Marked By the Mountain Man (Inked and Possessive. Rugged Mountain Ink #5)

Chapter One

Juniper

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

“I don’t know, I feel a little bad about this,” I say to my friend Lana as I pull up the long gravel driveway toward the rustic cabin tucked into the woods.

This whole thing started as a dare, which isn’t something I’m usually susceptible to, but I have ulterior motives.

Sure, barely anyone reads my ghost hunting blog, but that’s because I haven’t cracked a good story yet.

And according to the record database for Rugged Mountain, this man’s land is home to hundreds of ghosts.

Hundreds! How could I pass up an opportunity like that?

If I were an archaeologist and I knew there were hundreds of dinosaur bones here, I wouldn’t sleep on it.

I’d show up with my shovel and a wedding band, ready to make whatever deal necessary to get to the T-Rex.

The same method applies to ghost hunting, minus the shovel.

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” Lana says, her voice crackling in and out due to bad reception. “You’re doing him a favor. Any man who notes on an app how much he desires companionship with no emotions is asking for it.”

She’s not wrong. The mail-order bride application this man submitted was anything but romantic. At one point he wrote how he preferred a ‘brunette who didn’t mind cooking, cleaning, and his obsession with vintage trucks.’ I mean, who says things like that?

There was no mention of love. No interest in conversation. Just chores, trucks, and emotional vacancy. Truth be told, I’m probably saving some other woman from his bullshit right now.

Plus, I’m not looking for love. I just need half a day to wander the woods with my electromagnetic detector and a handful of quartz. Maybe catching something on film or documenting some cold spots will prove I’m not the crazy little witch everyone thinks I am.

I drag in a deep breath as I drive through the tunnel of pines and park in front of the moss-covered cabin. The scene looks like something out of a scary movie, with heavy clouds hanging over dark weathered wood, rain dripping off the tin roof, and one sad rocking chair on the front porch.

I love it!

I can almost feel the ghosts of every generation lingering, ready to talk.

I read online that there was an old mine on the west side of the property and somewhere to the south there’s a creek where gold panners tucked down into the mud to test their luck.

Sometimes, it went well. Other times, famine or drifters got them before they ever found the treasure they were looking for.

It’s sad, really. All those dreams cut short by greed. It’s that emotion that leaves the biggest imprint behind. From what I’ve read, it has something to do with unresolved desire and the way it clings to the energy forces in nature.

That’s where I come in. I learn the stories of the deceased, talk to them in the afterlife, and share their words with the world… or to the eighteen people that log in to my website every week.

“You’ll be fine. He’s been vetted, right?

” Lana clears her throat, and I hear her leafing through a paperback book.

She’s obsessed with this author named Hunter Black.

I don’t read much romance, but this guy is the best in the biz according to Lana.

Apparently, he writes all the super filthy kink she can take, though I’ve seen his picture on the back of his books.

I think her obsession might be his broad shoulders and strong neck, but who am I to judge?

I’m about to fake interest in a man for a ghost story.

I nod before remembering she can’t hear me. “Yeah, he’s vetted,” I finally say.

“Okay, so you’re gold. Who knows, he might be into the whole ghost hunting thing. Maybe he’ll show you all over the woods, and you guys’ll fall in love to the distant cries of Rugged Mountain’s past?”

I laugh as I turn the engine off. “Wow, that sounds very romantic. Which page do we have to get to before the kinky dominant sex comes into play?”

“Page two, obviously. You go inside, you take off your clothes, and you get that shit right out of the way.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re about to marry a stranger in the woods. So, I win.”

I laugh out loud this time. “For now, but I have a feeling your time is coming.”

She replies with something, but I don’t comprehend what she’s said. I’m too busy staring blankly ahead as the man I agreed to spend the weekend with steps out onto the front porch.

I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, and I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped blinking.

The matchmaker service doesn’t allow photos.

They pride themselves on matching folks by personality.

Clearly, this is a true statement because this guy would never be interested in a girl like me, and I’d never have the guts to talk to a man like that.

I’m not sure what I expected, to be honest, but it wasn’t a massive, dark featured, Nordic god with biceps to spare and shoulders broad as a logging truck barreling through the fog.

He wears jeans and a red flannel shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing lines of ink that run down onto his enormous hands. I can’t tell what they’re of, but by the grimace on his face, I assume they tell some mysterious backstory I’ll have to work out of him.

“Did I lose you?” Lana says. “Hello? You still there?”

“Yeah,” I clear my throat, “sorry. I, ugh, I just parked in front of his cabin, and he, ugh, he just stepped outside.”

“Okay, so go.” She laughs, and I get the feeling she’s picking up on the sudden anxiety I’ve acquired. I’m not supposed to be here for a big, handsome man. I’m here to throw crystals, take pictures, and get a vibe for the land before I ultimately decide the marriage will never work and leave.

I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. I can still do that. He’s not that handsome, right? He’s just another grumpy, mountain dude. I’ve known plenty of those. Plus, from this distance, I can already see he’s way older than me. So, this would never work anyway.

“Yeah,” I manage through a tight jaw, “I should move.”

“You should, and you should call me later. I have a shift at the bookstore around three, but I’ll make sure I answer regardless. This is priority stuff here.” She laughs playfully. “Go find your story.”

I push my glasses up onto my face and grab the bag of crystals, divining board, and a half-eaten protein bar as I step out of my car and into the drizzling rain.

My boots sink into the gravel, ratcheting up my heart rate, but the overwhelming pine in the air relaxes me enough that I look up toward the giant who’s still unmoving on the porch.

What a gentleman! His wife shows up for the first time, and he can’t even bother to help me through the mud?

He hasn’t even smiled. Why isn’t he smiling?

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he’s a secret psychopath.

The kind whose past hasn’t caught up with him.

The kind who preys on stupid women who sign up for mail-order marriage apps.

Then again, nothing about this guy’s profile was particularly charming, so I’m guessing he’s probably exactly who he says he is.

A quiet man who needs the company of a brunette who might love cooking, cleaning, and his obsession with vintage trucks.

I’m not sure which is worse. His online persona or the version of him that might be a secret psycho.

I freeze halfway up the path, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must look. Glasses fogged, hair frizzing in the rain, clutching a bag that’s literally jingling with gems.

He doesn’t wave, doesn’t speak, just stares.

Cool. This is fine. Everything’s fine.

I force a smile and raise a hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Juniper.”

He nods once, his voice rumbling deep as he says, “Knox.”

He doesn’t invite me in, just turns and disappears into the cabin like I’m a delivery he forgot he ordered.

Umm… okay.

I shouldn’t follow. I should get right back in my car and drive back down the mountain. No story is worth this kind of awkwardness.

My brain says that, but I keep moving, keep following, keep smiling, because apparently, I’m the kind of girl who favors red flags, ghosts, and emotionally unavailable men in red flannel.

Makes perfect sense. I mean, what could go wrong?