Page 1 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Surprisem
Chapter
One
MCGREGOR
“Thank God, McGregor. I wasn’t sure if you would pick up.”
I scrub my hand over my face, grumbling, “Mack, why in the hell are you calling me so early?” My Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor often calls me before the crack of dawn. But this is a new limit, even for him.
“I’ve finally done it.”
I groan. “Done what?”
“Broken away from the chains of civilization.”
I sigh, rubbing my temples and waiting for him to explain …
Silence.
Damn hippie!
“Well, boy, don’t you want to know what I mean?”
“Not at three in the fucking morning! Call me back at a reasonable time.” I go for the end call button, stopped at the last second by his screaming. Reluctantly, I hold the cell phone to my ear again.
“I’ve hit the road, which means the cabin is yours.”
Mack’s sixty-eight years young and as youthful as a twenty-something. He lives on a steady diet of sunshine, the GratefulDead, kombucha, Japanese yoga, homemade bread, and women much younger than him. Though thankfully, he spares me most of those details.
The man has more game, nearly seven decades in, than I ever have. I don’t know how he does it. Hell, I’m not even forty yet, and I feel it when I get out of bed in the morning.
Of course, years of beating the shit out of my body as an Army Ranger and then a military contractor probably have something to do with that.
I mumble, “In other words, you’re letting me know to come water your plants while you’re away?”
“Better than that, boy. I’m selling you the cabin for a screaming deal.”
I stretch. “I still don’t see why any of this couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning.”
“It is tomorrow morning.”
I shake my head, not interested in his technicalities. “But if you’ve split town for good, then who’s going to be my sponsor?”
“Don’t worry about a thing. My girlfriend, Trixie, has promised to teach me everything about setting up a hotspot from our new off-grid location. So, you should always be able to get a hold of me.”
I grunt. “So, how much are you asking for the cabin?”
He clucks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “How about we barter for it?”
“Barter for it?” I ask, feeling my stomach sink. “What are you thinking?”
“You cleaning up the place will be a decent enough start. I know it won’t be easy.”
My mind spins. Mack’s a hoarder who hasn’t relocated in at least three decades. It’s no exaggeration to say I can’t currently walk through his house.
“And you keeping the homestead going and caring for all the animals would be another part of our deal. But it would allow you to bring Duke over from Rough and Ready Ranch. There’s more than enough room for him in the stable. And you’d have to keep up my booths at the farmer’s markets in Hollister and Ophir City during the summer.”
Duke’s the Arabian gelding I bought about a year after moving here. A great horse that could do with more of my time and attention. Having to commute to the ranch has put a damper on that. But the trade would also come with alpacas, goats, chickens, rabbits, and the orneriest mule I’ve ever known, Snickers. I always joke with Mack his name should really be Kickers. You don’t want to get behind that motherfucker when he’s pissed, which is always.
