Page 3 of Devoted Mountain Man

And that was how I found myself crossing the threshold of a stranger’s cabin while holding his adorably froofy dog. I might regret this later, but I had to find out what happened next.

2

DAYTON

“Good girl.”

Those were the two words going through my head as I watched Gigi run for the kitchen. She’d escaped again. I’d fixed the fence four times, and still, she found her way out. But this time, she’d come back to me with a beautiful stranger in tow.

“She’s an escape artist,” I said. “You might be seeing her again if I can’t get this fence reinforced. I didn’t have a dog when I built this place.”

Why was I telling her this? She’d brought back my dog. I should have thanked her and sent her on her way. But that didn’t seem like the polite thing to do. So I’d invited her in. For what? To spend more time around her?

That was the part I didn’t want to admit. I was drawn to this woman. I couldn’t stop looking at her. It wasn’t just that stunningly beautiful face or the curves that filled out her sweatshirt and sweatpants. It was something about the way she talked. The way she looked at me. The way she held that damn dog I was growing to love.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked.

There. I’d found my manners. But then I realized I didn’t have much of anything to drink.

“I have water and beer,” I said. “I can make you a cup of coffee.”

“Beer would be fine. I could use one right now.”

“I hope the dog didn’t put you out too much,” I said as I headed over to the fridge.

“She’s actually the highlight of my day. I’m here to get work done and, well, it’s not going well.”

“What kind of work’s that?”

I was curious about the type of person who would reserve a cabin off the beaten path to get work done. My work had me out in the heat all day with a team of other ex-military guys. We’d all relocated here for both the job opportunities and the veteran-heavy community.

“I’m an author,” she said. “I write thrillers.”

I was walking toward her when those words slowed my steps. An author? So she was super smart.

“I had a book hit theNew York Timesbestseller list a couple of years ago,” she said.

Gigi came rushing through the kitchen, whipping around me and heading straight for her. She jumped up on the couch and settled onto her lap.

“Looks like you’ve made a new friend,” I said, smiling—well, attempting to, anyway.

I wasn’t so good at smiling. But again, it seemed like the polite thing to do.

I handed her the beer and stepped over to sit in the recliner where I enjoyed my after-work relaxation every day. “So, you’re a famous author, huh?”

She laughed. “Hardly famous.”

“What’s your name? Maybe I’ve heard of you.”

I just wanted to know her name. That was my tricky way of getting it.

“Vanessa Harwick,” she said. “But I write as V.L. Harwick. Some men still won’t read thrillers written by women.”

That sucked. I didn’t read books at all, so I couldn’t say one way or another. But I was suddenly interested in reading this woman’s work. I cataloged her author name with plans to at least research what she’d written.

“So this is my follow-up novel,” she said. “I got a pretty good advance on the first one, but it won’t pay the bills forever.”

“You seem…”

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