Page 36 of Single Mom for the Mountain Men (Mountain Men Why Choose #3)

Shared by Three Mountain Men

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I came home to bury my father… and ended up in bed with three mountain men.

The last person I expected to see at the funeral was Jake Blackwood— My best friend’s older brother, My first love turned bearded mountain god.

He brought backup. Two ex-SEALs who share his cabin in the woods.

Noah is the calm in the storm. Eli's the storm itself. He blames me for the past. I blame him for that kiss in the woodshed.

Then the threats started. Jake insists I stay with them. I should’ve said no. But I didn’t.

Being snowed in with a mountain man is a bad idea... Let alone three . And falling for all of them? Disastrous.

Their mouths ruin me. Their hands worship me. And I still want more.

Now I'm in love with three dangerously protective men I might not survive to keep. It's reckless. It's addictive. But if we make it out alive, I'm never letting them go.

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Still not convinced? Here's a sneak peak of Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE Charlotte

I hate funerals. I hate them even more when they’re for someone I haven’t spoken to in a decade.

The mountain air hits my lungs like a forgotten memory as I step out of my rental car. Pine Ridge hasn’t changed—the same sleepy main street, the same towering pines, the same judging eyes that follow me as I walk into the chapel.

My heels click against the pavement; too urban for this place.

I should have packed differently, but I never thought I’d be back here.

Not after that last fight with Dad. The one where I told him his precious mountains were a prison, and he told me I’d regret leaving.

Ten years later, we were both right in our own ways.

“Charlotte Adams.” The funeral director clasps my hands too tightly. His name escapes me, though I’m sure he expects me to remember. “Your father was a good man. A pillar of this community.”

Was he? I wouldn’t know. Robert Adams—celebrated environmentalist, town council member, and owner of the largest private nature preserve in the county—was a stranger to his only daughter for a third of her life.

I nod politely, though what I really want to do is ask exactly how a man falls from a hiking trail he’s walked for forty years.

The police report said it was an accident.

A misstep on loose rocks caused a tragic fall.

But my father never misstepped on those mountains.

Not once in all the years he dragged me along on his conservation missions.

The funeral director leads me to the front of the chapel, where a single rose lies on a cushioned seat in the first row. The daughter’s spot—a role I haven’t played since I was sixteen and Mom’s cancer took her, leaving me alone with a father who buried himself in work rather than grief.

The thought of my mother sends a familiar pang through my chest. She would have hated that version of Dad, and I wasted so many years in stubborn silence. She would have knocked our heads together and demanded we fix it.

Well, it’s too late now.

I take my seat, hyperaware of the whispers behind me—the prodigal daughter returns, summoned by her father’s money. I wonder how many of them know that Dad’s “fortune” is mainly tied up in land he refused to develop or sell. Land, that’s my problem now.

My phone buzzes in my purse. I shouldn’t check it, but it might be work. The environmental consulting firm I’ve spent years climbing the ranks in doesn’t stop for personal tragedies.

It’s not work. It’s Lily.

So sorry about Uncle Rob. Filming is running late. Call when you’re settled? Love you.

I type back a quick Will do before slipping my phone away.

Lily Blackwood, my childhood best friend, now starring in some crime show I’ve never watched, still calls my dad “Uncle Rob,” even though we haven’t been together since our high school graduation.

Her parents practically raised me after Mom died, and Dad retreated to his cabin and researched for months at a time.

The minister approaches the podium as the chapel fills. I recognize faces I haven’t seen in years. For a man who kept to himself, he had a surprisingly wide circle.

I glance around the crowded chapel, surprised by the turnout. Dad had money, sure—the Adams family owned half the mountain before he donated most of it to conservation—but I didn’t think he had friends. Not after he became obsessed with protecting the “delicate ecosystem” of Pine Ridge.

An ecosystem apparently worth more than attending his only child’s college graduation.

“Robert Adams loved these mountains more than anything,” the minister begins.

I fight the urge to snort. Yeah, more than anything. Including me.

The minister drones on about Dad’s contributions to the community.

