Page 1 of Marrying the Mountain Man

1

PHOENIX

She walked into the Scoreboard Bar and Grill like she owned the place. In fact, her stride was so confident, I was sure this couldn’t be the twenty-one-year-old virgin I’d committed to marry.

I sat back, crossing my arms over my chest and even tipping my chair back a little, the front two legs lifting off the ground slightly. I cracked a smile at the way she sauntered up to the bar and leaned against it to talk to the son of the owner.

But as Bo looked in my direction, I quickly lost the smile. My local reputation was that of a grump—a silent, sullen type. It’d been a lot of work to make everyone think I was an asshole. I didn’t want to blow it now.

I’d crafted that reputation for a reason. It kept people out of my business.

The redhead in short shorts turned and looked at me, her curvy body stiffening as our eyes met. We’d exchanged pictures, but it was a different matter when you were in the flesh. Especially in her case, with two generous globes of flesh that threatened to spill over the top of that tight pink tank top she wore.

“Phoenix Carter?” she called out.

Every eye in the place turned in my direction. There were exactly seven people besides Bo. Two old-timers were at the bar, where they pretty much lived. There was also a guy at the table near the window on a laptop, as well as a family of four at a table two over from me.

To me, they all were strangers, but they were likely locals. I couldn’t say. I hadn’t bothered to get to know anyone. Not even the guys I worked with Monday through Friday on a local logging crew.

I gave her a nod and gestured for her to come this way. She glanced back at Bo, who’d returned to drying glasses with a large white towel. Taking a deep breath as though to steel herself against whatever she thought she saw in me, she started walking this way.

Damn, she was hot. And not the overdone sort of “hot” I’d dated before. This was the kind of hot that looked even better the morning after—hair all tangled and eyes sleepy from a long night of sex.

With each step she took, my breath quickened a little more. Even if she wanted to wait until our wedding night, I’d have her panting beneath me in less than twenty-four hours, wedding bands on our ring fingers.

“Hi,” she said, stopping behind the chair across from me. “I’m Cherry.”

“Have a seat.” I gestured.

She’d have to learn that about me. I wasn’t one for small talk.

She stared down at my mostly empty glass as she pulled back the chair obediently. She slid onto it, settling her purse strap onto the back of her chair.

“Did you order a drink at the bar?” I asked.

The blank look on her face told me she had no idea what I was talking about. She was probably used to dining in restaurants with table service, not bars that also served food. Unfortunately, nobody was coming to wait on us here.

“What’s your poison?” I asked.

That widened those light green eyes even further. They were framed by long lashes. She also had a light dusting of freckles across her nose, and I loved that she hadn’t bothered to cover them up with a ton of goop.

Yeah, this was definitely my kind of woman.

“Poison?” she asked.

It took me a second to backtrack to my question. Her cleavage had captured my peripheral vision. Who could blame me?

My time in the service had taken me away from women for a while. During boot camp, my fiancée had blown her college savings on a bunch of cosmetic surgery. She’d shot a bunch of crap into her face and gotten a boob job.

I didn’t have to worry about learning to love the new Janelle, though. She left me for my best friend on my first tour of duty.

“Your drink,” I said. “I’ll go grab it for you.”

“Oh.”

What was up with this chick? She suddenly looked like she was afraid to tell me something. What happened to the badass woman who’d breezed in here a few minutes ago?

“I don’t drink,” she said.

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