Unexpected Mountain Man (Iron Peak Mountain Man #8)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

india

The Broken Antler smells like whiskey and wood smoke, same as it always does on Friday nights. I slide into the booth across from Rosie and June, shrugging off my jacket. The heat from the wood-burning stove hits my face, and I'm grateful for it after the walk from my cabin.

"Took you long enough," Rosie says, not looking up from the beer she's peeling the label off of. There's a smudge of oil on her jaw that she either doesn't know about or doesn't care about. With Rosie, it could go either way.

"I had to feed the chickens." I signal Grizz for a drink. He nods from behind the bar, his massive frame moving with surprising grace as he pulls a glass down.

June looks up from her book. She always brings a book, even though she never actually reads it during girls' night. "Did the new rooster survive another day?"

"Barely. He tried to fight my boot this morning."

Rosie snorts. "That rooster's got a death wish."

"He's got personality," I say with a grin. "He's brave."

"He's stupid," Rosie laughs. "There's a difference."

"You would know."

June laughs quietly, and Rosie flips me off without any real heat behind it.

"How's your truck?" I ask her.

"Still broken and still making me regret every life choice that led me to owning a 1987 Chevy."

"You love that truck."

"I love a lot of things that are bad for me. Doesn't make them less broken."

I lean back as Grizz sets a whiskey neat in front of me. I don't even have to order anymore. He knows.

"Thanks, Grizz."

He grunts and walks away. That's the extent of most conversations with Grizz, and I've learned not to take it personally.

"One day," June says, "I'm going to get a full sentence out of him."

"Good luck with that," Rosie mutters. "I've been coming here for five years. I think he's said maybe twelve words to me total."

"That's because you insulted his cat."

"I didn't insult Trouble. I said he looked feral."

"He is feral," I point out.

"Exactly. It was an observation, not an insult."

The bar is busy tonight. Not packed, but full enough that conversations overlap and the jukebox in the corner has to compete with laughter from the pool table.

A group of loggers occupies the far end, still in their work clothes.

Caleb Riker sits at the bar nursing a beer and talking to Elsie Monroe, who probably stopped by to spread whatever gossip she collected at the post office today.

I take a sip of whiskey and let it burn down my throat.

"So," June says, closing her book entirely now. Her tone is too innocent, and I know immediately I'm not going to like what comes next.

"Oh no," I say.

"Nora cornered me at the library yesterday."

"Oh no."

"She wants to set you up. Again."

Rosie laughs into her beer. "Who is it this time? Another tourist who thinks he can handle mountain winters?"

"Worse," June says. "Some guy from Denver, he’s in some huge tech firm. He's staying at The Summit House for two weeks and apparently told Nora he thinks small town women are refreshing."

I make a face. "Refreshing. That sounds like I'm a glass of lemonade."

"Or a wet wipe," Rosie adds helpfully.

"Thank you for that image."

"I told her you weren't interested," June says.

"Good. Because I'm not."

"She said he's very nice," June continues, and I can tell she's trying not to smile. "Well-educated and good teeth, apparently."

"Good teeth?" Rosie shakes her head. "What is this, a horse auction?"

"I don't need Nora's help," I say firmly. "I'm perfectly fine on my own."

"That's what you said last time."

"And I was right last time."

"You told the last guy Nora set you up with that you were allergic to cologne."

"I am allergic to cologne."

"You're allergic to bad cologne," Rosie corrects. "There's a difference."

"It all makes me sneeze."

"Because you're looking for reasons to sneeze."

June sips her wine, watching us volley back and forth like a tennis match. "For what it's worth, I think you're right to say no. The Denver guy asked me if we have Wi-Fi in town."

I blink. "We have a library. With computers."

"I told him that. He looked concerned."

"Concerned?"

"Like maybe he thought he'd traveled back in time."

Rosie drains half her beer in one go. "I swear to God, these tourists get worse every year. Last week some guy asked me if we had Uber."

"What did you say?"

"I told him we have feet. And that if his weren't working, he could call Hank and maybe get a ride in the back of a sheriff's cruiser."

I grin. "Did he?"

"Hell no. He walked and complained the whole way, according to Ma."

"Ma told you this?"

"Ma tells everyone everything. That's her job."

June traces the rim of her wine glass. "I like the tourists. Some of them."

"Name one," Rosie challenges.

"That couple last summer. The ones who bought out half of Caleb's store and then left a thousand-dollar tip at The Ridge."

