall tales. They barely spare me a glance even though I’m waddling like a pregnant lady because my bladder is so full. I definitely should have skipped the jumbo drink at the last gas station.

After I use the restroom, I grab a shopping cart to fill with essentials and cat food. I never imagined that such a beautiful place in my budget would come available for a month. When it did, I knew I had to act quickly.

I nod to several locals who eye me curiously including two women who are leaning in close to each other to discuss a cowboy who swept a curvy woman that lives here off her feet. Literally.

I barely suppress my smile at their gossip as I turn down an aisle.

A display of candy corn has me wishing I could go back in time.

When I was with my mom on the set, we would always do a big Halloween party at the end of the month.

The entire cast would spend October competing to see who could come up with the scariest pranks.

“Can I help you find anything?” A grandmotherly looking woman with a silver braid down her back asks me. She peers over the rim of her bifocals, taking in my thigh-high black boots, plaid mini-skirt and purple corset layered underneath a faux leather jacket.

I used dress differently, back when I cared what people thought about my plus-size body with my cellulite and curves. Now, I just dress in a way that makes me feel happy and confident. If someone doesn’t like how I look, that’s their problem.

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak without crying. Some days, I think I’m doing OK. I think I’m getting stronger then moments like this happen, and I doubt I’ve made any progress at all on my journey.

Her smile is warm and genuine with no judgement in her tone. “You look a little lost.”

That’s the understatement of the century, but I can’t tell a perfect stranger that. Instead, I tell her, “I’m new to town.”

“Well, I’m old to town. Been here all my life.

Raised half of these youngin’s myself. Now, where are you staying?

The Andersons should have an empty room this time of year.

But if they don’t, you just call me. I’ll make sure you get put up somewhere.

I’m Emma May, by the way.” She reaches into her apple red apron and pulls out her phone.

“I’m renting a cabin. Actually, it’s in the mountains here,” I say, grabbing my phone automatically.

“Well, if you run into any problems or need anything, you call me,” she insists as if she’s my friend and not a stranger that I just met.

I know I won’t reach out. Still, when she rattles off her digits, I put them in my phone.

I assume that’s the end of our conversation, and I push my cart down the aisle.

But to my surprise, Emma May falls into step beside me as if she senses I need a friend right now.

She asks me questions and nods along patiently, listening as I explain I’m here to train for an upcoming 5K race in Asheville.

It will be my first, but I don’t tell her that part.

When I stop talking, she shares all of the town’s best gossip. She’s acting as if I’m a regular, and we’re catching up together. It fills me with unexpected warmth. Maybe I did make the right decision by coming here.

After I’ve filled my cart with groceries for the week and a jug of apple cider that Emma May insists is the best in the county, I watch her ring up my purchases.

“Maybe we could get together for coffee later this week,” she says. “See how your cozy cabin is working out for you.”

“Text me, and we’ll do that,” I tell her, amazed to find myself a little bit excited about possibly making a friend here. I’m not much of a people person. I tend to prefer my own company, but there’s something about Emma May and her grandmotherly ways.

The drive up the mountain takes me a little over an hour. The scenic view of the winding roads canopied by red and orange trees has me stopping to take pictures more than once. I can’t wait to be running through this forest tomorrow.

If I thought I had enough daylight left, I’d go for a run as soon as I settled into the cabin, but it’s too late in the afternoon for that. Tomorrow, I promise myself as I pull up the long, winding drive for the cabin I’ve rented.

My breath catches in my throat the moment I see it. I thought the place was beautiful online, but the pictures didn’t do the rustic log cabin justice. Three wooden steps lead up to a wrap around porch that needs pumpkins and fairy lights, maybe even a gargoyle statue placed artfully near the drive.

For the first time in a year, peace flows over me. This feels like a place where I can belong, and it’s all mine. At least, it is for the next month. Maybe I’ll talk to the owner about extending my short-term rental lease.

He seemed friendly enough in our email exchange. I never spoke with him on the phone or video chat, but I looked at the lease carefully. Everything was right, and he even sent me a nice welcome packet, explaining that I could stop at Emma May’s grocery store.

Mom insisted I print out all of it and carry it in my bag, muttering about not being able to trust GPS these days. Her work on a zombie apocalypse show has made her paranoid about people becoming too reliant on technology.

Reaching for my phone, I’m relieved to see it still has a few bars even here high in the mountains.

My mom answers on the first ring, her voice filled with the breathless panic that happens after you thought that your only daughter was going to be remembered as a tragic mention in a documentary.

“Are you filming?” I ask the question automatically. She used to get so engrossed in her work that nothing could break her concentration. She’d have her phone on silent.

