Wanting the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Summer 2026 #17)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Clara

“I wanted to be married before thirty, as if it were some gigantic milestone and accomplishment to be a wife by then. Joke’s on me, though. None of the men I date have wanted anything more than getting in my pants, and as soon as it gets emotionally serious, they disappear.”

Next to me, Beckett leaned forward and crossed his arms on the low brick garden wall. Mo’s Bar was the oldest one in town and often used for small parties. Mo Jr., the son of the original owner, claimed the patio area with a small garden was the most beautiful “bar garden” in the world.

I could feel the tension and anger radiating off Beckett. The sounds of the bar were loud, even outside in the still-warm evening air. I didn’t always come out during the week, but it was a birthday celebration for a friend of a friend, and Beckett had convinced me it would be fun.

I wasn’t sure either of us were having a grand time, but at least the company was nice. Mostly.

“Just say whatever it is, Beck.” I took another sip of my sweet tea and decidedly did not look at my best friend.

“You know how I feel about the loser guys you date, Clara.”

I huffed. I wasn’t going to argue. My track record of dating wasn’t anything to brag about, true. He also didn’t need to remind me that he’d never liked any of them.

It’s not as if the man I want has ever shown any interest in me. And I’m not about to risk the one relationship I rely on by telling him I would rather date him.

That would make commitment-phobe Beckett Ashland run for the hills and never bring me an iced coffee as a late morning pick-me-up again.

Instead, I feigned indignity at his choice of adjective for the guys I’ve dated. Before I could come up with a reply, Beckett spoke.

“What’s so important about being married before you’re thirty?”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m thirty-four. I’m a few years late to be complaining.”

“Okay, forget the number. What is it about being married that’s important to you?”

I took another sip and shrugged again. “When I was young and na?ve, I wanted the fairytale, what the world and stories promised. Instead, I found a bunch of frogs.”

“And now? Still want the fairytale?” Beckett took a drink from his bottle, and I had to force myself not to watch his throat as he swallowed. His gaze was intense – and for once, I couldn’t hold it more than a few seconds. I looked to the sun dipping beneath the treetops.

I don’t want to be an after-thought. “I want someone who chooses me, every day. Someone I choose every day. A promise to never leave or give up on me – us. It doesn’t seem like a lot to ask but is apparently too much at the same time.”

“No big castles or floofy wedding?”

I looked over at him. He wasn’t fidgeting and his body seemed relaxed, but I noticed the tension in his shoulders he was trying to hide. Was Beckett … nervous?

“I don’t know about any castles in Foxhollow Ridge, do you?”

“You could …” he trailed off, peeling at the label on his drink.

This was weird. Beckett never fumbled for words. “What?”

“You don’t have to stay here. There’s a massive world out there, and you could explore it. Lots of castles in Europe. Princes, too.”

I laughed. “I can’t imagine leaving, except for a vacation. I don’t want to live somewhere else. Besides, I can’t even convince the men around here to spend more than a year or two with me.”

“Then they’re fools.” The intensity – ferocity, really, in his tone made me look at him again.

“Beckett …”

He turned to fully face me, his hip against the railing where I still sat. “Clara, you have no idea, do you?”

“What are you–”

Familiar laughter cut me off. “Are you two seriously out here drinking by yourselves when the party is still inside?” Thatcher, the middle Ashland brother, pushed Beckett aside and grabbed me to stand me on the deck.

My feet barely touched the wood before Thatcher’s hands disappeared from my sides. “Hands off, Thatch.” Beckett’s arm was already around my waist to brace me as he shoved his younger brother away.

Thatcher held his hands up in surrender and laughed it off. “Let’s go inside, you’re missing all the fun.” He snapped his fingers as if remembering something important.

“And Jack, the new guy that just moved to town, showed up. Maybe you could give him a tour of the town, Clara.” Thatcher teased, but I knew better than to take the bait.

Only a couple of years younger than Beckett and me, Thatcher had often tagged along on our adventures.

Both he and their younger brother, Noah, were like my own brothers.

Beckett, though, was definitely not like a brother to me.

“Get inside, Thatch.” Beckett gave his brother a playful shove in the direction of the door.

Thatcher looked between us, grin wide, and said, “You two should just get together already.” Thatcher ducked inside before either of us could react.

Beckett grabbed the door before it could close behind his brother. He looked at the sky and muttered something under his breath as I walked in ahead of him.

I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like, “Don’t I know it.”