Mountain Man's Fake Fiancée Read online

  Mountain Man’s Fake Fiancée

  Copyright © 2018 Kelsey King

  authorkelseyking.com

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  Contents

  Newsletter

  1. Tate

  2. Brianna

  3. Tate

  4. Brianna

  5. Tate

  6. Brianna

  7. Tate

  8. Brianna

  9. Tate

  10. Brianna

  11. Tate

  12. Brianna

  13. Tate

  Epilogue

  About Kelsey King

  Books by Kelsey King

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  1

  Tate

  The sun shines through the tall trees of Whitefish, Montana, and I can’t help but think how much better this town is during the summer compared to the winter. Don’t get me wrong, I like the snow as much as the next guy, but I can’t stand the flood of tourists that takeover during the summer months. But on this beautiful, warm day, there’s no one in the mountains but me.

  No one else is out here because they’d need 4-wheel drive to traverse the dirt roads. During the winter, I’ll catch a few cross-country skiers, but that’s pretty much it. I built my cabin on the mountainside for the views and peaceful exclusion.

  The engine of my truck roars and a massive cloud of exhaust blows out the back like the breath of a fire-eating dragon. I have to admit I like making my presence known, regardless of no one being around. It scares off the deer, which saves me from hitting one. Not something I want to deal with up here.

  I’m going into town on this perfect day, but not because I want to. Some trees fell during the last heavy summer rainstorm and when I was clearing the brush, my chainsaw broke. After trying to fix it myself, I realized it needed a new chain. I was immediately irritated because now I have to drive to the store to buy the parts. I spent the entire morning trying to cut the fallen trees into smaller blocks of firewood for the winter. Considering I don’t have what I need to finish the job, I’m forced to make a special trip to Jack’s Hardware in town. Now I have to face civilization, which I don’t like to do often, especially when work needs to get done.

  With the windows rolled down, I crank the music and as my Black Lab, Shark, sticks his head out the window. When I glance at him, I see his tongue is happily hanging out of his mouth. I’ve had him since I was eighteen, which makes it a solid ten years of manly companionship. I love that dog so much, and I can’t put into words how much he means to me. He’s much more social than I am and he’s overly excited to go into town. I wish some of his happiness would rub off on me.

  “You just know you’re getting a treat, dontcha?” Shark pants in anticipation. Every time we go into town I get him a biscuit from Victoria’s, a bakery that makes pastries for dogs. I usually get a blueberry muffin for myself because they’re the size of my head, but it barely satisfies my hunger. After working my ass off this morning, I’m starving and a muffin only won’t suffice. All I had were a few pieces of bacon early this morning, and I already feel light-headed since it’s been hours since I ate last.

  Over the years of living a secluded life in the mountains and working the land, I’ve bulked up significantly since leaving my hometown. Between the muscles, beards, and shaggy hair, I’ve become a mountain man through and through. If my mother saw me right now, she wouldn’t recognize me, and she most definitely wouldn’t approve. I’m not the Abercrombie & Fitch poster child she once knew.

  I make a right at the fork in the road and follow the route along the creek. The forest along the road is endless, and when it snows, many of the trails up the road are where the tourists ski in the winter. The town is full of people in the summer, too. Hikers, campers, and even mountain bikers come to visit Whitefish. Along the road, runs a small river that’s vigorous, and I’ll occasionally see people whitewater rafting as well. There’s fisherman here and there, and just the thought has me wishing I were sitting along the river and getting a fresh catch myself. I love handling my meal from start to finish; from the catch to the cleaning, cooking, and then eating. My dad taught me to fish when I was a kid, which is surprising considering he was always busy managing hedge funds. But there were plenty of times he took me out on Lake Michigan. It was one of the only times I left our Chicago high-rise penthouse.

  Not paying attention, I hit a bump in the road, causing Shark to go flying. I let out a laugh and find myself asking him if he’s okay as he almost hits his furry head on the ceiling of my trunk. I have to laugh because Shark looks at me with his big floppy tongue hanging out of his mouth, smiling. He lives for this kind of adventure. Leaning over, I pet his head and tell him how much of a good boy he is.

  I speed down the road, dirt, and dust flying up all around us, knowing that we’ll soon be down the mountainside and on the paved road that leads to town. Once the tires hit the pavement, I slow down considerably and head toward town. As soon as Shark sees the buildings on Main Street, he begins to bark, knowing he’ll soon have his treat.

  I park the truck and leave Shark inside with the windows down.

  “I’ll be right back, boy,” I tell him as I step out. I glance at myself in the window and realize I look like shit, but it’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. My white T-shirt is dirty, my jeans torn, and my boots muddy. My brown hair is flying all over the place, and there’s grime under my nails. I could use a shower too.

  Once I step into Jack’s Hardware, a small shop that still manages to have everything that I need, I see Jack standing by the counter chatting with an old timer. He’s a salt-of-the-earth type of guy.

  “Tate,” Jack says as soon as he spots me.

