Page 1 of My Forbidden Mountain Man (Summer in the Pines #1)

Violet

“We are now arriving at Fairland.” Above, an automated voice tells me what I can see with my own eyes.

A small town my mother brought me to when I was fourteen. Fairland is only one among a list I can count on one hand.

It’s also the place I left without looking back, the moment I turned eighteen. Now look at me, my guitar case tucked between my legs and luggage at my side.

There won’t be any welcoming parties waiting for me. No, I’ve come here unannounced. That’s what happens when a person runs out of options. Not like I have enough money to fly across the country to see if my mother is willing to help.

She’s too busy lounging in her early retirement, where the sun doesn’t just shine—it blisters, and the tourists swarm like locusts, drowning the sidewalks in sunscreen and selfie sticks.

Too busy playing newlywed with fucking Larry—a man I know only as a name on a wedding registry and a smirk in her latest Facebook post.

Another husband, another signature, another flimsy certificate to add to her ever-growing collection. And me? Left on read, like always. She can’t be bothered to help me out with my latest SOS. No, she’s set with a rich asshole who manages his own winery.

The bus groans to a halt, and the driver’s voice crackles through the speakers—a nicotine-stained rasp—calling out the name of this town’s only stop.

Getting up, I apologize to anyone I brush against with my belongings as I make my way off. While two others join me, they’re quick to go their way, having already known where they’re going.

Completely the opposite of them, I’m a little more lost.

It’s been six years since the last time I’ve been here. While everything seems familiar, it all looks new at the same time. There are businesses I don’t recognize, faces that look unfamiliar.

Strapping my case to my back and dragging my luggage behind me, I head toward a cafe with the name Atomic Roast plastered on top, surrounded by wooden carvings of coffee cups.

As the smell of grounds hits me full force, my mouth waters. With a light wallet, I know I can’t fuel my caffeine addiction. At the same time, I’m tempted to ask them for a shot of espresso. Anything to fuel me.

Two days on a bus have left me in a rough state. I’m getting desperate here. If I don’t get something soon, this tank will be running on empty.

Hunting down a booth with an outlet, I get comfortable and dig out a phone charger. Plugging it in, I ignore any curious glances sent in my way.

Compared to these mundane customers, who are coated in dull, neutral colors, I’m the complete opposite.

Running mascara, smudged eyeliner, and dark roots, combined with pastel lilac hair, aren’t exactly natural in a tame place like this. We can only imagine how bad the bags are beneath my eyes.

God, I’d trade a felony for a stranger to buy me a coffee right now. I’m not past making myself look worse than I already do. I’m not some innocent flower afraid to wilt.

Get on my knees? Worth the ache. Wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing I’ve done before noon. The taste of cock is easy to cover up with an extra shot of espresso thrown in for something that takes no longer than thirty seconds.

Dignity’s a luxury, and I’m on a budget.

Looking around, I grimace when all I see are happy, smiling families.

Man. All this does is remind me that I’m no longer living the city life. After years of traveling from capital to capital, I’ve forgotten that some places don’t have shadows lurking.

For however long this lasts, it will take some time to get used to.

Once my phone powers up, I use the free Wi-Fi to search for options to get to my final destination.

No taxis. No Uber or Lyft. No old friends to bum a ride up the mountain.

Groaning as I try to search through my options, I jerk when a paper cup is pushed toward me.

The delicious brown liquid makes my insides sing, but I’m immediately growing defensive at the sight of the offering.

The last thing I expect to see when I lift my gaze is a friendly face with curly red hair.

Julie, by her nametag, gives me a gentle smile on the side.

“I don’t—” I start, my chest growing tight as my skin prickles.

Nothing ever comes my way for free; there’s always a price to pay. Kindness is always conditional.

“You look like you need it, sweetie.” Her kindness comes with the brutal truth. The one I already know, but most people aren’t brave enough to say it out loud. “You’re also not the first one to come into my business looking lost.”