Back then, I was right there with her. I’d be just out of view of the camera lens, ready to step on the set at a moment’s notice to spray black gunk on a zombie’s face or add just a touch more yellow to their rotting teeth.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” she reassures me quickly. A little too quickly.

My stomach tightens. Sometimes, I forget.

I forget that I wasn’t the only one who still lives with the scars and the what-ifs and the endless terror.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, the way I learned to in therapy.

I need to get out there. Need to feel some dirt beneath my running shoes.

“I’m here. I arrived safe at the cabin. It’s even more beautiful in person. I’ll send you pictures later tonight.”

“OK, love you, baby,” she says, and I swear that I hear her sniff before she hangs up. She stood so strong in the aftermath, a tower I could run to when I needed strength. That’s what moms do. They’re the strong ones when the rest of your world falls apart.

With the call over and my mind whirling, I grab my groceries and walk into the cabin. The owner insisted the place would be open. When I’d asked him about that over email, he explained that the town is a safe little place where residents rarely lock their doors.

As I step inside the cozy living room with its oak flooring, I pause to take a deep inhale. There’s the aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. The place smells earthy and warm, a small crackling fire already started in the fireplace.

I can’t wait to stretch out on that big, oversized couch in front of the window overlooking a stunning mountain view. I’ll burrow underneath a fuzzy blanket and stream old B-movies until I fall asleep.

I set the pet carrier with a still sleeping Tobias down on the floor. I’ll wake him up and let him explore his new temporary home just as soon as I get settled.

I head into the kitchen that despite the cabin’s rustic charm is modernized with all stainless steel appliances a chef could dream of. There are no dishes in the sink, but the fridge is already stocked with a few basics like cheese and milk. All are fresh and in date.

“So thoughtful,” I murmur under my breath. I should send him an email later today and thank Whiskey for the kindness.

I add my groceries to the fridge and start to go for the coffee machine.

It’s the old kind that brews a whole pot at once, not like the fancy one-cup machine that’s in my apartment.

At the last second, I talk myself out of it.

I definitely don’t need the caffeine. I barely get restful sleep as it is.

Instead, I go into the living room and give Tobias gentle cuddles until he’s blinking awake and making those adorable noises that baby kittens do.

His soft, black fur and sweet smell have some of the tension that’s like a band around my chest easing. The way he looks up at me with so much trust and faith in his green eyes has me melting. He’s my little reminder that there’s still good in the world. Day by day, I’m rediscovering that good.

I carry him into the kitchen with me, so I can feed him. “Alright, Tobias, you just relax. I’m going to make you a good dinner then we’re going to cuddle by the fire tonight. How does that sound?”

“Sounds just about perfect to me,” a masculine voice says.

I whirl around and clutch Tobias closer to me. The band is definitely back. My heart beats an erratic rhythm as I blurt out. “Who are you?”

Without taking my eyes from the stranger, I reach into the open kitchen drawer. I grab the first weapon I can find and hold out…a wooden spoon. Still, I do my best to look menacing as I brandish it.

We both know this would be useless against his brute strength. He’s easily over six-feet tall with forearms that are as thick as my thighs. They’re marked with scars and tattoos and lead up to a very broad set of shoulders.

He’s got a thick, bushy beard that’s nearly trimmed and a crew cut, short on the sides and long on top. His strawberry blonde hair and neat appearance make him look young, but his clear blue eyes are haunted. This is a man who has seen evil and horror. Not the kind you film on TV, the real thing.

He crosses his arms, drawing attention to where his dirty, sleeveless flannel shirt pulls tight at the seams. How much protein is this man eating to maintain a physique like this?

He looks like he would be featured on one of those men’s magazines, revealing the secrets of his fitness routine. Is the routine really a secret if you have a personal chef that’s also a nutritionist and a personal trainer who obsesses over helping you stay in shape?

He arches a brow. “What are you planning to do with that? Bake me a cake?”

“Who are you?” I repeat, trying to make my voice sound authoritative and not like I’m turned on by his whiskey-over-the-rocks voice. Seriously, how does he get it so gritty and so deep?

“You already know that,” he answers, a muscle moving in his jaw. He keeps looking me up and down, assessing me. His gaze always lingers on my hips just a beat too long. He likes them. He likes my curves. Wait, wrong thing to be excited about right now.

“How could I possibly know who you are? I’ve never met you!” I exclaim, cuddling Tobias closer as he lets out a soft sound. I lower my voice, not wanting to scare my fur baby. “Look, if you have an issue with me, take it up with the owner. He rented me this cabin.”

He frowns, irritation replacing the attraction in his gaze. “That’s impossible. This is my cabin, and I didn’t rent it to a curvy witch with a cat.”