Page 1 of Heart of the Mountain
1
SADIE
“Ican take you to the edge of the property, but ain’t no way I’m trespassing on Cutter’s land,” my taxi driver tells me as we wind our way up Hope Mountain. The tiny town with the same name grows smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror while I mull over his words.
“That’s fine, thank you,” I reply.
The property can’t bethatbig, right? Though the further we drive, the more I start to doubt myself. The paved road gives way to a dirt road, which in turn leads to a rocky, poorly maintained path. I look down at my kitten heels, wishing I’d changed my clothes before embarking on the latest shitty project my boss assigned me.
Sighing heavily, I lean back against the upholstered seat and think about the decisions I made leading up to this moment. I had to take a bus to get to the town of Hope Mountain, then found out they didn’t have Uber, Lyft, or any other ride-sharing service. They just have Hugo, who was a taxi driver in Denver for twenty years. He drives people around for a nominal fee in the same cab he’s used for decades. I swear I can smell every passenger who has ridden in this vehicle, but I try not to dwell on it. No use making a bad situation worse.
I’ve been at Top Spot Realty for over two months now. If I could have gotten a job in a city further away from Las Vegas, I would have. As a recent college graduate with zero real-world experience, however, I jumped at the opportunity to move to Denver. The company even covered my moving expenses and the cost of getting certified as an agent in the state of Colorado. I should be grateful, and I am. Most days. Today, however…
“This is as far as I’ll go,” Hugo announces.
I look out of one passenger-side window, then the other, before turning my attention to the front windshield. Yeah… Nothing here except trees and presumably bears and wolves and all kinds of bugs I can’t think about right now.
“Are you sure?” I ask
Hugo grins, his dark eyes crinkling in the corners as he looks at me in his rearview mirror. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” he muses.
I tilt my head at his response.
“No one is allowed on Cutter’s property, and I surely ain’t lookin’ for a fight today,” Hugo clarifies.
“But… I can’t even see the house from here,” I protest.
“That’s by design, I’m guessing. Cutter is a very private person.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” I mutter under my breath.
Hugo chuckles. “Seriously, are you sure you want me to drop you off here? I can turn around and take you back into town. I won’t charge you for the return trip.”
Part of me is tempted by his offer. This isn’t what I had in mind when my boss, Cindy, told me I needed to conduct a property assessment in a small, secluded mountain town a few hours from Denver. I pictured locals with flower shops and bakeries. Maybe a little sparse on entertainment, but charming all the same.
Taking another look through my window, my heart sinks when all I see is a thick forest surrounded by nothing for miles and miles. I curse my outfit again. While professional, it’s certainly not practical in a situation where I need to hike. Couldn’t Cindy have warned me of the hazardous conditions?
“Miss?” Hugo prompts, breaking into my thoughts.
“I’m sure,” I tell him with more confidence than I feel. It’s not the first time I’ve plastered on a smile and taken one on the chin. Sometimes, quite literally. I didn’t survive the foster system by turning down opportunities, even the ones that involve climbing a mountain in heels and a pencil skirt just to keep my job.
The driver gives me a skeptical look but doesn’t protest when I hand him cash for the ride, along with a nice tip. “Good luck,” he tells me as I gather my purse and step out of the cab.
I wave as Hugo executes an impressive four-point turn on the sketchy mountain road before heading back down the way he came.
“Okay. You got this,” I say to myself.
I tighten my grip on the strap of my purse, square my shoulders, and put one foot in front of the other. I make it all of five steps before the heel of my shoe sinks into the slightly moist soil lining the rocky road up to the infamous Cutter Morgan’s house.
Pulling my foot out of the mud, I continue my trek uphill, cursing my boss the entire time. I’m a huffing, puffing, sweaty mess after only a few minutes, reminding me how long it’s been since I worked out. Okay, fine. It’s reminding me that I’veneverworked out in all twenty-one years of my life.
I focus on my mission, hoping to distract myself from the blisters on my feet and the painful stitch in my side from hiking. Cindy has her eye on Hope Mountain, both the town and the properties on the mountain itself. She–along with her partnersat Top Spot Realty–has a plan to renovate the forgotten town and bring tourism here.
I pull out my phone and make a note to start by fixing the roads. No one is going to vacation here if they can’t even drive halfway up the mountain. I make another note to inform all employees that they’ll need to wear hiking boots and bring bug spray, but I probably won’t include it in my final report.
Cindy sent me an email yesterday afternoon explaining the new project and how we’ll need to “move carefully and strategically” when scouting out locations around town. She told me to be “discreet,” which made me snort. If she wanted a stealthy agent, she certainly shouldn’t have picked me.
For starters, my fiery red hair isn’t exactly subtle. Paired with my tendency to ramble when I’m nervous and the need to state my opinion when no one asks, and yeah, I’m a bit puzzled as to why she picked me for this job.