The craving is too much, and I’m downing a mouthful before remembering to thank her. If this is her business, then she could also kick me out if I insult her in return.

Honestly, she looks too sweet and nice to insult.

“Just trying to find a ride.” My thumb brushes the cup, and the tension in my shoulders melts away. “Got any advice for someone who needs to get on the mountain?”

Julie’s smile only stretches, and I can’t even be surprised that she nods. If she’s willing to give out liquid gold like this for free, I’m willing to bet she has all the answers a woman in my situation can ask for.

“Go to the mountain rescue headquarters. They offer rides for free.” Choosing the words she already knows I want to hear, she looks out toward the glass panes like she can see the building itself through all of the other businesses surrounding the streets.

“The last thing they want is for you to go up there by yourself and get hurt.”

Hell yeah. Okay, my luck is finally turning around.

Julie also mentions asking for Sawyer. Apparently, she’s married to a guy who manages the place.

“He’s used to me sending people his way, so don’t stress. He’s happy to help. All you have to do is find a way over there. Can’t be more than a twenty-minute walk at most.”

I can do that.

Thanking her again, I watch as she drifts over to check in on the other customers, asking them about their drinks and giving them the same warm smile.

Maybe Fairland has improved more than just the businesses. There might be a few good people here, too.

If Jeremy hadn’t been an asshole and kept my share of our earnings before kicking me to the curb, I’d have enough money to buy a bunch of the delicious sweets in the display cabinet, and treat everyone here to a drink.

Next time. Call it an IOU.

Appreciating the delicious black coffee for what it is, I let my phone charge long enough to pull up the directions to the headquarters.

Lingering long enough to ensure I have enough battery to play it safe, my empty cup bounces against the rim of the trash before sinking to the bottom.

“Have a nice day!” A chorus of goodbyes makes me feel a little lighter as I make my way out.

The walk to the headquarters is the same as the walk to the coffee shop. Lots of strange stares and lifted brows.

I suppose if I were the face of my ex-band, I’d have to worry about being recognized. But hey, Jeremy made it pretty fucking clear.

Lead guitarist is just a title. Anyone can do it. That’s why it was so easy to replace me.

Sighing softly, I kick a rock in my path on the sidewalk hard enough to watch it bounce twice into the road, soon getting crushed beneath a passing car’s tire.

When I make it to the headquarters, all I have to do is breathe Julia’s name, and the guy running the place comes sprinting . Even better, he’s happy to help if it means making his wife happy.

I’ve got to say, it’s a sight for sore eyes. Makes me a little jealous.

There was once upon a time I wanted something like that. A relationship that ended with a cute, happy ever after. Before I got thrust into the real world. Once I got a good reality check, I accepted that true love doesn’t happen often.

I try not to let my unlucky hand at love sour my mood. Instead, I give Sawyer the address where I need to be dropped off.

For a moment, he looks surprised. Like the cabin I’m hoping to stay at is nonexistent.

Shit. I didn’t even consider that.

If Logan isn’t up here…

I shake my head, as if the idea will fly right out.

“Everything alright?” My driver throws me a curious glance.

“Pressure in the ear, that’s all,” I excuse before turning my attention to the passing trees.

The drive doesn’t last forever, thank goodness. Sleep continues to prickle at the corners of my eyes, my exhaustion growing.

Almost there.

When the truck comes to a stop, I’m left looking at a cabin I was dragged to at only seventeen by my mother, who insisted her lover at the time would be the final man I’d be calling my step-dad.

Look how that turned out.

Dragging my luggage up rickety stairs, I abandon all my belongings to approach the front door. Once my hands are free, I’m banging a balled fist against the door as the sound of Sawyer’s truck grows to nothing.

The silence is deafening .

“Logan!” Calling out my ex-step-dad’s name takes strength I don’t realize I have to keep my voice from cracking.

