by Rye Hart
Copyright © 2016 Rye Hart - All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.
Rock Hard Mountain Man
A Billionaire And A Virgin Romance
By: Rye Hart
Table of Contents
Rock Hard Mountain Man
Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Collection
Regency Romance Collection
Exclusive Bad Boy Romance: Heart Off Limits
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Rock Hard Mountain Man
A Billionaire and a Virgin Romance
CHAPTER ONE: MAGGIE DEAN
I hated going to the mailbox. Nothing good ever came in the mail addressed to me. Some days the box was just crammed full of junk mail that I could toss in the trash without ever opening. I loved those days. I longed for them.
Then there are days like today; the first few days after the first of the month. The days when most of our bills came and I was reminded how close to the poverty line we really lived.
Today was November 3rd, so I knew even before I opened the mailbox flap what would be waiting for me on the inside. I wished I could have just ignored the mail altogether. I mean, would it be so bad for me to miss a payment or two? Really? Give a girl a break, will you Citibank and Capitol One and Wells Fargo? You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip and you can’t squeeze money out of Maggie Dean.
Then I remembered that I was already ninety days behind on the things that I could let skate a month or two or three. The credit card people loved it when you let the balance float ninety days past due. I was paying more in late fees and interest that in principal.
Hard to believe that five dollar McDonald’s lunch that I charged to my credit card will cost me a hundred bucks or more before I get it paid off.
That’s how economics work in Maggie’s world.
Oh well. There was no need to prolong the pain any further. “Rip that Band-Aid off”, as my mom would say. I took a deep breath and opened the mailbox.
Stacked neatly inside the box was the gas bill, the phone bill, the electric bill, three credit card statements, and three threatening letters from the same credit card companies letting me know that I was ninety days behind.
No shit, Sherlock.
The hole I kept digging every month just kept getting deeper.
Gee, thanks for the reminders, guys. I mean, I had no idea I hadn’t made a payment in three months. Tell you what, let’s trade places for a week and see how you do in my shoes because I’m doing the best I can, but obviously, it isn’t good enough.
I’m one straw away from breaking the camel’s back.
And when that happens… shit, I don’t know what I’ll do.
The one bright spot of this morning’s trip to the mailbox was the thick pack of coupons at the bottom of the stack.
I tucked the bills under my arm and tore into the coupons as I walked back up the gravel drive to the house I shared with my best friend and cousin, Jackie, and my two younger brothers. Coupons were a necessity of life in Maggie’s world.
When you’re a college dropout, a chef-in-training, and a full-time replacement mom to two brothers, you need to save every penny you can.
If Jackie didn’t live with us to help cover the bills, this ship would have sunk months ago. That’s what my life felt like most days; like I was standing on the deck of the Titanic, watching the last of the lifeboats drift away, knowing there was nothing I could do but hold my breath until I finally went under.
Damn you, Rose, there was room on that door for Jack, too, you selfish bitch.
I made a grocery list in my head as I looked over the buy-one-get-one-free offers from the FoodMart.
We were almost out of milk (we were ALWAYS almost out of milk).
We needed bread, eggs, cereal, apple juice, fruit, frozen pizzas, laundry detergent; the list went on and on. How do four people consume so much? I suppose I shouldn’t be too shocked, given that two of those people are fifteen and seventeen-year-old boys.
We were constantly almost out of everything at the Dean house.
Jackie often said our last name should have been Hubbard because our cupboards were always bare. That would make me Old Mother Hubbard I suppose.
No thanks. That’s a title I do not want or need.
Although my current title wasn’t much better.
Hi America, I’m Maggie Dean, Queen of the tough breaks. I’m 24-years-old and I work as a chef-in-training at a small family restaurant in Mountain View, Colorado.
I love to cook, but had to drop out of culinary school when my mom died of cancer last year to take care of my younger brothers: Jimmy, fifteen, and Robbie, seventeen. They spend most of their time pushing my buttons and screaming things like “I hate you!” and “You’re not my mom!”
Okay, they aren’t total monsters all the time. Jimmy is a smart kid who works hard to keep his grades up and Robbie has a gig delivering pizzas at night and on the weekends. He puts most of his pay into the family kitty to help cover the bills. They’re good boys, they’re just in a lousy situation.
Oh, sorry, back to me…
My likes are quiet moments alone, having enough money in the bank account to cover the rent, and long walks on mountain trails where nobody is screaming my name or telling me how much they hate my guts.
My dislikes are pretty much everything else in my life.
Oh, and I’m a virgin… so, yeah, there’s that.
Thank you, America. Good night.
* * *
The tip of my nose was nearly frozen by the time I walked across the rickety front porch attached to our rickety house and made it inside. Even with the front door closed, I could feel the icy winter wind blowing through the cracks around the doorframe.
