Page 1 of Her Mountain Man Giant

1

VIOLET

I wander aimlesslythrough the trees, my hot pink notebook clutched tight to my chest. It’s after eight but still light out, and the forest glows soft and golden as evening creeps in. A cool breeze rolls through the trees. The temperature is dropping fast, a relief after spending hours hunched over my laptop in the heat of my stuffy little cabin. I finally got sick of staring at a blank word document and figured a walk in the woods might spark some inspiration. God knows I can’t afford writer’s block right now. Everything depends on this book.

Everything.

A familiar fear gnaws at my chest, and I stop walking, sucking in several deep breaths. The air smells like earth and pine, and I try to let it soothe me. But my anxiety is impossible to ignore. It bubbles up inside me, churning like acid.

Have I made a huge mistake?

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately. Everyone said quitting my office job to write romance novels full-time was nuts. But when I left my apartment in Denver to live in a mountain cabin, they thought I’d completely lost it. I know leaving everything behind to live in the woods isn’t exactly typical for a twenty-three-year-old woman, but rent is cheap outhere, and my tiny cabin is the perfect place to write. It’s quiet. Peaceful. There are none of the distractions of the city.

But that still hasn’t been enough to help with my latest book.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t figure out the hero. My mind is blank every time I try to picture him, and it’s giving me a headache. Pressure builds behind my eyes as I sit down at the base of a towering tree, resting my back against it and opening my notebook. I grab a pen from my back pocket and write a single word at the top of the page.

Hero

Then I scribble down a few questions.

Name?

Age?

Appearance?

Job?

I stare down at the words, chewing on the end of my pen. My first book was a walk in the park compared to this: a cowboy romance set on a ranch. I would spend all day scribbling notes about the characters while I was at the office, then start writing the minute I got home, banging out chapter after chapter with ease. The book was picked up by a small publishing company and ended up being pretty successful—enough to make me feel like I had this whole author thing in the bag.

So naïve.

This is what I get for being too sure of myself.

After staring at my notebook for what feels like forever, I finally snap it shut. It’s no use. My brain is like a ghost town, and sitting here all night isn’t going to change that. Glum and deflated, I push myself to my feet, ready to give up and go home. But as I step forward, a noise stops me in my tracks. Something is rustling, moving through the trees to my left. Instinctively, I freeze. I’m still not used to the sounds of the forest, the wilderness of it, and I shrink back against a tangle of bushy branches, barely breathing.

Thwack!

I jump. The sound of metal against wood cracks through the air. Once, twice, rhythmic as a drumbeat. My mouth is dry as I peer through the foliage of my hiding place, seeking the source of the noise. When I find it, it takes me a moment to realize what I’m seeing.

A giant.

He stands with his back to me, his muscles rippling beneath his green plaid shirt as he lifts his axe. He wields it like it’s weightless, smashing it against a knotted tree trunk, grunting with each stroke. I forget to breathe as I watch him. He’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen—a hulking tower of muscle. Raw power seems to roll off him as he chops the tree, his tattooed arms visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Something tugs deep inside me. I shiver, breathing hard as the man shifts his stance and moves to the other side of the tree. He’s facing me now. I duck back before he can see me, my heart pounding. But my curiosity won’t let me stay hidden, and I glance tentatively around the branches once more.

The giant is still fixated on his work, his jaw set beneath his thick beard, sweat beading on his forehead. A few of his shirt buttons are undone, and I can make out the hint of more tattoos on his muscular chest, dark and tribal looking.

God, he’s too handsome to be real.

Like a hero from a romance novel.

My breath catches and I reach for my pen, silently opening my notebook as I sneak another glance at the giant. He’s all the inspiration I need. The perfect hero—a rugged mountain man to sweep the heroine off her feet. With a flicker of excitement, I start to write.

Name - ?

Age - Early-mid 40s

Appearance - Insanely tall (7ft???), big and muscular, tattoos on arms and chest, beard, short dark hair, wearing a green plaid shirt and dark jeans.

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