I’m blaming my weak grip on my emotions on a bad day. By the start of tomorrow, I’ll be stronger.

Pounding my hand harder, I don’t stop. Even when my pinkie starts to throb, I need him to be on the other side.

I need a win.

Finally, when the door suddenly gets yanked open, I almost hit him as my brain stalls because of the sight before my eyes.

A low growl welcomes me, almost enough to make me want to run.

“What the fuck do you—”

The man before me can’t finish his sentence, not as silence returns, and he takes me in.

Not like the strangers of this small town. Not at all. His eyes scan me with purpose, his brows furrowing deep enough to brush his eyelashes.

Oh. Oh.

Logan is just like this town—worn-in at the edges, pretending at familiarity.

I remember him clean-shaven, inkless, his laughter loud enough to shake the dinner table. But the man in front of me now is a stranger wearing his face. A beard, rough and unkempt, shadows his jaw. Tattoos—fresh, dark, deliberate—crawl up his forearms like creeping vines. And his eyes?

They don’t laugh anymore. They measure. And right now? He’s taking me in one inch at a time. Memorizing every inch his eyes touch.

Holy shit, he’s hot. In a weird, falling off the face of the earth, recluse kind of way.

Once I start looking, I find it hard to stop. I’m taking in all the changes one at a time, my pulse kicking in overtime.

He’s one of Mom’s exes. A relic from her matrimonial dumpster fire. I know this.

Why does he have to be hot? This will make things more complicated.

“ Logan.” Dragging out his name, my lips curve into a smile. My hands find my hips, and I catch myself using the same tone I always rely on whenever I need something. Call it a bad habit. “Remember me?”

Six years is a long time, and just like him, I’m not the same person. I’ve abandoned my quiet, shy persona and morphed myself into the person I needed to be to survive. To live the life of my dream and stay relevant.

Sure, my methods are probably frowned upon, but here I am, still kicking.

He doesn’t answer quickly enough. His lips part, and it’s like he’s at a loss for words. There’s no way he could have forgotten about me. Not after I sent both of them tickets to our shows for the first few years.

I can’t remember when I stopped sending him the VIP passes. It might have been after my mother gave me an earful about their divorce, giving me a whole list of complaints about him.

Didn’t really think to remember the small details, not when she does the same song and dance over and over again.

“So listen, sorry to drop on you without warning, but I lost your number some time ago.” Sucking on my teeth, I try not to kick myself at the reminder.

“Anyway, I’m looking for a place to crash until I can get on my feet again.

A week or two tops, I swear. And if I remember right, you did tell me your place would always be an option. ”

I always kept his offer at the back of my mind as a last, desperate option. Well, I’ve hit it. There’s no going back.

“ Violet.” My name drags itself out of his throat, low and rough, like an avalanche of boulders tearing down the mountainside.

The sound of it does things to me—sparks a slow, crawling heat that licks down my spine, pools low in my stomach, then settles, thick and insistent, between my thighs.

Fuck.

“I get it if my mother burned the bridge between you two, but I don’t have much of a choice here. Please. Just long enough to get back on my feet.” I hate the crack of desperation in my voice, and I don’t mean to use it as a method of getting my way.

However, it’s what makes a sigh form in the pit of his chest before it comes rumbling out.

He takes one deliberate step back—just enough space to let me through, not enough to avoid contact. The heat of him burns through my jacket as I brush past, intentional as can be.

Even as the heavy scent of pine floods my senses and makes my head spin, I don’t let it stop me from entering the last place I remembered as being safe and comforting.

For the first time in days, relief floods my system, and I can feel the mental weight of exhaustion come crashing down.

“Take a seat. I’ll need some time to get a room ready for you.” He motions to a couch that looks far too comfortable in front of a fire that is crackling low and soothing.

I don’t argue. Instead, I abandon my belongings at the door, kick off my boots, and thank him softly before he disappears deeper into his cabin.