Page 7 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Surprisem
“You don’t even know the half of it.” I groan. “He had all these women he talked to through a dating site called Mountain Mates. I mean, good-looking, intelligent, amazing women. He kept their information in a notebook so that he wouldn’t confuse them. And some of the love letters he wrote? He had them eating out of his hands. I had no idea what a scam artist he is.”
Wolfe throws his pile to the ground. “Okay, there aren’t enough words in the English language to make women like that fall in love with that pain-in-the-ass hoarder.”
“He didn’t mention any of that in his love letters. Didn’t talk about much of anything, really. Instead, he waxed hot and heavy about abstract stuff like soulmates, true love, amorphous bullshit. I have to admit the guy’s not a terrible writer. I have half a mind to publish his love letters instead of his journals becausethat’s where the real treasure lies. I bet you anything even Izzie would dig the letters?—”
“Until she learned who wrote them.”
“Yeah, and you could say the same for the women because you know what that son-of-a-bitch did?”
Wolfe shrugs, turning towards me.
“He sent them my photograph without my permission so that they thought they were talking to me.”
Wolfe guffaws until he wipes tears from his eyes.
“What are you laughing at?” I scowl.
“I don’t know what’s worse. The thought of women falling for Mack’s literary charms or your ugly mug.”
“Hey, wait a second,” I counter gruffly. This is how we always tease each other, but still. “I may not be a pretty boy, but I’m a whole helluva lot better looking than Mack.”
Wolfe laughs even harder.
I cross my arms over my chest, annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get it all out of your system.”
“You and Mack,” he says between breaths and laughs. “God, I feel sorry for any woman who crosses your paths.”
“Of course, you do.” We all give as good as we get in this group. Way back when Wolfe first met his future wife, Izzie, I gave him plenty of shit over her. After all, she’s a hoity-toity academic, and he’s a brutish warrior.
“So, is Mack continuing these relationships despite being on the road with Trixie?”
“Nope, it seems serious between those two because that was a part of the deal for the cabin. I had to agree to let each of the women down gently.”
“Seriously? Now, I’m sure you got the bad end of the deal. Breakups suck.”
“Yeah, they do. And all of these women are Northern California-based, some of them local, though I don’t know howhe kept from meeting them in person, apart from using a P.O. Box for their correspondence.”
Except for one woman—Callie.Mack treated her differently. Maybe because he assumed she wouldn’t drive from San Francisco to Hollister? I have more questions than answers when it comes to his notebook of women … and how my throat thickens and my chest burns every time I look at Callie’s photos or read through one of her letters.
I continue, “Just the other day, when I was working at the museum in Ophir City, I got accosted by one, Beverly, who drove from Truckee to find me. She was pissed at me for breaking it off so abruptly after my most beautiful love letter yet. I’m sure Izzie mentioned it to you.”
“So that’s what was going on at the museum? You sound like you’re in trouble, McGregor. Keep it up, and you won’t be able to live in this area anymore.”
“I have worried about that,” I confess. “I keep waiting for my tires to be slashed or a paper bag filled with shit to end up in the mailbox.”
“How do you think she tracked you down?” he asks.
“Beverly said she put my photo in Google search and matched it to one of me on Gold County’s website when Ormsby Security was honored for taking down the museum heist. Izzie found Beverly’s signature in the museum visitor log for a whole week before the woman caught me on a public-facing shift and let me have it. It was … ugly.”
“Yeah, my wife told me about it. But she left out the why …”
“Because I didn’t go out of my way to explain it,” I say.
“Wild shit, McGregor.”
I nod.
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Wolfe laughs.
