Unplanned Mountain Man (Iron Peak Mountain Man #3)

Chapter One

Kara

Islid the key into the lock of my late uncle’s cabin and opened the door to my new life. The hinges groaned, the way they always had. I braced myself for a cloud of dust, maybe even a spider.

What I didn’t expect was a half-naked man.

I stumbled back, barely catching myself before I went ass-over-teakettle.

The man stood in the kitchen, unfazed. A towel was slung low around his hips, and his hair looked damp. His broad, bare chest was dusted with hair, and covered in a solid layer of muscle.

I fumbled until I got a grip on the tiny canister of pepper spray attached to my key ring. “What are you doing in my house?”

He crossed his arms over his bare pecs. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“And why are you naked?” I asked, gesturing with the pepper spray.

His mouth twitched. “I’m half-naked. And again, this is my house.”

He leaned a hip against the scarred butcher block counter, casual and annoyingly gorgeous. I tried not to notice how the towel pulled tighter across the curve of his ass as he shifted his weight.

Focus, Kara.

“It’s weird to be half-naked in the kitchen,” I snapped.

“It’s weird to burst into my cabin uninvited.”

We glared at each other; I had to look up since he stood a head taller. My pulse thudded in my ears, and I tightened my grip on the pepper spray as my hands started to sweat.

“My uncle left me this cabin in his will,” I shot back. “Hence why I have the key.”

He picked up a mug from the counter and took a slow sip. I could smell the coffee from where I stood. I could really use a cup about now.

“Well, if your uncle is Walter Dorsey, then he left it to me.”

I lowered the pepper spray an inch. “Why would he do that?”

He shrugged one well-muscled shoulder. “Maybe because I was living here and caring for him when he passed.”

Guilt bloomed under my ribs, thick and hot.

I hadn’t been here.

I’d been drowning in divorce paperwork and all the emotional crap that came with it. By the time the divorce was finalized, Uncle Walt was gone.

That had been two months ago, and I was just now feeling up to starting over.

There was a click of nails on the hard floor, and Tuck, my uncle’s dog, came to stand beside the stranger, wagging his tail.

Tuck’s clear stamp of approval was reassuring.

Then again, he liked everyone, except cats and coyotes.

I lowered my pepper spray and squatted down, my leg muscles pushing at my leggings.

Tuck came padding over, more slowly than the last time I’d visited a few years ago.

I ran my hands through his familiar off-white fur. “Hi buddy,” I cooed.

The stranger watched with a smirk, then seemed to shake himself out of it. “I’m going to put on some pants,” he said. “Then we can talk.”

He brushed past me, towel tucked securely around him, and padded down the hall. I watched his retreating form for maybe one second too long.

The divorce had been hell, but it seemed my sex drive was still intact.

Tuck’s nose poking my hand pulled my gaze away from the stranger.

I scanned my eyes over the interior of the cabin as I scratched his ears.

It hadn’t changed. Everything was neat and tidy, if a little stark.

Small living room and kitchen with furniture that was older than I was.

Log walls that had cracked with time but never failed.

I knew down the hall there were two bedrooms, one bathroom, and one very tempting stranger.

I pushed that thought away.

This cabin was supposed to be my second chance. My clean slate. The silver lining in the mess of my uncle’s death and the failure of my marriage. I couldn’t get distracted by a mountain man fond of breaking and entering.

While he got dressed, I jogged back to my car and popped the trunk.

It was only a fraction of what I owned; the rest still sat in storage miles away.

I’d packed my clothes and toiletries, plus my laptop since I worked remotely.

I hauled my leopard-print suitcase out of the trunk with ease, thanks to a lifetime of physical activity.

Uncle Walt had instilled a habit of hard work and physical labor in me early.

The crisp mountain air felt good in my lungs, but I didn’t take the time to enjoy it. I could do that later, for now, I needed to stake my claim.

By the time I carried the last bag to the door, the man had returned, mercifully wearing clothes. His feet were bare on the hardwood. He wore his jeans slung low on his hips and a gray t-shirt that did nothing to hide the definition underneath.

He watched me drag a suitcase over the threshold. “What are you doing?”

“Moving my stuff into my cabin,” I said, planting my feet.

He exhaled through his nose, his dark hazel eyes looking even darker. “Walt left this place to me. I can prove it.” He set a piece of paper on the counter. I stepped forward cautiously and leaned over to read it.

To Whom It May Concern,

I, Walter Dorsey, residing in Iron Peak, Colorado, being of sound mind and acting of my own free will, state the following:

The letter continued in tidy, typed paragraphs, naming the property and leaving it to Grant Callahan. The signature was there. As was the notary stamp and a bunch of legalese.

My jaw tightened. “I’m assuming Grant Callahan is you.”

He nodded. “And you are?”

“Kara,” I said, absently playing with the end of my ponytail.

He nodded. “He mentioned you all the time. Not that you were prone to breaking and entering, though.”

I ignored that. “This is notarized.”

“Well yeah. He didn’t promise it to me by blowing on a dandelion.”

I stared at the document, mind racing. “Your notary letter has a date on it. So does the will. I’ll contact my uncle’s lawyer. Whichever is more recent is the one that counts.”

“Sounds reasonable,” he said easily. “Let me know what you find out.”

He started herding me toward the door, his bigger body blocking mine from getting further into the room.

I bristled. “Hold on. I’m not going anywhere.”

He crossed those thick arms again. “What do you think I’m going to do? Steal the cabin and run off with it?”

“I don’t know anything about you,” I countered. “You live out here in the woods alone. You could be a thief or a serial killer for all I know.”

“You want to live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere too,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m a serial killer. Better move out before anything happens.”

He huffed a laugh. “I saw you wield a can of pepper spray. I think I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not leaving,” I said simply.

I had compromised too many times trying to save a failing marriage, then compromised again to keep a painful divorce from dragging on until menopause. I wasn’t compromising on this.

“Neither am I,” he said.

“I could call the cops and—”

“And what?” He gestured to the notarized paper. “I have proof this place is mine. All you have is a key and a story.”

“I can take you to court—”

“Go ahead. I encourage that. Call your lawyer and file the paperwork. Preferably from a hotel far away from me.”

He herded me toward the door again. I ducked under his arm and darted into the living room, a beat-up wooden kitchen table and chairs now between me and the immovable mountain man.

Yes, I was being irrational.

But I didn’t know how property law worked. He already lived here; did that give him an advantage? If I left, would it count as abandoning the property? Would I lose claim to something that should be mine?

I couldn’t risk it.

And I was tired. Bone-deep, heart-deep tired. I needed something familiar, something that belonged to me. I hadn’t visited Uncle Walt in too long, but I had childhood memories of this place — fishing, swimming, and campfires.

Everything around me had memories. I’d snuggled under a blanket on that tacky old couch. Watched thunderstorms from out the living room window. I’d stubbed my toe on that bookshelf, had family dinners at that table.

This entire cabin was like a warm, familiar blanket. I need it now, more than ever.

“Are you in Uncle Walt’s room or the guest room?” I blurted.

“I never moved into his room after he passed. It looks exactly the same. If you were a normal relative and not someone trying to house-jack me, I’d let you look through his things and take anything sentimental.”

A lump rose in my throat. “I want to see his room. You can stop me if you want.”

I turned, heart hammering, and walked down the hall.

He didn’t follow.