Page 1 of Sunshine and the Grumpy Groundskeeper (The Callahans of Elk Ridge #1)

Chapter One

Daisy

" T his is it, Rascal. Our grand adventure begins here."

My tiny Yorkie mix gives me his signature unimpressed glance from the passenger seat, which honestly feels a bit judgmental coming from someone wearing a pink argyle sweater. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror of my car, adjusting the messy bun I'm trying to convince myself looks artistic rather than chaotic. The ribbon-festooned notebook on my dash catches my eye, filled with half-formed story ideas and character sketches that still don't feel quite right.

"Don't give me that look," I tell Rascal. "Mountain Laurel Lodge is exactly what we need. Fresh air, majestic views, adorable woodland creatures..." I trail off as a rather large deer bounds across the gravel drive ahead. "See? The universe agrees with me."

The lodge rises before us like something out of a fairy tale, all weathered wood and stacked stone, with morning mist still clinging to the mountains behind it. Pink mountain laurel blooms line the walkway, and rocking chairs dot the wraparound porch. It's perfect. Exactly the kind of place where a children's story about a brave little forest friend could come to life.

I grab my messenger bag, decorated with perhaps a few too many enamel pins of woodland creatures, and clip Rascal's leash to his harness. "Ready to be inspired?"

He sneezes, which I choose to take as enthusiasm.

The woman who greets us at the front desk has silver hair and kind eyes that crinkle when she smiles. "You must be Daisy Harper. I'm Evie Callahan. Welcome to Mountain Laurel Lodge."

"Thank you for having us." I hoist Rascal higher in my arms as he tries to investigate a potted plant. "I hope the pet policy is still in place?"

"Of course, dear. Though you might want to keep him close on the trails. We've had quite a few rabbit sightings lately."

My writer's brain immediately starts spinning tales about brave bunnies and their forest adventures. I fumble for my notebook, nearly dropping Rascal in the process. "That's actually perfect. I was hoping to do some trail walking today, you know, for research."

"Research?" Evie's eyes sparkle with interest as she hands me an old-fashioned key attached to a wooden tag.

"I'm writing a children's book." The words still feel strange in my mouth, like admitting to a dream I'm not quite sure I deserve. "About forest animals and friendship and..." I gesture vaguely at the stunning view outside. "All of this."

"How lovely." Evie's smile grows warmer. "The Maple Cabin should be perfect for you then. It's just past the activity center, with a lovely view of the wildlife trail."

An hour later, having changed into what I hope passes for hiking attire—leggings with tiny foxes printed on them, an oversized sweater, and the only boots I own that aren't strictly decorative—I stand at the trailhead with Rascal and my trusty notebook.

"Okay, buddy." I consult the trail map I grabbed from the welcome center. "We need to follow the blue blazes, whatever those are, and we'll end up at something called Eagle Point. Easy peasy."

Rascal tilts his head at me.

"Don't start. I've read three different hiking blogs this morning. Plus, we have snacks." I pat my bag. "And my phone has full bars. We're practically survivalists."

The trail starts out well-marked, winding through towering pines and patches of wildflowers that have me stopping every few feet to scribble notes. Rascal trots along happily, only occasionally getting tangled in his leash when particularly interesting leaves catch his attention.

It's when we reach the first fork that things get interesting.

"Blue blazes," I mutter, turning in a circle. "Blue blazes, blue blazes... Rascal, do you see any blue blazes?"

My dog is too busy investigating a fascinating clump of moss to offer an opinion.

I pull out my phone to check the trail map again, only to find the signal has apparently decided that two bars is more than enough for a city girl in the woods. The path to the left looks well-traveled, which seems promising. Or was it the right path we were supposed to take?

"Left," I decide firmly. "Adventure awaits to the left."

Twenty minutes and three more "definitely correct" turns later, I'm starting to think adventure might be overrated. The trees all look the same, the path has narrowed to barely more than a game trail, and I'm fairly certain we've passed that distinctive boulder at least twice.

"Okay, don't panic," I tell Rascal, who seems completely unbothered by our predicament. "This is like writing. Sometimes you have to get a little lost before you find the right story." I flip open my notebook, because if I'm going to be hopelessly lost in the woods, I might as well get some material out of it. "Picture it. A plucky young rabbit, searching for adventure, who meets a wise old something."

A twig snaps behind me.

I whirl around, nearly tripping over Rascal's leash, to find myself face to face with what can only be described as a mountain man. Tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing enough flannel to supply a lumberjack convention, he regards me with an expression that suggests I'm the strangest thing he's seen in these woods. Given the amount of mud on his boots, he's probably seen a lot.

"Oh! Hello." I wave my notebook like a makeshift white flag. "I don't suppose you know where the blue blazes went?"

He stares at me for a long moment, then at Rascal, who has naturally decided this intimidating stranger is his new best friend, and finally at my fox-printed leggings.

"You're about half a mile off the marked trail," he says finally, his voice rough like he doesn't use it often. "In the completely wrong direction."