  “Hey,” I reply, nodding my head. The hardware store is small, with low ceilings, and it smells like oil and plastic. It’s a small town shop, and if Jack doesn’t have what I need, he’ll order it, which means I’ll have to come back into town. I walk up and down the aisles, trying to find the replacement chain.

  “What are you looking for?” Jack asks. His red beard is not dissimilar to my own.

  “Chainsaw parts. My damn chain broke when I was cutting stumps,” I reply, feeling like I’m in my element surrounding by the tools.

  “What size?” Jack asks.

  “Eighteen inches.”

  Jack knows just where to go, and walks down the second aisle where various types of chains are stocked. He looks up at the shelves that climb toward the ceiling and scratches his beard.

  “What brand you got?” he asks, giving me some options.

  “Craftsman. Give me three, just in case. I have five more trees to cut.”

  “Sounds like a big project. I know some guys that could help you out with that.”

  “No thanks. I should be able to take care of it.”

  Jack gives me a dubious look, and I merely smile. He thinks I’m trying to prove myself, no doubt. And in that, he wouldn’t be far off. After a life of privilege, I have a lot that I want to do by myself. Building a cabin in the mountains isn’t enough though. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch. Some days, I don’t even know how far I’ll go because it never feels like enough.

  Jack pulls the chains down from the shelf using a stepladder. A hundred bucks later and I have what I need along with some other tools and gadgets for g
ood measure. Even though I have a massive shed that’s full of tools, it always seems like I could use more when I walk through those doors.

  “On the market for a riding mower?” Jack asks, nodding his head toward the bright orange zero-turn mower sitting outside his shop. “Just got that in the other day. Can mow half an acre in under twenty minutes, no lie.”

  Now, I’m not one to be able to turn down gadgets, and Jack plays on my weaknesses. I’ve been using a push mower for the past few years, so this would save me time, and since money isn’t an object, I get it. Within moments, he has his guys loading the expensive beast into the back of my truck and of course I purchase ramps to get that sucker out safely. After I pay my five thousand dollar bill, Jack smiles and waves goodbye and I climb into my truck. Every time I come into town, I’m pretty sure I pay his rent for the quarter, which I’m happy to do.

  Shark cocks his head at me, as though asking if I have buyer’s remorse.

  “No regrets.” I pet him with a smile. The hardware store didn’t take as long as I thought it would, even with the extra purchases. I’m happy about that because I still need to go grocery shopping, get Shark’s treat at Ethel’s, and buy some liquor. Even though I’d like to get all these things out of the way and go home to finish cutting trees, I still need to eat. My stomach growls so loud, Shark barks when he hears it. In light of being famished, I decide to stop at the first place I see. Slowing down, I turn into the parking lot of Whitefish Café, a place I’ve only seen in passing. I’ve been to a lot of fancy cafés growing up in Chicago, but this one has that hometown flair to it. It’s inviting with its green awning, flower planters, and patio tables.

  After I park, I put a leash on Shark then open the door for him. A woman is standing outside by the door who has the café logo on her shirt. I contemplate speaking with her but round up some courage and ask the petite blonde about Shark.

  “Can my dog sit with me out here?”

  She eyes me up and down and licks her lips like I’m the sweetest candy she’s ever tasted. I haven’t had anyone look at me with interest in a long time, so I’m somewhat surprised considering how I look at the moment.

  “Of course you can.” She hands me a plastic menu with hooded eyes. I give her a quick smile and sit in the sun, and try to soak up as much as I can. My mom used to slather me in sunscreen because she always said The Williams’ never get tan. Well, I put that to rest. My skin in the summer is more of an olive complexion from spending most of my days outside.

  I situate myself at a small table at the edge of the patio. The woman glances over at me, and she looks like she wants to put my napkin on my lap. Shark benefits from her enthusiasm as well, because she eventually brings over a bowl of water for him to drink. He’s very appreciative and starts drinking away.

  She looks at me and smirks. “Want some coffee?”

  I pop an eyebrow at her. “Sure. Black.”

  I like the simple thing in life. Nothing fancy, no frills, just the basic stuff. Since moving to Montana, that’s how I eat, drink, and live. Back in Chicago, my parents made sure everything was extravagant and reeked of wealth. They loved the fanciest cuisines from around the world, elegant wines, and would only drink sparkling mineral waters that were alkalized in France along with other expensive nonsense. At the cabin, I drink filtered water from the land and often hunt for my food. I’m living the way I’ve always wanted.

  The woman brings over my cup of coffee, and I take a sip of the hot brew. As she walks away, I feel awkward, not sure what to do with myself. If I go to the Mountain Brewery for a Guinness at least I can drink a beer in silence and watch sports. It’s perfectly reasonable to do that, but to sit outdoors at a café with Shark, I feel out of place.

  As I’m browsing the menu, the sound of dishes crashing to the ground pulls my attention away. A waitress is kneeling to pick up the pieces. She’s obviously flustered about it, and I rush over to assist any way I can.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her softly, but she only nods while avoiding my gaze.

  She reaches for the same piece as I do and we both pull our hands back.

  “Sorry,” she mutters. “I swear I’m not always this clumsy. My manager is going to chew my ass out for this.”

