Chapter One
Holly
The place smells like cedar, sawdust, and something else entirely masculine. Devil’s Peak rises behind the cabin like a protective sentinel, and the Phantom River murmurs just out of sight, winding through trees lit gold by the late afternoon sun.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other on the porch, trying not to let nerves show. My toddler’s sticky fingers wrap tight around mine as she bounces beside me, completely unaffected by the tension crackling down my spine. That makes one of us.
The front door creaks open.
And there he is.
Jack Rivers.
He fills the doorway like a brick wall. Bearded. Sun-kissed. Shirtless.
His jeans hang low on his hips, and his chest is dusted with dark hair that draws the eye south. His skin is tanned, inked, and glistening with sweat like he’s just finished splitting wood with his bare hands. Hell, maybe he has.
His eyes drag over me slowly, from my high ponytail to my too-neat travel outfit. I feel a prickle in my chest as he lingers just a second too long on my lips.
“You’re late,” he says, voice low and rough like gravel under boots.
“Your directions sucked,” I shoot back, chin tilting up.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I said left at the busted fence. How hard was that?”
“I didn’t realize I was entering Narnia.”
One of his brows twitches. “This Narnia doesn’t got Wi-Fi–are you about to complain about that too?”
I smile sweetly. “As long as there’s running water, we’ll get along just fine.”
He stares at me for a beat too long.
And then, abruptly, he steps aside. “You want the job or not?”
I grip my daughter’s hand and walk inside without waiting for an invite. The place is rustic but clean—open beams, big windows, stone fireplace, and the faintest smell of pine and citrus cleaner. It feels… too perfect. Which is a problem. Because nothing in my life stays perfect.
“I’ll show you the room.” Jack’s already halfway down the hall.
“You always this welcoming, or just saving the charm for a second date?”
“Don’t do charm,” he mutters.
Yeah. I remember.
I pause in the hallway, heart slamming against my ribs as he gestures toward a cozy bedroom at the end. He doesn’t remember me. Not even a flicker of recognition. Sure, I look different now–shorter hair a few shades darker than when he saw me last–but still, I thought maybe, just maybe he’d remember that one night five years ago.
But it gave me everything.
Like the little girl now chasing dust motes on the hardwood floor.
“So, this is the guest room,” Jack says, dragging my attention back. “Bathroom’s through there. You’ll cook, clean, and help out when I’m working. It’s not complicated.”
“And in exchange, we get to live here?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “That was the ad.”
I think of the mail-order bride ad I answered inMountain Livingmagazine. I cross my arms. “And what exactly do you do, Jack Rivers? Aside from glare and grunt and pretend like you're not in desperate need of adult supervision?”
