Page 5 of Auctioned to the Mountain Man

Calling her out only earns me flushed cheeks for all of three seconds before she’s pulling out of my grip, stomping toward what I assume is her vehicle. I hope she keeps her word, more than I care to admit.

Three days, that’s all I have to get over this. Somehow, I’ll find a way.

3

Lily

As frustrating asSilasis, he’s got one of the most beautiful cabins I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

The cabin comes into view through a break in the trees—tucked between tall pines like it grew there on its own. It’s all weathered wood and deep green trim, as if the place decided long ago it belonged to the forest. A wraparound porch curls around the front, facing the lake that stretches out in front of it like a sheet of glass.

The water’s so still it looks painted on—soft blue reflecting streaks of peach and gold from the sky. Everything is quiet out here. Not the kind of silence that feels empty, but the kind that settles deep in a person’s bones. Peaceful. Disarming.

I swallow hard, arms crossed despite there being no breeze. I don’t want to admit how… perfect it is. The way sunlight filters through the trees, the way the dock juts out just far enough to tempt bare feet and late-night stargazing.

It’s beautiful. Inconveniently beautiful.

The lake could help fuel my fantasy of the perfect vacation, if it weren’t for the glaring building next to his cabin. A building, I can only assume, is his workshop.

I can’t believe this man is the one behindCrafted Roots Co. While no one may know his face, I’m pretty sure everyone in town has seen his furniture. I’ve come across a few pieces being sold at the local farmer’s market during the warm season.

The person selling it wasn’t this man. If it were, I would’ve noticed him long before.

It’s honestly tragic—a face that handsome wasted on someone so infuriating. A mask, really. Someone who conceals the walking, talking personification of chaos and evil.

If I thought I wasn’t exhausted after my shift at the lodge, hauling all that furniture proved me wrong. Now I’m dragging myself up the path tohisplace, feet heavy, and shoulders aching.

Apparently, I can’t escape this mountain, even off the clock.

Stifling a yawn, I climb the creaking wooden steps and knock harder than necessary on the screen door. If I have to suffer through this evening, he’s not getting any version of me that resembles polite.

Unfortunately, Silas isn’t a creep. While he’s a jerk, he’s too respectful for his own good. So, I can’t get out of this by running to Poppy, making false claims. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a backup plan.

If I can gethimto ask me to leave, then the remaining days of the weekend are mine.

I hear his heavy steps on the other side before he swings the door open. It’s the weirdest thing, seeing the way relief fills his eyes when he sees me. Telling myself that it’s all an act, a way for me to lower my guard so he can torture me more than he already has, I don’t fall for it.

When I meet his forest green eyes, I pretend my stomach doesn’t clench up, or that I’m filled with butterflies without reason. Instead, I straighten my shoulders and tip my chin to show just how fearless I am.

“About time.” He takes me in like it’s the first time all over again. “Thought you’d gotten lost.”

Grade A asshole, I swear.

The moment I step inside, the scent of cedar and pine resin hits me like a wall—warm and earthy, with the faintest tang of woodsmoke clinging to the beams overhead.

I hate to admit it, but the inside of his cabin is just as beautiful as the outside.

Rough-hewn wooden furniture dominates the space—a dining table with legs thick as my thighs, bookshelves carved with geometric patterns, a rocking chair that looks like something I would’ve hopped on as a kid.

I run my fingers along a shelf near the door, half-convinced he built it all himself. The wood is smooth under my touch, sanded to a satin finish. Stained a reddish color. Yeah, he probably did.

My gaze snags on a framed photo resting in the middle of a few paperbacks and a carved wooden buck.

Three men stand shoulder-to-shoulder in front of a lake, all variations of the same rugged template. Silas is the tallest, his scowl slightly softer than the one he’s wearing now. His hair was a little shorter, and he’s not doting as many deep age lines.

“Your brothers?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He grunts, nudging the door shut. “Yeah. They help with the business.”

---