Mountain Man’s Lucky Heart (Wildwood Valley Rescue #2)

Chapter 1 Roarke

ROARKE

The barking had been going on for two straight hours.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and reminded myself why I was doing this. These dogs had been through hell. A few more miles wouldn’t kill me—even if the noise felt like it was drilling straight through my skull.

Declan owed me for this one.

My neighbor had shown up at my door that morning with that look on his face—the one that meant he was about to ask for something I wouldn’t want to give. He’d launched straight into it. A puppy mill bust. Too many animals. Not enough transport vehicles. My truck was bigger than his.

I should have said no. I always said no. That was the whole point of living alone on the side of a mountain—so people would stop asking me for things.

But then he’d mentioned the dogs. Crammed into cages barely big enough to turn around in. Some of them had never seen sunlight. Never felt grass under their paws. The kill shelter was already overflowing, and if no one stepped up, a lot of them wouldn’t make it out.

Damn it.

So here I was, nine o’clock at night, hauling a truck bed full of kennels down Main Street toward Wildwood Valley’s veterinary trailer.

My back still ached from loading the dogs hours earlier.

My stomach growled loud enough to compete with the barking.

All I could think about was the leftover pizza in my fridge and the cold beer waiting beside it.

Almost there.

Lights flickered through the trees as I made the final turn.

Dr. Hanson’s trailer sat next to the new fire station, construction equipment scattered around the site where the permanent facility was going up.

Orange cones and caution tape marked off the work zone, everything half-finished and dimly lit.

I slowed as I approached, ready to pull in close so I could unload the kennels directly. These dogs had been through enough without being made to walk any farther than necessary.

That was when I saw the SUV. It sat smack in the middle of the drive, blocking the path completely.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I pulled up behind it and threw the truck into park, leaving the engine running. The dogs kept up their chorus of barks and nervous whines as I climbed out, my boots crunching against the gravel—louder than it should have sounded in the quiet.

The SUV’s driver’s door stood open.

No one inside.

I scanned the area, irritation building. The trailer itself was dark except for a dim light near the back—probably overnight staff checking on the animals already in their care. Whoever had abandoned their SUV in the middle of the drive clearly didn’t understand how operations like this worked.

A figure paced near the entrance. Female, judging by the silhouette. She had her phone pressed to her ear, talking fast, her free hand gesturing wildly even though no one was there to see it.

I headed toward her, already rehearsing what I was going to say. Something short. Direct. Move your damn car so I can unload and go home. The pizza was calling my name. The beer might as well have been shouting.

She must have heard my footsteps because she spun around, hand holding her phone dropping to her side. In the thin spill of light from the trailer window, I caught the flash of her eyes going wide, the way her body tensed like she was deciding whether to bolt.

“Who are you?” Her voice came out sharp, edged with fear.

“I could ask you the same thing.” I kept walking, closing the distance. “You’re blocking the drive. I’ve got a truck full of dogs that need to be—”

I stopped.

She stepped fully into the light, and whatever I’d been about to say disappeared.

So did, briefly, the ability to think.

She was beautiful—not in a slow, subtle way you noticed over time. This was the kind that hit all at once, like a hard punch to the chest.

Dark hair fell around her shoulders in loose, messy waves. Her eyes were big and expressive, set against pale skin still flushed with anxiety. She wore jeans and a soft-looking sweater, the kind you threw on without thinking, more comfort than fashion.

And she was staring at me like I might either save her…or kill her.

“I’m looking for my friend,” she blurted, words tumbling over each other.

“Peyton. She’s been volunteering here all weekend with the rescue, and she didn’t come home.

She was supposed to be back Sunday night, and now it’s Monday, and she missed class today, and she’s barely answering my texts—and I know that probably sounds crazy, but she always answers her texts, like always, and this was the only address I had, and no one’s answering the door, and I don’t know where she’s staying, and this town is so small and dark and—”

“Breathe.”

She blinked at me. Took a breath. Let it out slowly.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, and I was surprised by how much I meant it. Something about the panic in her eyes made me want to fix whatever had put it there.

“I know.” She shook her head, embarrassed. “I mean, I didn’t know at first. You came out of nowhere, and you’re…well, huge. And there are dogs barking, and for a second I thought maybe—” She stopped herself with a quiet laugh. “This town has serial killer vibes. No offense.”

“None taken.”

I should’ve been annoyed. Should’ve told her to move her car so I could finish unloading and get the hell out of here.

Instead, I couldn’t stop watching her. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The way she bit her lower lip as if trying to pull herself back together.

Fuck the pizza.

“Your friend Peyton,” I said. “She’s the volunteer coordinator.”

Hope sparked across her face. “You know her?”

“I know of her. She’s been running intake since Saturday.” I gestured toward the trailer. “Last I heard, she’s staying in town. One of the locals offered a spare room.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders finally dropped. “Oh, thank God. So she’s okay?”

“As far as I know.”

She pressed a hand to her chest and took another steadying breath. When she looked up again, the fear was gone. In its place was something quieter. Curious. Attentive.

“I’m Josie.” She held out her hand, like we were meeting at a dinner party instead of a dark parking lot after hours. “Josie Brennan.”

I took her hand. Warm. Firm. The contact sent a jolt through me I wasn’t prepared for.

“Roarke.”

She smiled. “Just Roarke?”

“Just Roarke.”

Her smile widened, doing something uncomfortable—and dangerous—to my chest. “Well, Just Roarke, I’m really sorry about blocking the driveway. I was kind of having a meltdown.”

“I noticed.”

Behind me, the dogs surged into another round of barking. Josie’s gaze slid past my shoulder to the truck, her eyes widening again—this time with awe.

“Are those all rescues?”

“Yeah. Picked them up from the shelter. They need processing before they can go into foster care.”

“You’re doing all that by yourself?”

I shrugged. “Someone had to.”

She kept staring, and I saw her expression shift. The panic was gone now, replaced by something steadier. Purposeful.

“I can help you unload,” she said. “If you want. I’m already here, and I don’t know where Peyton is, and it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to be.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” She met my eyes again, and the spark was back. “Plus, unless you have extra arms, you’re going to need someone to hold doors.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

“Help me unload,” I said, “and I’ll take you somewhere we can find out where your friend’s staying.”

“Seriously?”

“There’s a bar up the road. The Wildwood Valley Roadhouse. If anyone knows, it’ll be the locals there.”

Her entire face lit up, and the effect hit harder than it should have. “That would be amazing,” she said. “Thank you.”

She headed for my truck without waiting for me to respond. I followed, watching the confident way she moved now, like this was exactly where she was supposed to be.

As I dropped the tailgate and unlatched the first kennel, she crouched beside me. Inside, a German Shepherd mix pressed toward the back of the crate, wary eyes tracking every movement.

“Hey there,” Josie said softly. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Something shifted in my chest at the sound of her voice. The patience in it. The care.

I’d spent twelve years living alone in a cabin, keeping my world small and quiet for a reason. Depending on people led to disappointment. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.

But standing there in the dark, watching her talk gently to a scared dog she’d just met, something came alive in me—something I’d locked away so long I’d nearly forgotten it existed.

Josie Brennan had walked into my life less than half an hour ago, and already the idea of her walking back out of it felt wrong. That realization should have scared the hell out of me. Instead, it felt like the first honest thing I’d known in years.