Page 1 of Summer with the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Summer #16)
Chapter One
Riley
“Plan C,” I murmur, taking in the little village on the other side of the grimy window the bus has delivered me to.
Plan A had been to van-life around Australia for six months with Hugh, my friend and fellow computer science graduate, who’d hinted enough times we were destined to be together I thought I was in love with him.
Plan B, lasting a mammoth twenty minutes, involved my desperate hope his sudden return to Minnesota—two days after arriving in the country—was nothing more than an elaborate prank. But no. Apparently, his girlfriend—who I had no idea even existed —was four months pregnant! Jerk!
Plan C involved me finding whatever income I could after said jerk sold the van to buy his plane ticket back to the US. No way in hell was I going back with him. I might be heartbroken, but I’m not stupid.
Which brings me to the tiny town of Hartley Ridge, ninety minutes west of Sydney, high up in a region called the Blue Mountains.
The bus rumbles to a halt opposite an empty park, the swings and slide devoid of movement.
I’m not surprised. It’s the middle of the day, and it’s so freaking hot outside that even the inside of the air-conditioned bus feels like a furnace.
No one in their right mind would bring their kids out to play today.
“This is you,” the driver calls over his shoulder as the door clunks open.
Hooking my backpack over my shoulder, I stand. “Bye, everyone,” I chuckle to the empty seats around me. It seems Hartley Ridge isn’t a high-destination location in Australia.
Maybe that’s why I got the house-sitting job so easily?
Heat blasts into the bus as the door opens, and I suck in a breath, my heart pounding.
Five days ago, I was in Minnesota. There was snow everywhere, and I was ready to begin what I thought would be an adventure worthy of a rom-com, the Netflix kind where the hero and heroine are secretly in love with each other but won’t admit it.
Four hours ago, I was standing on a sidewalk in Sydney, dumbstruck and alone, without anywhere to stay or anything to drive.
And now I’m here.
“You okay, miss?” Concern laces the driver’s voice, and I realize I’m hovering at the open door, gripping my backpack’s strap like it’s a lifeline and I’m a clueless astronaut about to launch myself into open space.
“Yeah.” I give myself a shake. “Just acclimatizing. Sorry.”
He snorts. “You’ve come to Australia during one of the worst heatwaves in history. No one’s acclimatized to that, not even the locals. Make sure you drink lots of water and stay out of the sun as much as you can.”
Tears prickle the backs of my eyes. Since Hugh abandoned me, I’ve refused to cry.
I’m a computer engineer, after all, having just graduated from the University of Minnesota.
I don’t cry. I find answers, solutions. But the bus driver, who didn’t utter a word for the whole ninety-minute trip, just managed to punch me in the heart.
“I will,” I croak with a smile. “Thanks.”
I step out of the bus into an oven. Heat bakes up from the sidewalk through the soles of my Vans.
“Definitely not in Minnesota anymore, Toto,” I murmur. I don’t have a Toto. Dogs weren’t allowed on campus, but my plan is to adopt a rescue mutt, a big one rejected by everyone else, on returning to the US. After getting a job, that is. And a place to live.
Hugh always laughed at that plan. One more red flag I clearly missed.
With a hiss of airbrakes, the bus trundles away, revealing the street on the opposite side of the park. There’s a small library, a vet clinic, what looks like an art and craft gallery, a fire station, and a café called Ranger’s Brew.
The café is my destination. The owners of the house I’m sitting for have left the house and car keys with the café owner, along with a list of instructions.
Movement beside the café catches my eye. The fire station roller door is opening. Two men—firefighters?—duck out from underneath it as it rises, shouting something I can’t hear to a tall man striding along the sidewalk toward them.
His impressive frame is wrapped in faded denim jeans and a snug blue T-shirt, his shoulders are broad, and his legs are long. He’s clutching a black jacket in one hand, and a cherry-red motorbike helmet swings from the other.
A tight ribbon of appreciation unfurls through me. If nothing else, Hartley Ridge has some fine-looking members of the male species.
Dragging my gaze from the man—damn, he’s fine—I cross the park. By the time I enter the café, all three of the men have disappeared into the station house.
Ignoring the whisper of disappointment at not seeing the man with the helmet up close, I smile at the elderly woman behind the counter.
“Hi. I’m Riley Diaz. I’m house sitting the Whitmores’ place while they’re away. They told me they left keys and instructions for me here?”
The woman squints. “Do you have ID?”
I pull out my passport and driver’s license and show them to her.
She studies me. “American, are you?”
Gee, what gave it away? I smile wider. “I am. Born and bred. This is my first time in Australia.”
“Make sure you wear a hat when you’re outside,” she says, plonking a set of keys and an envelope on the counter. “And stay hydrated. And don’t walk around outside in the evening without shoes on. It’s funnel-web mating season, and those bastards are on the hunt for some action.”
I blink.
“Oh, and watch out for snakes.”
“Umm…” What have I got myself into?
She taps the keys. “The Whitmores left their paddock basher for you to drive. It’s parked around the corner. The number plate is HQT-42A. You can’t miss it.”
“Their what?”
“Ute.” She frowns. “Like a pickup, just…not.”
Oh, that completely clears it up. Maybe this was a bad idea. I’m not scared of trying new things, but I’m already feeling like I’m in a different world. Will I be able to survive the culture shock?
Stop it. Suck it up, buttercup. You’ve got this.
The elderly woman purses her lips. “Why don’t I make you a flat white and then draw you a mud map, show you how to get up there?”
A what? And a what ?
She narrows her eyes at me. “You do know how to drive a manual, right?”
Oh hell, I’m in trouble.