The nature preserve he established—the endangered species research he funded.

The development deals he blocked. Somewhere in the eulogy is the father I knew before Mom died—the one who taught me to fish and track animals and respect the wilderness.

A commotion at the back doors makes everyone turn.

My heart stops.

Jake Blackwood stands in the doorway. Lily’s brother. My ex-everything.

He’s not the boy I left behind. This Jake is all man—broad shoulders stretching his dark suit, jaw sharper, eyes still that impossible blue. Ten years have been good to him. Unfairly good.

He’s not alone. Two men follow him in, flanking him like bodyguards. They move in sync with the same alertness that screams military.

Jake joined the Navy after attending community college and was accepted into an elite military unit. Special Forces or something equally impressive. Lily mentioned it during one of our sporadic catch-up calls. Jake followed his father’s military footsteps after all, despite swearing he never would.

Jake spots me and pauses mid-stride, just for a second. Long enough for something to pass between us that I don’t want to name. Just as quickly, he and his friends slip into a row near the back.

I turn back to the minister, though I feel Jake’s eyes on me throughout the service. I don’t turn around. I can’t. Dad deserves at least the pretense of my full attention.

The service passes in a blur of hymns Dad never sang and prayers he never said. Before I’m ready, people are standing, moving toward me with condolences on their lips.

“He was a great conservationist.”

“Pine Ridge won’t be the same without him.”

“He saved this town from becoming another tourist trap.”

I accept their words mechanically, names and faces blurring together.

“Charlotte.”

That voice. I’d know it anywhere. I look up, and there he is, towering over me. Jake.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” he says, his voice rough but sincere.

“Thanks,” I say, voice steadier than I feel.

“It’s been a while.” He shifts his weight, one hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous tic I remember too well.

A decade, yes. I suddenly find the pattern on the carpet fascinating.

“Charlotte.” He gestures to the two men beside him. “These are my friends. Noah Sullivan and Eli Rivers. We served together.”

The taller one—Noah—steps forward with a gentle smile—dirty blond hair, neat and short, intelligent gray-green eyes.

“Your father spoke highly of you when we met him.”

This surprises me. Dad talked about me? To strangers? I extend my hand, surprised when Noah takes it in both of his.

“And this is Eli.” Jake nods toward the other man.

Where Noah seems approachable, Eli is stone. He stands with his feet slightly apart, arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes looking through me rather than at me. He doesn’t offer his hand or any condolences. Just a curt nod.

“You knew my father?” I ask Noah, ignoring Eli’s dismissal.

The three men exchange glances. It’s Jake who answers.

“He contacted me about a month ago. Said he needed to talk about something important.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”

“He asked me not to.”

Before I can press further, the funeral director approaches to remind me about the graveside ceremony and the reception afterward.

“We should head out to the cemetery.” I gather my purse.

Jake nods. “We’ll drive you.”

“I have my rental,” I reply, already moving toward the aisle.

He doesn’t argue. “We’ll follow then.”

Something’s off. The concern in Jake’s eyes seems excessive. I glance at Noah and Eli, catching a look passing between them.

“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

The three exchange glances. It’s Noah who answers.

“Your father contacted Jake again a week before he passed. He was worried about something. He asked Jake to watch out for you if anything happened to him.”

My stomach drops. He was worried—worried enough to reach out to Jake after all these years.

Part of me wants to scream, demand why he didn’t come to me directly.

But another, quieter part... I can’t ignore the warmth curling low in my belly at the thought of Jake still being in my life, even tangentially.

“We’ll talk about this later, but I’m keeping my car.”

As I walk to my rental car, I feel their eyes on me. An hour back in Pine Ridge, and I’m already drowning in complications.

My father is dead from a hiking accident. My first love is back with mysterious warnings. His silent friend clearly despises me. And I’m about to inherit a house I never want to see again and land I don’t know what to do with.

I grip the steering wheel and breathe—one week. I’ll sort out Dad’s affairs, sell the house if I can, and be back in Chicago before anyone knows I’m gone. Whatever secrets my father was keeping—it’s not my problem.