"Ah." I try for a winning smile. "Would you believe I meant to do that? You know, for research purposes?"

One dark eyebrow lifts slightly. "Research?"

"I'm writing a children's book about forest animals and friendship and..." This explanation sounded much better in Evie's cozy lobby. "Never mind. I don't suppose you could point me back toward civilization?"

Instead of answering, he crouches down to scratch behind Rascal's ears. My traitor of a dog melts into the attention like he's found his soulmate. "Your dog's wearing a sweater," the stranger observes, and I swear I catch a hint of amusement in his tone.

"It's his adventure outfit," I defend. "And you're wearing enough flannel to upholster a couch, so maybe we shouldn't judge each other's fashion choices?"

That actually gets me something close to a smile. Just a quick quirk of his lips, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it. He straightens up, and I realize just how much he towers over me. "Come on, city girl. Trail is this way."

"I have a name, you know. It's Daisy."

He glances back at me, those hazel-green eyes unreadable. "Rowan."

"Like the tree?"

"Like the tree."

And just like that, I'm following a stranger through the woods, my dog prancing happily between us, while my writer's brain spins tales about grumpy forest guardians and lost travelers. Not exactly how I planned to start my great mountain adventure, but then again, the best stories never go according to plan.

"So," I venture, after five solid minutes of hiking in silence, "do you often rescue helpless city girls from certain doom, or am I special?"

Rowan glances back at me, expression caught somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement. "You weren't in danger. You were lost."

"That's debatable. I read this romance novel once where the heroine got lost in the woods and had to be saved by a mysterious mountain man who turned out to be?—"

"I'm not mysterious," he cuts in. "I work here."

"Aha!" I dodge a low-hanging branch he holds back for me. "So you're not a hermit living alone in a cabin, spurning society and nursing old wounds?"

He actually stops walking at that, turning to face me with those striking eyes. "What kind of books are you reading?"

"The good kind." I grin up at him, oddly delighted by the way his jaw ticks. "Though I have to say, you've got the whole brooding mountain man aesthetic down pat."

Rascal chooses this moment to tangle himself thoroughly around Rowan's legs, apparently trying to ensure his new favorite human can't escape. I bite back a laugh as Rowan carefully untangles the leash, his big hands surprisingly gentle with my ridiculous dog.

"Your dog needs training," he mutters.

"Rascal is perfectly trained. For the city." I watch as my dog immediately proves me wrong by trying to chase a squirrel, nearly faceplanting into a tree. "He's adapting."

"Like owner, like dog." Rowan catches me as I stumble over a root, his hand warm and steady on my elbow. He quickly lets go, but I can still feel the imprint of his touch. "You do know those aren't hiking boots, right?"

I glance down at my boots, which okay, might be more fashion than function. "They're boots! They're boot-shaped."

He makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be a sigh of despair. "You shouldn't be out here alone. These trails aren't for beginners."

"I had Rascal."

"Your sweater-wearing dog who's currently trying to befriend a chipmunk?"

Sure enough, Rascal has his nose pressed to a hollow log, tail wagging furiously. I scribble quickly in my notebook. Brave forest friend makes unexpected allies...

"Are you taking notes?" Rowan sounds incredulous.

"Research, remember? This is perfect material. The grumpy forest guardian helping the lost traveler find her way..."

"I'm not—" He cuts himself off, running a hand through his already disheveled dark hair. "You need proper gear. And a real trail map. And maybe a basic understanding of wilderness survival that doesn't come from romance novels."

"Are you offering to teach me?" The words slip out before I can stop them, and I swear I see a flush creep up his neck.

"No," he says firmly, but there's something in his voice that makes me think he's trying to convince himself as much as me. "I'm telling you to stick to the marked trails. Near the lodge. With other people. There are group hikes."

We emerge from the trees near my cabin, and I'm almost disappointed our adventure is ending. "But then how would I get my research done? My editor's expecting a story about forest friends and woodland magic."

"Find a different story." He whistles sharply, and Rascal bounds over like he's been doing it his whole life. Traitor.

"Can't. The woods are part of me now." I spread my arms wide, spinning in a little circle. "I've been transformed by my near-death experience?—"

"You were half a mile from the lodge."

"—and now I must commune with nature to complete my artistic vision."

He hands me Rascal's leash, and I try not to notice how his calloused fingers brush against mine. "Please don't commune with nature without a guide."

"That sounds like an offer to me, Mr. Mysterious Mountain Man."

"It's a warning." But there's that ghost of a smile again, gone so quick I almost miss it. "And it's Rowan."

"Well, Rowan," I hug my notebook to my chest, feeling oddly bold, "thanks for the rescue. Even if you're not the reclusive hero of a romance novel."

He shakes his head, already turning to leave. "Stay on the marked trails, Daisy."

I watch him disappear back into the trees, his flannel shirt fading into the shadows of the forest. Rascal whines at his departure, and I scratch behind his ears consolingly.

"I know, buddy. But look on the bright side." I open my notebook, already filling with ideas. "I think we just found our story's grumpy forest guardian."