Tempted By the Mountain man (Wildwood Alphas #2)

1. Jade

JADE

“You know you don’t have to sit on the floor,” Natasha says, returning to her living room with two full glasses in hand. The ice cubes clink against the sides of the wine glasses as she settles on the couch.

“Down here, no one can see me,” I mumble, accepting the glass. I take a sip, and all the tension in my life immediately melts away. At least for a few blissful seconds.

Natasha’s sangria is like a magic elixir. I just wish it granted one the ability to time travel. If I could go back one week ago, maybe I could’ve prevented this whole damn mess from happening. If only I hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time…

“Is this your plan?” she challenges. “Hide out on my living room floor until this all blows over?”

“You have soft carpet,” I answer with a shrug, picking up my phone to continue browsing for teaching jobs in the county.

Because there aren’t any openings for a history teacher—or any other kind of teacher—in this too-small-for-its-own-good town.

Why would there be? We’re hardly a month into the fall semester.

And even if there was, there’s no way anyone would hire me.

This town loves Principal Collin Seymour. To them, the man can do no wrong. So of course they believe his story over mine.

And in a town of less than ten thousand people, word travels frighteningly fast.

“Maybe you need to broaden your search,” Natasha suggests.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve taught history for three years. That has to count for something, right?

” Natasha crosses her legs on the couch and sets her laptop over a blanket in her lap.

Never mind that it’s still eighty-five degrees outside—thank you, Midwest weather.

My bestie can create any season or environment for herself on a dime.

It’s a talent that comes in handy when she has to write a Christmas romance in summer.

“I thought it did,” I murmur, taking another sip of sangria. My glass is nearly empty, but retrieving the pitcher in the kitchen would require me getting up off the floor. So I scroll through Craigslist ads instead.

“Rodman Antiques is looking for an assistant to help with antiques,” Natasha says.

“I’m not an antique expert.”

“You spent a summer antique shopping with your grandma.”

“I was twelve.”

“You could be a tour guide.”

I perk at the possibility of giving tours at the local museum. Though it’s not the most prestigious museum, I enjoy taking my students on field trips there. At this point, I probably could recite most of the town’s history by memory.

Enjoyed. Past tense, Jade.

“I didn’t realize the museum was hiring.”

“Oh, it’s not the museum.”

“Where is it then?”

“Waverly House.”

“The haunted one?” I shake my head. “No way.”

“Why not? It could be fun.”

“I’m not antagonizing ghosts for the sake of entertainment, especially this close to spooky season. I have enough troubles without adding a haunting to my list.”

The faint roar of the garage door opening causes us both to pause. A smile slowly spreads across Natasha’s lips. Her hubby is home. Though I love Josh like a brother, I know better than to overstay my welcome without noise-canceling headphones.

I need to find a listing—just one viable listing—before the two of them excuse themselves for just a quick minute.

“Think I could hack it as a horse trainer?” I ask, browsing quicker now.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” she asks as the door between the garage and the kitchen opens.

“That’s not a requirement—oh, wait. It is.”

I scroll quicker, and my gaze snags on a listing for a temporary appraiser. Because my real estate experience is limited to signing rental leases, I almost skip it. But the words historical items and Wildwood, Oregon catch my attention.

I have no idea how a listing halfway across the country ended up in my local search parameters, but I click into it anyway.

“I could go to Oregon,” I say with a laugh, skimming the details about a cabin in the woods filled with old items that may or may not be worth anything. Hence, the need for an appraiser.

“What’s in Oregon?”

“A weeklong position for an appraiser of historical items and antiques.”

“Really?” Natasha swings her legs to the floor, laptop still resting on her thighs. “Where in Oregon?”

“I’m not going, obviously. That would be crazy.”

“Wildwood?” Her fingers click along the keyboard.

“I just told you I’m not going,” I say as Josh enters the living room. I’m the first to notice him because Natasha’s back is to him. The man lights up like a Times Square Christmas tree at the sight of her.

I would kill for a man to look at me that way. Hell, I’d kill for a dog to look at me that way at this point.

“Oh my God this town is adorable. Do you know they have a coffee shop called Latte Da?”

“That is cute,” I admit, resisting the urge to look at her laptop screen.

I’m not flying out to Oregon for a job I’m clearly not qualified to do.

That would be ridiculous. What does she expect me to do?

Show up at some stranger’s doorstep and beg him to let me have the job I’m one hundred and ten percent underqualified for?

“And there’s a taco shop called Guac and Roll.”

“Where is this?” Josh asks, his interest piqued at the mention of Mexican food.

Natasha’s laptop rolls right off her legs when she hears her hubby’s voice.

Thankfully I’m close enough to catch it.

Because they’re lip-locked faster than a NASCAR pit stop, I focus on the screen.

A picture of the quaintest mountain town is on the screen, promising Wildwood, Oregon is akin to a Hallmark movie set.

It looks like the perfect escape. It’d also not require me to sit on Natasha’s living room floor to avoid dirty looks from passersby.

“Doesn’t this town look just like Pine Valley?” Natasha says to Josh.

“Pine Valley?” I ask.

“My readers begged me to write a mountain man series,” she explains. “This could literally be the town I created.”

“We should go,” Josh says.

“You’re just saying that because they have tacos.”

I force a smile as they banter, but inside, my heart deflates.

These two are the only ones still speaking to me in this entire town.

If they took off for a last-minute writing research trip, I’d be forced to fortify myself in my apartment until they returned.

It’s not safe here for me. Not until this whole mess is cleared up—if this mess ever gets cleared up.

“Jade needs to apply for the job first,” Natasha insists.

“What?” I look at my bestie, certain I’ve heard her wrong. “Why would I do that? I’m not remotely qualified.”

“You teach history. That man has an attic full of history. Doesn’t this seem like a sign to you?”

I skim the listing until I find the application instructions. I expect a request for a resume, along with three or more sources that can verify my credentials. What I find instead is a request for a short video—three minutes or less. It feels less like a job application and more like an audition.

When I explain as much to Natasha, she says, “Just three minutes?” in a tone that suggests the creative wheels are turning in her brain. The only thing I don’t know for sure is if this crazy scheme is related to me or some future book plot.

“Or less,” I say.

Natasha lights up. “You can totally bullshit your way through three minutes.”

“I can’t bullshit my way into being an appraiser.”

“You’ve spent the past three years teaching teenagers who think the Civil War happened in the nineteen hundreds.

The same teenagers who can’t fathom there was life before the internet.

And yet, their test scores would suggest you somehow manage to get through to them.

You can talk intelligently about old things for three minutes or less. ”

Her speech is surprisingly moving. For a single beat, I’m almost convinced I can pull this off.

“This is stupid,” I say.

“What’s the worst that happens?” Natasha challenges. “You don’t get the job?”

She has a point.

“Best case scenario, you get the job and the three of us are on a plane to Wildwood, far away from all these judgmental assholes who’d rather believe a gross old man in a position of power than the woman telling the truth.”

“This is crazy,” I say, navigating to my camera app and flipping it to video mode. “There’s no way I’m getting this job.”

And yet, I take a deep breath and hit record as though I actually have a shot.