Unwrapped By the Grumpy Mountain Man (Mountain Man Brides For Christmas #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

HUDSON

Looking out the bay window I helped build by hand so my girl, Silvie, could sit and read her endless pile of books, I listen to my middle girl, Angie, quietly tell me about how excited she is that winter break is here, meaning, no school till after New Year's.

“Baby girl, I’m excited to see you and your sisters this weekend. What do you want to do while you girls are here?”

My sweet Angie, middle girl at seven, is the quiet, gentle soul of the three. Lucy being five still trips my brain. She’s a supernova of energy and mischief, and then there’s my firstborn, Silvie, just turned ten. My little grownup. They’re all growing too damn fast.

She gasps in delight. “Is it true Santa is already there, at Eden?” she asks.

“Maybe, baby girl. By the time you all are here again, it’ll officially be December,” I tell her, looking around my sparse house.

It’s a few days before December. Normally, I don’t give a shit about Christmas, but now I’m wondering if I should decorate or something before the girls get here.

Or, I could wait so we can do it together.

I wouldn’t know the first thing about this.

Kristy used to do it when they were little.

Before she stopped hiding her true nature and ruined everything… or set me free.

“Hey, Daddy,” Lucy steals the phone and whispers. “I miss you so SO much, and I want cupcakes from that pretty bakery, Sweets Bakery,” she giggles, one of her sisters shushing her in the background.

“Sweet Pines, baby.” Anxiety creeps subtly up my spine. “Baby, why are you whispering?”

Silence.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, firmly.

There’s shuffling, then Silvie’s voice is on the line. “Hey, Dad.” She keeps her voice low, too. “Can’t wait to see you. I need to go start dinner. We’ll call again tomorrow.”

“Silvie,” I call her out in my Dad tone. “What’s wrong?” Shit. Something’s up. “What have I told you before? Never lie to me. You can tell me anything, sweetheart. You know that. I’ll always have yours and your sister’s backs.”

She sighs heavily. Too heavily for a ten-year-old. She carries too much on her shoulders when she’s with their mother. This is why I’ve spent the last three years fighting, rebuilding, preparing. I want my girls back. I want them home. With me.

“The usual, Dad. We’re fine.”

“Then why are you all speaking quietly? It’s only quarter to six.”

“I want to talk to him,” Lucy whines. They argue back and forth.

“Daddy,” Lucy’s back. “I don’t like Mommy’s boyfriend. And they make weird noises in her room.”

For fuck’s sake. I’m going to kill Kristy.

I rub the tension forming in the center of my forehead. “Are you girls okay, baby?”

“Lucy, give me the phone,” Silvie argues. “Dad, we’re fine,” she insists near the phone.

“No,” Lucy growls. My little spitfire doesn’t take shit from anyone. Not even me. “I don’t want to stay locked in our room, Sils. I want to go outside and play in the pretty color leaves.”

My spine stiffens as heckles grow. “Baby, did Mommy lock you in your room?” It takes everything in my being to keep my tone from scaring my little girl.

Again, silence. I didn’t do a good job.

“You’re not in trouble, baby girl. I just need to know–”

“Dad,” Silvie has the phone again.

“Sweetheart, if your mother locked you all in a room–”

“I got it handled, Dad. I promise, we’re fine. We love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

The line is dead.

I immediately dial Kristy. Voicemail.

I yell. I have to release it before I tear this home apart. I’d toss the phone, but if it breaks, how will my girls call me when they need me? I’m fucking tired of that careless bitch.

I grab my coat, aggressively slipping it and my boots on at the door before storming to the side of the house.

The shed I built there stores extra wood where it stays dry after I chop it, as well as other tools.

My blood boils in my veins, active and racing.

My heart pumps wildly as the tension in my head grows.

I grab the ax and pull it out of the stump. It’s rinse and repeat from here. Place a log, swing the ax, chop into the wood over and over until it’s divided, stack it on the side. Repeat.

Anger management 101 here. It’s also therapy. It’s why I chose to be a lumberjack when I moved here.

Three years ago, I lost custody of my girls.

I had left Black Feral two years before that.

I couldn’t continue being a part of something that disregards human life.

Integrity for them is non-existent. I stayed longer than I should’ve.

Kristy and I fought all the time because, if I’m honest, I wanted to leave the minute I held Silvie in my arms. I wanted to protect her from the filth of that world.

