Page 1 of Getaway with the Mountain Man
one
Lottie
Aftereighteenmonthsofeighty-hour weeks climbing the corporate ladder at Nemoy & Associates marketing firm in Toronto, my best friend Chloe had practically forced me to take this week off. "You need mountains, fresh air, and hot lumberjacks," she'd declared, booking this Silver Ridge getaway despite my protests that I preferred five-star hotels to rustic cabins.
The Silver Ridge Lodge is a large wooden building with wraparound porches and flower boxes overflowing with summer blooms. My room is rustic but comfortable, with a view of the mountains that makes my breath catch. I change from my business casual travel outfit into hiking boots, jeans, and a fitted tank top—the most outdoorsy clothes I own. If I'm stuck here for a week, I might as well explore.
The trail behind the lodge supposedly leads to a scenic waterfall. Perfect for the Instagram photos Chloe expects as proof I'm actually relaxing. The forest is admittedly beautiful—towering pines filter sunlight into dancing patterns, and the air smells of earth and growing things.
I'm attempting to photograph a particularly picturesque wildflower when I hear the rhythmic thunk of an axe biting into wood, echoing through the trees. The sound draws me off the main trail, curiosity overriding my usual caution.
Through a gap in the trees, I spothim.
My breath catches in my throat as I take in the scene before me. A man stands in a clearing beside a rustic cabin, splitting logs with methodical precision. He's shirtless in the afternoon heat, sweat glistening on skin bronzed by outdoor work. His shoulders are impossibly broad, tapering to a lean waist, muscles rippling with each powerful swing of the axe.
Dark hair curls slightly at his neck, and a well-groomed beard frames a face that belongs in a magazine spread about rugged masculinity. This is what Chloe meant by "hot lumberjacks," and the reality exceeds every fantasy I never knew I had.
I should leave. I should definitely not be lurking in the bushes watching a stranger work. But something keeps me frozen in place, mesmerized by the fluid power of his movements, the complete focus in his expression, the way his muscles flex and contract with each swing.
He pauses, setting down the axe to wipe sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. That's when his eyes find mine through the trees.
Time stops.
His gaze is the most intense green I've ever seen. For one suspended moment, we simply stare at each other across the clearing, something electric crackling in the air between us.
Then reality crashes back, and mortification floods through me. I've been caught spying on him like some creepy voyeur. Heat flames in my cheeks as I stumble backward, catching my foot on a root.
"Wait," he calls out, his voice a deep rumble that sends shivers down my spine despite my embarrassment.
But I'm already fleeing, crashing through the underbrush with zero grace, branches catching at my hair and clothes. By the time I reach the main trail, my heart is hammering against my ribs—from the exertion, I tell myself.
Back at the lodge, I pace my room like a caged animal, trying to process what just happened. I don't get flustered by men. I'm Lottie Smith, senior marketing executive, woman who negotiates million-dollar deals without breaking a sweat. I do not spy on half-naked strangers in the woods.
Except apparently I do.
And apparently said stranger affects me in ways that should be illegal in all fifty states and several provinces.
"Get it together," I mutter, heading for the shower. "You're here to relax, not to develop inappropriate fantasies about Paul Bunyan wannabes."
But as hot water cascades over my skin, I can't shake the memory of his eyes finding mine, the intensity in his gaze that felt like recognition despite the fact we'd never met. The way my entire body had responded to that single look with a heat that had nothing to do with the summer sun.
Seven days in Silver Ridge suddenly feels both impossibly long and nowhere near enough time.
two
Jakob
Ican'tconcentrateonanything.
A few hours since the encounter in the woods, and I'm still replaying every detail—the way sunlight caught her dark hair, the surprise and embarrassment that had flashed across her delicate features, the graceful curve of her body even as she'd fled through the underbrush. That beautiful girl with big dark eyes, dark wavy hair, and olive skin.
She'd been watching me work, and instead of feeling annoyed at the intrusion, I'd felt... alive. More aware of my body, my movements, than I had in months.
"Earth to Jakob," my older brother Mattias calls from across my cabin's living room, where he's sprawled on the couch with a beer. "You've been staring at that wall for twenty minutes. Tell me what's got you so distracted."
"Just thinking."
"About the city girl staying at the Silver Lodge?" His knowing grin makes me want to hit him, like we did when we were kids."Word travels fast in Silver Ridge, brother. Vernon mentioned she's here for a week. Pretty little thing from Toronto, apparently."
