Home > Claiming Her Forever : An Alpha Mountain Man Romance(3)

Claiming Her Forever : An Alpha Mountain Man Romance(3)
Author: Alexis Winter

The drive is uneventful. I stop only to fuel up, grab a snack, and use the restroom. I’m anxious to get to the cabin, and I hope the owner is still awake. It’s nearing 10:30 p.m. when I arrive. It’s ink black, and only the light from the moon and one lone lamppost show me the way down Sunshine Lane. Such a cute and cheery street name—an omen, I hope, for how my time here will go.

I creep slowly up the drive, and the crunch of gravel beneath my tires seems to echo off the mountainside. I drive even more slowly, as if that’ll dampen the sound at all. I squint toward the front door and then back at my phone, double-checking the address as I put the car in park and turn off the ignition.

The night air is crisp and cool, and I take in a deep breath as I stretch out my achy muscles. The stars are incredible in the darkness—like millions of tiny diamonds against the velvet sky. I extend my arms overhead as I walk around to the trunk to grab my luggage. I notice a tinge of a headache and that I feel slightly winded and dizzy just from pulling my suitcase out of the car.

“Whoa.” I reach out and steady myself against the trunk.

I make my way toward the front door, noticing the telltale blue glow of a television through the curtains. The rest of the cabin looks dark. I pull out my phone to now triple-check the address, afraid to knock on a random person’s house this late and startle them. That’s when I see a message I missed earlier:

 

* * *

 

Miss Prescott,

Please let me know what time you’ll be arriving. I’ll make sure the key to your private entrance around the back of the house will be hanging on the light next to the door.

—Sawyer

 

* * *

 

“Shit!” I say right as the front door swings open and an imposing figure fills the entire doorframe. In my excitement, I stumble backward and fall square on my ass on the hardwood slats of the porch. A sharp, stinging pain radiates up my spine. Talk about making a first impression.

“Ouch. Hi . . . hey, sorry, I’m Quinn.” I scramble to my feet, trying not to wince as I thrust my hand toward the man I assume is Sawyer. He just stands there before reaching out his hand and helping me finish righting myself. “You—you’re Sawyer? Is this the right . . . ? This an Airbnb?” My voice hitches and I’ve suddenly lost the ability to form complete sentences or thoughts. “I’m so sorry. I completely missed your message from earlier. I literally just checked my phone and saw it. I was driving all day from Idaho. The GPS said it would be about 12 hours, but I hit some traffic and then with all the stops—” His stature has clearly rattled my nerves and I’m doing a shit job of trying to act cool about it. Not to mention the spark I felt when his huge, rough hand engulfed my own.

“Yup. Your entrance is that way,” he says, pointing to the right and cutting off my rambling nonsense.

“Right. The key is on—” I start, but he walks out of his house without another word. Instead, he heads toward where he just pointed. He doesn’t tell me to follow him or look back to make sure I am, but I assume I’m supposed to. I scurry after him in the dark, dragging my suitcase and hoping I don’t tumble down the small set of stairs.

We walk silently around the house and down a few stairs to a massive balcony. I notice he’s only in socks, and just as I’m wondering what he was watching before I interrupted his evening, he stops and I run smack dab into the middle of his backside.

“Oh shit, sorry!”

I stumble backward. My God, have I completely forgotten how to act like a human? What the hell? He doesn’t even acknowledge my mishap and instead gives me the same instructions that were written in the message he’d sent hours earlier.

Even though I’ve taken a few steps back, his scent lingers. He smells like one of those manly scented candles from Bath & Body Works: woodsy with a touch of musk. Of course he does. Why wouldn’t a brooding mountain man—with a perfect jaw and a chest so wide that if Rose had fallen for him in Titanic, she could’ve stayed afloat on him—smell delicious and sexy at 11 at night?

“This is your space and your entrance. The key is here,” he says, grabbing a key that’s hanging by a leather strap from the bottom of the outdoor sconce. He puts the key in the door and opens it, reaching in to flick on a light.

“You don’t have to lock the place up when you’re here or not here. Up to you. Nobody up here will take anything.”

His voice is deep and gravelly, like he’s been gargling with rocks. He stands in the doorway for a minute, one hand on the frame as I duck beneath his arm to enter the cabin myself. I get another deep inhale of his scent and instantly blush at my cat-in-heat-like behavior.

“Thank you so much, and again, I’m so sorry.”

I turn to face him after I’ve stepped inside. The light from the cabin illuminates his face and my breath catches in my throat. His dirty blond hair has fallen down over one eye and his closely cropped beard accentuates his angular jaw. I can see a small patch of the same dirty blond-colored hair at the base of his neck, where his flannel shirt is open. Something comes over me and I apparently decide that right now, in the darkness, after I’ve interrupted his evening and made a complete ass of myself, is a good time to make small talk.

“So, have you always lived here or . . . ?” I can see the somewhat annoyed look on his face combined with what looks like a slight flash of amusement.

“Night, Miss Prescott,” he says with a smirk before turning around and walking back toward his part of the cabin.

Yup, nailed that introduction.

I shut the door and give my nerves a minute to settle down before I pull out my phone and send a text to Gen to let her know I’ve made it safely to the cabin.

Me: Hey, Gen, made it to the cabin. I’m just going to wash off and crawl into bed. So exhausted! XoXo

She sends back a thumbs-up and a kissing emoji. I’m tempted to tell her about Sawyer, but I save the rundown of my embarrassing behavior for another day. After a quick shower, I settle in for the night and head to bed with images of Sawyer Archer’s icy blue eyes in my head.

 

 

Two

 

 

Sawyer

 

 

The moment I heard the ruckus on the front porch, I knew Miss Prescott hadn’t received the message I’d sent earlier, or if she had, she hadn’t extended the courtesy of responding with the details I’d asked for. What I didn’t expect was to find a small, almost ethereal-looking creature on her ass staring up at me with big blue doe eyes illuminated by the porch light. She looked helpless, and I clearly made her nervous given the way she was stumbling all over her words and feet.

Sitting back in my recliner, I’m realizing I was a dick for not offering to help her carry her bags in, but I was thrown off after being woken up, and if I’m honest, her damn pouty lips had my brain fucked up. Most nights I have the same routine: eat dinner then drink whiskey in front of the television until I fall asleep in my recliner. It’s pathetic but it’s safe.

I go to my room and strip out of my jeans and flannel before crawling between the cool sheets. I’m hopeful I’ll fall asleep quickly, but just like every other night I try to rest in this bed, sleep eludes me. It doesn’t help that I heard my ex-wife has been spotted back in town. Just what I need—that fuckin’ drama back in my life.

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