"Okay, but that's just one."

"The photographer in October. She took those beautiful pictures of the waterfall and sent prints to the library."

"Fine. Two."

"That's more than one."

"Barely."

The door opens, letting in a gust of cold air and a few snowflakes.

I glance over out of habit, same as everyone else in the bar. It's automatic in a town this small. You always check who's coming in.

My breath catches.

Cage Brody.

He doesn't look at anyone as he walks into the bar.

He never does. His shoulders are broad under his canvas jacket, and his dark hair is longer than last time I saw him, curling slightly at his neck.

There's a hardness to him, something that keeps people at a distance even when he's standing in a crowded room.

He takes a seat at the far end of the bar, away from Caleb and Elsie, and Grizz already has a bottle of whiskey waiting for him.

"Don't even think about it," Rosie says quietly.

I snap my attention back to the table. "What?"

"Cage Brody." She raises an eyebrow. "I saw you looking."

"Everyone looks when someone walks in."

"Not like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to figure out if he's real or a mirage."

June's watching me now too, her dark eyes curious. "Has he said more than five words to you since you moved back?"

"No." I pick up my glass and focus on the amber liquid inside. "And I'm not looking to change that."

"Good," Rosie says. "Because that man is a fortress, and not the fun kind you want to storm."

"There's a fun kind of fortress?"

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't."

June leans forward. "He's been coming in more often lately. Have you noticed?"

I have noticed. I don't want to admit I've noticed.

"Twice this month," June continues. "That's more than usual."

"Maybe he's out of whiskey," Rosie says.

"He buys bottles, he could drink at home."

"Maybe he likes Grizz's company."

We all look at Grizz, who is currently scowling at a tourist who asked for a mojito.

"Doubtful," I say.

"Maybe he's lonely," June suggests quietly.

Rosie snorts. "Cage Brody chose to be lonely. He built a cabin in the middle of nowhere and told the world to fuck off."

"People can change their minds."

"Not him."

I want to argue, but I can't. She's right. Cage Brody is known in Iron Peak the same way the mountains are known. He's always there, solid and unmovable, but you don't get close. You don't try.

He lives somewhere up on the north ridge, miles from town. He comes down for supplies maybe once a month, stops at the bar even less. When he does show up, he drinks alone, says nothing to anyone, and leaves.

The rumors about him vary depending on who's telling them. Some say he's ex-military. Some say he's hiding from something. Elsie swears she heard he has money, old money, and came here to disappear. Ma Keegan thinks he's just antisocial and needs a good meal.

"What do you think his story is?" I hear myself ask.

Rosie gives me a look. "Does it matter?"

"I'm curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Good thing I have chickens."

June smiles. "I think he's sad."

"Sad?" Rosie frowns. "He doesn't look sad. He looks pissed off."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive."

"Fair point."

I take another sip of whiskey, trying not to look at him again. Trying and failing.

He's hunched over his drink now, his shoulders tense. There are shadows under his eyes, barely visible in the dim light. His jaw is tight as Grizz pours him another glass, and his hands, rough and scarred, curl around it like he's trying to anchor himself.

Something about the way he sits, alone and silent in a room full of noise, pulls at me.

"India."

I blink. Both Rosie and June are staring at me.

"What?"

"You're doing it again," Rosie says.

"Doing what?"

"Staring at the hermit."

"I wasn't staring."

"You were absolutely staring."

"I was observing."

"Same thing."

"It's really not."

June reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "There's no harm in looking."

"There is if she's looking at him." Rosie jerks her chin toward Cage. "That man doesn't want company. He's made that pretty damn clear."

"Maybe he doesn't know what he wants," I say.

"Oh, he knows. And what he wants is to be left alone."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm the same way. It takes one to know one."

"You're not the same way. You're here with us."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because you two wore me down over years. And I like you. Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" June looks offended.

"You made me read a romance novel last month."

"You said you liked it."

"I lied."

"You cried at the end. I saw you."

"Allergies."

I laugh, and the tension breaks. This is what I love about girls' night. Even when the conversation gets complicated, it always circles back to easy.

But my awareness stays pinned to the man at the bar.

"Okay, real talk," Rosie says, leaning back and crossing her arms. "If you could say one thing to Cage Brody, what would it be?"

"I wouldn't say anything."

"Hypothetically."

"Why are we doing this?"

"Because it's more interesting than talking about Nora's matchmaking."