Dangerous. For my heart and probably my bank account.
"Focus, Jen," I tell myself firmly. "This is a business arrangement. Twelve thousand dollars. Two weeks of your life. No catching feelings for the grumpy mountain hermit."
But as I wind down the mountain, I can't help but wonder what Jared Calloway might be like if he ever fully let someone in. And why he's so determined to keep everyone at a distance.
Well, I have two weeks to find out. And if there's one thing Jennifer Walsh has never backed down from, it's a challenge.
Especially one with cheekbones that could cut glass and eyes the color of the mountain sky.
CHAPTER THREE
JARED
The clock reads 9:30 AM when I pull up to Ridge's spare cabin. Early, but not as early as I typically start my day. By now I've usually checked fence lines, split wood, or hiked a few miles. Today my normal routine feels off balance, like everything else since Jennifer Walsh agreed to be my fake wife.
I sit in my truck for a moment, gathering myself. Sharing my space with someone for two weeks. Acting like a husband. It goes against every instinct I've cultivated since leaving the wildland firefighting service three years ago.
The cabin door opens before I can knock. Jennifer stands there in leggings and an oversized sweater, hair pulled up in a messy bun, coffee mug in hand.
"You're early," she says, but she's smiling.
"Force of habit."
"Come in. I'm almost ready. Just finishing my coffee."
Ridge's cabin is small but comfortable. One bedroom, an open living area with a kitchen, and a small loft. Jennifer has clearly made herself at home. Sketchbooks and colored pencils cover the coffee table. A laptop sits open on the kitchen counternext to what looks like a drawing tablet. The walls are now decorated with colorful sketches taped up haphazardly.
"Did you do these?" I ask, examining a detailed drawing of the mountain view from Ridge's front porch.
"Yeah. I've been trying to get back into traditional media. Computers are great for client work, but sometimes you need to feel the pencil on paper, you know?"
I don't know, but I nod anyway. The drawing captures something essential about the mountains that photographs often miss. The way the light hits the peaks. The texture of the pine forests. She's talented.
"These are good." I'm not one for unnecessary compliments, but credit where it's due.
"Thanks." She seems genuinely pleased. "Ready to help me pack? I travel light, I promise."
Light is relative. Three large suitcases, two boxes of art supplies, computer equipment, and what she describes as "absolute necessities" that turn out to be string lights, throw pillows, and a collection of scented candles.
"Are you moving in or redecorating?" I ask as I load the last box into my truck.
"Both. If we're going to convince your aunt we're married, your place needs a woman's touch." She holds up a fuzzy blanket. "No one will believe I've lived there a year if it still looks like a mountain man bachelor pad."
She has a point. I grunt in acknowledgment and help her into the passenger seat of my truck. It's a big step up for someone her height, and I find myself with my hands on her waist, lifting her slightly. The contact is brief but leaves my palms tingling.
"My hero," she says with a teasing grin. "Saving me from the perilous climb into the monster truck."
"It's a standard pickup."
"It's a mountain on wheels and you know it." She buckles her seatbelt. "Not all of us are built like redwoods, Mountain Man."
The drive to my cabin is filled with her commentary on everything from the scenery to my driving. I should find it annoying. Instead, I'm fighting a smile by the time we reach my property.
Unloading takes less time than loading. I carry her bags to the master bedroom while she directs the placement of boxes in what will be her temporary office. The bedroom feels different with her things in it. Her clothes hanging beside mine in the closet. Her toiletries spread across the bathroom counter. Her scent, something citrusy and warm, lingering in the air.
"Earth to Jared." She waves a hand in front of my face. "I asked if you wanted coffee."
"Sorry. Yes." I follow her to the kitchen, watching as she navigates the space like she belongs there.
