Possessed By the Mountain Man (Rugged Hearts #9)

Chapter 1

Aspen

The air smells like pine needles, testosterone, and the vague threat of a power outage.

Perfect.

I drag my pumpkin-shaped suitcase up the snow-dusted steps of Devil’s Peak Lodge, breath puffing out in small, frustrated clouds.

My combat boots crunch against the porch, and the wheels on my bag squeal like they're auditioning for a horror movie. The bottle of glitter hairspray clinks against my dry shampoo in my duffel, a reminder that I’m not just here—I’m here.

Ready to sparkle. Ready to win. Ready to forget every boring man who thought I was too much.

Cue: The man himself.

He’s outside the rustic hunting lodge, shirtless, in jeans that hang just low enough to be distracting.

His back is turned, muscles flexing as he brings an axe down on a thick log like it personally insulted his mother.

A flannel shirt is tossed over a stump nearby, ignored like he’s choosing to be indecent.

“Are you the guy in charge–Thorne Maddox?” I call out, planting a hand on my hip.

The axe stops mid-swing. He turns slowly, eyes narrowing, like he’s just been confronted by a forest sprite in faux leather.

"Unfortunately," he grunts.

His voice is low. Rough. Like he gargled gravel for breakfast. I hate that it immediately does something traitorous to my insides.

“I’m Aspen Taylor,” I say brightly, dragging my suitcase to the front door. "Winner of the Haunted Couples’ Retreat sponsored by Instagram. Solo division. Surprise!"

His brows lift. "Didn’t realize that was a thing."

“It is now. It’s a contest for influencers, I just have to document my week-long getaway on Instagram to share with my followers,” I chirp. “My fiancé dumped me last week, and I wasn’t about to let a little thing like devastating heartbreak stop me from claiming a luxury getaway."

His gaze drags down my body, slow and unhurried. "This is luxury?"

I glance at the sprawling, admittedly rustic lodge behind him. Chimney puffing smoke. Porch sagging slightly. Porch swing swaying.

“It’s got charm," I say, brushing glitter off my coat. "Just needs a few twinkle lights. Maybe some throw pillows."

His lips twitch. Not a smile. Not quite. But it’s there.

"You got pillows in that pumpkin purse of yours?"

"Don’t tempt me. There’s a whole world of sequins and tinsel in here."

He steps forward, close enough that I catch a whiff of cedar and sweat and something uniquely him.

“The main lodge is under renovation, all that’s available is this old hunting lodge, and I’m the only one that stays here all winter.

Not sure how you had the unfortunate luck of winning a retreat for this week, but you’re wastin’ your time.

Boiler’s actin’ up right now, there’s only one bedroom with a fireplace for heat, don’t think you’ll hack if here for more than an hour if I had to guess. ”

“Watch me.” I tip my chin in the air with defiance.

“You seriously think you’re gonna spend a week alone with me in this place and not get spooked by your own reflection in the window?"

I tilt my chin up. “I grew up with three older brothers. I eat spooky for breakfast."

“You eat glitter for breakfast, sweetheart.”

“Guilty. And glitter never ghosts you after four years of dating."

He exhales like I’ve personally exhausted him. "Fine. You can stay. But I’m not running a bed-and-breakfast here. I’m not fluffing your pillows or baking you muffins."

“Good,” I say, brushing past him toward the door. "Because I plan to win a contest for best haunted house decor and maybe even host a costume competition for my followers, not seduce a mountain man."

He snorts. "You say that like it’s a bad idea."

My hand freezes on the doorframe.

Okay.

He did not just say that.

I pivot, eyebrow arched. "I thought you weren’t interested in fluffing anything."

His eyes rake over me again, slow and deliberate. "I’m not. Unless you ask real nice."

My pulse hammers.

I laugh, trying to cover the way my knees go suspiciously weak. “You always this charming, or is it just me?”

He steps in close again, that heat rolling off him like a goddamn furnace. "It’s just you, cupcake."

Cupcake.

I’m going to ruin him.

“Great. Then I’ll ruin your week personally,” I beam, pushing the door open with dramatic flair. “Consider me your glitter-drenched poltergeist."

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'what fresh hell is this?' and follows me inside.

The interior is...a work in progress.

Rugged beams. A stone fireplace. A kitchen that hasn’t been updated since Y2K. But it has potential. Cozy, moody, totally haunted-adjacent.

I drop my bags and spin. “Where do I set up my cauldron and emotional baggage?”

“Wherever you won’t burn the place down.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, abs on full display.

I pointedly don’t look at his stomach. Or the trail of hair disappearing into those evil, low-hanging jeans.

“This’ll do,” I declare, collapsing onto the overstuffed couch and kicking off my boots. “You got hot chocolate? Or do I need to forage for cocoa powder in the woods?”

He eyes me. "You’re gonna be a lot."

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna be everything.”

He groans, pushing off the frame. “I need a drink."

“Make it a double. I’m a high-maintenance nightmare.”

He disappears into the kitchen, and I grin to myself. Game on.

Later, I emerge from a steamy shower in a cloud of vanilla body wash and bad decisions.

He’s on the couch, still shirtless, flipping through a beat-up horror novel like he’s ignoring the spark between us. Like I didn’t just toss a pink bath towel over the bannister and hum my way through an Ariana Grande medley loud enough to raise ghosts.

I curl up on the opposite end of the couch. "So what’s your deal? You run a haunted lodge and chop wood shirtless for fun?"

He flips a page. “Used to be Army. Came back. Needed quiet. This place is owned by my best friend’s family–The Warners–they hired me as caretaker for the summer and I never left. They’re spending their retirement years in Florida and I’m the guy they trust to keep this place running."

"And now you terrorize city girls with your grumpy lumberjack schtick?"

He glances at me over the page. "Only the ones who show up with wigs and glitter hairspray."

“Rude. The wigs are part of my aesthetic."

“Is chaos your aesthetic too?”

I smile. "Wouldn’t be the first time someone said that."

He closes the book and sets it aside. “You’re seriously gonna film here this week?”

“Yep, that’s part of the deal. Just need to spruce up the decor a little before I showcase this place on TikTok. My theme? ‘Whimsical Gothic Holiday.’"

He blinks. “What does that even mean?”

“Skeleton carolers. Velvet stockings. A black Christmas tree. You’ll see."

He shakes his head slowly. "Jesus."

"Nope. Just me. And I come bearing bedazzled antlers and enough fake snow to suffocate a small town."

His gaze drags over me again, this time slower.

“Should’ve locked the gate,” he mutters.

“You’re lucky you didn’t. I’m very bendy."

He rubs a hand over his jaw, clearly torn between exasperation and amusement.

"You always like this?"

"Only when I’m trying to distract myself from shirtless mountain men who look like they bench-press moose for fun."

His grin is slow. Dangerous.

"You’re playing with fire, Aspen."

"Good thing I packed marshmallows."

Silence stretches between us, thick with heat. The kind that makes your skin buzz and your stomach flip.

He leans closer. Just a little. Enough to make the air between us crackle.

"You kiss all your boyfriends with that mouth?"

I lick my lips. “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

His eyes darken. His voice drops.

“Yeah. I would.”

Before I can move, before the spell can break, a loud crack sounds outside. Ice shifting on the roof.

He pulls back, jaw clenched.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

Well then.

Let the haunting begin.