From Montana Warrior

CHAPTER ONE

SAMANTHA MANNING

“I know most of the men in Guardian Valley, and no one, I mean no one, meets the description of this freaking lumberjack.”

This is a stupid idea. A stupid, reckless idea. But it’s too late to turn back now. Too late to let my brother—a former Marine—handle whatever awaits me at the top of this damn mountain.

Okay, so not quite a mountain, but a freaking big hill. One that I was not prepared to hike this morning after last night’s festivities, AKA my brother and sister-in-law’s belated wedding reception/baby shower.

But I was still feeling a little sad—a little restless—after watching them dance and laugh and be so freaking adorable together. Who’d have thought my big gruff brother would find love with such a sweet woman like Adeline?

Would fall in love and get married before me? Heath’s hopeless romantic little sister?

I sigh as the secluded cabin I’m headed toward comes into view. It's a cute little house settled on a ledge that juts into the river, rushing water running by two sides of it. The sunrises are gorgeous if you happen to be sitting out on the porch at just the right time. 

But I haven't been up here in forever. The trek from the main house through the woods has my body huffing and puffing for air.

“Just one peek then turn around,” I tell myself.

I don't know what possessed me to choose this as my morning task to shake those pesky insecurities of being alone forever. Heath said it looked like someone had been up here in passing. He definitely didn’t mean for me to go check it out.

It’s probably a rogue hunter who wandered onto our land—or rather Adeline’s land since a dead billionaire CEO bequeathed it to her after our dad sold the ranch. Or maybe a lost hiker, though we probably would’ve heard about that on the news.

It could be a serial killer for all I knew. A killer on the lam, searching for his next victim. Preferably a brunette with extra curves and no dating prospects.

Time to lay off the true crime docs, girl.

But something was drawing me up here to find out what was going on for myself. Like I said: a stupid, reckless—

The smartest damn thing I've ever done in my life.

The sound of an ax splitting through a log rings through the air, and after cresting a ridge of rocks, I spy a man through the thicket of trees. A giant, really. Drenched in sweat and wielding a giant-ass ax overhead before swinging it down with a grunt.

Holy cow.

My pussy clenches instinctually as my hand falls to the tree trunk in front of me, nails digging into the rough bark.

Who the hell is that?

I know most of the men in Guardian Valley, and no one, I mean no one, meets the description of this freaking lumberjack.

Rippling muscles bulge beneath his tan skin. Skin that’s covered in ragged scars, bright pink across his back and shoulders. Short blonde hair glints under the sun, and I desperately need him to turn around so I can see his face.

No doubt accompanied by a massive chest heaving with his exertion.

Oh god. Is it possible to come just from watching a hot stranger chop wood? Because the longer I stare, the harder it becomes to breathe and the damper my panties get.

Alright, Samantha, you’ve got this. How does one approach the living embodiment of every wet dream they’ve ever had?

Hey, stranger! Mind if I ass you a question?

My eyes skim down his torso to where his jeans rest over his hips and firm butt. Yeah, no, I don't want to creep him out with puns about body parts. Especially body parts I’m ogling from afar like a horny spinster desperate to be tossed over his shoulder and—

Oh, wait… That’s exactly what I am.

It’s your family’s land, or it used to be, or it is again since Heath married Adeline. Honestly, the ownership of the ranch has exchanged hands so much lately, it’s a miracle I don’t have whiplash.

Either way—Heath’s or Adeline’s—this stranger has no cause to be here. Chopping down our trees and looking damn good doing it. So, I’m just going to march over there and demand he tell me what the heck he’s doing here. There’s probably a perfectly logical explanation, and once that’s taken care of, we can move on to more pressing matters.

Like the lusty devil currently residing on my shoulder.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” a male voice calls out, the throwback insult from middle school jarring me out of my spiraling. “And while you’re at it, you can get the hell off my land.”

His land?

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