  I grab the rest of the shattered pieces and put them on her tray. “Accidents happen. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  Groaning, she sets the tray on a nearby table and sighs when a busboy arrives with a dustpan and sweeps up the small pieces.

  “Hopefully. I can’t afford another dip into my paycheck.”

  Standing, I hold my arm out to help her up and when she looks up at me, my breath hitches.

  She’s stunning even with her chocolate brown hair tossed up in a messy bun. It’s hard not to notice her beauty and toned body. She places her hand in mine and when I help her to her feet, the air stills between us. Heat hits her cheeks, and I know she’s embarrassed.

  My stomach is growling, and I need to eat, but I can’t stop looking at her. There aren’t a lot of people in the café because it’s a few hours after lunch, so maybe she’s the only server at the moment, or at least I find myself hoping so.

  “Thank you,” she finally speaks. “I appreciate your help.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “I’ll be right back to take your order,” she tells me, lowering her eyes to where our hands are still touching.

  “Yes, of course.” I release her hand and walk back to my table to where Shark is eagerly waiting for me.

  I pet his hand, noticing how much calmer he looks now that he’s hydrated.

  “You feel better, buddy?” I ask. Rubbing my sweaty palms

  “That’s a huge dog,” a soft recognizable voice says, and I turn to find the waitress standing over me. I notice how close she is and I can almost smell the sweetness of her skin.

  “He’s just a big ole’ puppy though.” I look up at her and smiles.

  She laughs, and I can’t help but notice how pretty she is, without even trying. Shark sniffs her foot, and I’m happy he’s being on his best behavior. Shark’s a sweet dog, but sometimes he barks or jump on new people, and it usually scares the crap out of them.

  “Are you ready to order?” the waitress asks. I look down at the menu trying to decide, and I can feel her eyes on me, watching me intently.

  I suck in a deep breath and choose. “I’m thinking the Reuben.”

  “Are you sure? There’s other items that I personally think taste better,” she says, leaning over my shoulder and pointing at the items on the menu. “The goat cheese and fig flatbread, and the avocado hummus spinach wrap are my favorite.”

  “Just the Reuben.”

  “Suit yourself,” she replies. “Fries, coleslaw, or salad?”

  “Fries.”

  She holds back a laugh, and I have a feeling she wanted me to choose something else. There’s a moment of silence, and I’m not sure whether to laugh or roll my eyes. After she’s written down the order and repeated it back, I can see she’s even trying to hold back laughter.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve got a bad habit of making suggestions.”

  “No worries. I’ll have to come back another day for the avocado hummus spinach wrap.”

  And feed it to my dog.

  She smiles at me before she walks away.

  I continue to drink my coffee, and every so often I see her helping other tables, fetching more coffee, refilling water, and delivering trays of food. She smiles and treats each guest the same way, and I overhear her suggest items to customers. It’s hard not to watch her, but I try to focus on Shark, so I don’t seem like I’m staring.

  The food doesn’t take too long, and when she carries it over she places it in front of me, and I find myself staring at her hands and wrists. She’s dainty but womanly, and I find myself imagining her naked.

  “Enjoy.” She licks her lips before smiling and walking away.

  Something flickers in her eyes. Is she interested? Or just confused by the way I
look? I’m dirty from working, and my hair is a mess. I’m so out of touch with these things because I haven’t dated anyone since moving to Whitefish. I’m rusty.

  I dig into my Reuben sandwich and devour it. I managed to give Shark a few pieces of corned beef, but I don’t think he even chewed it; rather, inhaled it in one bite.

  Once I clear my plate, I move it out of my way.

  As if it were a cue, she walks up seeing that it’s empty. “How was everything?”

  “Great, thanks.” It’s an understatement though because the sandwich was fucking fantastic. Not often do I splurge on food like that.

  “Would you like some dessert?”

  I look her up and down and wonder if she’s on the menu, but keep my thoughts to myself. “No, thank you.”

  “I’ll get your check then.” She picks up the plate and walks away, and I realize I haven’t gotten her name.

  A minute later she comes back and refills my coffee and places a slice of blueberry pie in front of me.

  “Oh, I didn’t order that,” I say, thinking she made a mistake or misheard me.

  “I know.” She places my check down on the table and walks away. At the bottom, she circled the price and drew a smiley face at the top. When I read her name printed in the top corner I smile. Brianna.

  It’s a beautiful name and fitting for her. Elegant but simple.

  I place my credit card on the edge of the table and wait for her to return.

  “Are you Brianna?” I ask, handing her my credit card.

  “Yep. I am,” she says, putting out her hand to shake mine. I take it in mine, and notice how soft she feels. It’s small and cool to the touch. “Brianna Carson.”

  “I’m Tate,” I reply. I almost say my last name, but quickly stop myself. Though it’s stupid to think that some waitress in Whitefish, Montana would recognize the Williams name, yet, I still hold back.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Tate. Are you just passing through?”

  “No, I live here. Just a few miles up the mountain.”

  “Oh, I thought I knew everyone in this town.” She looks genuinely surprised, and I can’t tell if it’s a pleasant surprise or not.