Kristy insisted it was financial security. I became numb, going through the motions until I was with my baby girl. The world quieted and felt right only when her light blue eyes stared into my dark brown ones with all the love and trust in her tiny soul.

It felt like a blink before Angie came, and even less time till Lucy joined us. They became my world. As soon as Lucy turned two, I was done.

Swing. Chop. Stack.

Swing. Chop. Stack.

The constant fighting. The drugs. And then Kristy’s naked ass, in our fucking bed, with a pimpled ass prospect. I wasn’t even mad that she cheated. I was over her, us. But her actions were a risk to the girls. That was unforgivable.

Should’ve fucking known better. Kristy’s vengeful streak runs deep and dirty. My past mistakes came to haunt me, and she used her knowledge well, coupled with her skill in manipulation…and suddenly, I had no rights, other than one weekend a month. A. Month.

The late November chill can’t combat the sweat dripping down my back under my flannel and jacket.

The heat from exertion and anger creates a furnace under my skin.

I don’t know how long I’ve been chopping, but the sun's gone down behind the mountains.

The melody and, at times, eerie sounds in the darkness of the woods at the edge of the property stir my attention.

I slam the edge of the ax into the stump. I should put the wood away, but my body sags. The anger dissolves into contempt and a hit of helplessness.

I walk back inside the two-story home I took my investment earnings I kept from Kristy–thank fuck–and stone by stone, wood plank by wood plank, I built my girls a home they could be safe in, proud of, a real home.

Better than the one the judge ruled Kristy could keep, which I agreed to, for the girls.

Being homeless and unemployed with a questionable history and background didn’t play in my favor.

But I’ve been working my ass off these three years to change that.

Get them to see, I’m the fit parent. My girls need to be with me.

Not their still drug-addicted mother, who was never on board with me leaving the MC life.

She thrived on the danger. It made her feel young.

Well, bitch is thirty-one now. Time to grow the hell up. At thirty-eight, I feel fifty, withered, and fucking exhausted all the damn time.

I’m in the middle of sizzling a steak on the stove when my phone rings. I dive for it on the counter, hoping it’s the girls borrowing Kristy’s phone again. It’s not. Might be even better though.

“Tell me you have good news,” I say in greeting.

“I do, actually,” Sanford says. I can hear the smile in his voice.

Sanford Miller is a fifty-three-year-old man from Portland.

He has been my lawyer for almost three years now.

When I lost the girls, I knew staying in Silver Lakes would only keep me in trouble.

Black Feral was not happy with my leaving.

They constantly taunted me, trying to instill fear to force me back to them.

If I had any chance at all to get my girls away from that life, I had to start fresh somewhere.

Somewhere not too far. I heard of Eden Ridge.

I knew they were a small mountain town, idyllic people, children friendly.

A perfect place for little girls to grow up happy, healthy, and full of wonder. I want that for them.

I moved here, didn’t technically need money after investing quietly for years, but having steady employment looks good with judges.

Found an ad for lumberjacks needed at Hunter & Co.

Lumber. I didn’t know then what a big damn deal those Hunters and their businesses were. They practically own this town.

Luckily, they are decent men. I’ve paid attention, from afar, hearing and watching what they’ve done, how they’ve handled shit that’s come at them. Grayson Hunter, my boss, has earned my respect.

“The last house inspection and your background check, you passed with flying colors,” Sanford says.

I remove the steak from the stove, my chest feeling too tight with hope.

“Are they mine now?” I ask, my voice rasping.

“Soon, Wilder, soon. But real damn close. You have visitation rights upgraded to every weekend now.” Sanford slaps what sounds like his desk, laughing.

I’m conflicted. One part of me is overwhelmed that I can see my girls every weekend instead one a month.

The other part of me, the part that heard my babies whispering because their mother locked them in their room so she can fuck that shitstain Black Feral scum and probably get a hit, wants this over.

“And when do I get full custody of them?” I demand.

“Whoa, Hudson. Come on. This is great news. Be appreciative, would you? You know this is a slow process.” Sanford gives me the same song and dance.

“Really fucking slow,” I toss the pan with the half-cooked steak into the sink.

My appetite is gone. “Three years, Sanford. Three years, they’ve had to be around those vile fuckers while Kristy snorts or shoots up whatever they give her.

I don’t even want to know where the hell she’s getting the money to pay for that.

Sure as hell isn’t getting it for free by screwing Psycho. ”