I picked up the heavy blanket that I tacked over the door to keep the wind out. I had to stand on my tiptoes to hold the blanket up and secure it to the doorframe with push pins. I built callouses on my thumbs every winter from pressing push pins into the walls trying to keep Old Man Winter out.
Jackie was sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. There was a cigarette burning in the ashtray in front of her and a cup of coffee sitting under her nose. She was breathing in the strong aroma and letting the steam warm her face.
It was cold as fuck in the house because our heat only worked when it felt like it. I kept saying that we needed to get it fixed, but the money was never there. One more time, welco
me to Maggie’s world.
“Long night?” I asked, dropping the mail on the table and refilling my coffee cup. It was a little past eight in the morning. I’d been up since six, prying my brothers out of bed and getting them off to school.
I didn’t really have to ask the question. I could tell by looking at her that she’d had a long night. Jackie worked as a waitress at The Classic Cat, a strip joint on the edge of town that was open 24/7. She worked third shift, so she’d just gotten home about the time the boys were leaving for school.
“Three bachelor parties last night,” she said, staring at me from under her hands. “I’ve never been groped so much in my life.” She nodded at the wad of crumpled one dollar bills she had dropped on the table. “Tips were good though. Maybe now we can get some heat up in this place.”
I gave her a smile and sipped my coffee as I let my eyes wander over her face. Jackie wasn’t much older than me, but life was weighing heavily on her. She had dark curly hair and a pretty, round face. She was full-figured, with big boobs that poured out of the bikini top and a big ass that barely fit into the short-shorts she had to wear to work.
I always made her wear a coat when she got home and the boys were here. I know how teenage boys think and I’m pretty sure cousin Jackie was the star of most of their wet dreams.
Jackie’s ex had beaten the shit out of her one night about six months ago and she showed up on my doorstep. Thank God, she never left. She kicked in money for bills and helped wrangle the boys. If she wasn’t here, I don’t know what I would have done.
“You need to spend some of this on yourself,” I said as I took the dollar bills and smoothed them out on the table with the back of my hand.
“There is nothing I need,” she said with a tired smile. “Other than a good night’s sleep and a good long fuck.”
“You’re terrible,” I said, frowning and smiling at the same time.
“And you need to get your cherry popped,” she shot back. “Come to the club tonight. I’ll get you laid and paid before happy hour is through.”
“Uh, thanks, but I’m going to pass.”
“Okay, but don’t say I never offered to help.”
“If I ever need help getting my cherry popped, Jackie Dean, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“Well that’s depressing,” she said with a tired smile. She picked up the cigarette and took a long drag off it, then waved the smoke away. She nodded at the stack of mail on the table.
“Anything from Publisher’s Clearing House in there? Please tell me we’re millionaires so I don’t have to serve drinks to douchebags anymore.”
“Afraid not this month,” I sighed.
“Too bad.” She took a slurp of coffee and licked her lips. “How are things at the restaurant?”
The restaurant Jackie was referring to was Robert’s Steak House. It was a local, family restaurant in downtown Mountain View owned by Carl and Doris Roberts. They had been my mom and dad’s best friends when they were alive. They took me and the boys under their wing and helped us when they could, but they weren’t rich, and every dime they had was tied up in the restaurant.
When I had to drop out of culinary school in Denver to come home after mom died, they gave me a job as a chef-in-training at the restaurant. It was just a fancy title for kitchen helper. It was hard work and long hours and shit pay, but I was working in an industry I loved and hopefully someday I would have a restaurant of my own. That was my dream anyway. I was pretty sure that would never happen, but I had to have some bright light at the end of the tunnel that hopefully wasn’t a train for once.
“The restaurant is good,” I said with a nod. “Business seems to be down, but Carl and Doris don’t seem too concerned.”
Jackie picked up her coffee cup and eyed me from over the top. “Have they said anything about selling out?”
I blinked at her. “No, why do you ask?”
Her round shoulders went up and down. “The rumor floating around the club is that some big company is trying to buy that entire city block where the restaurant sits so they can tear it down and build a hotel or something. The City Council is going to vote on it next month. Something about imminent domain, where the fucking city can just take the property and sell it to someone else if they think it will increase the tax base.”
“Such big words,” I said with a smile.
“Yeah, well, Ted likes to talk while I’m blowing him in the back of his car,” Jackie said wryly.
I smiled at her. Ted Reed was the married City Council President who frequented the club and screwed Jackie whenever his wife was out of town. Jackie didn’t know the difference between imminent domain and a Dunkin Donuts, but I did. I’d paid attention in high school government class while Jackie was off having sex with the captain of the football team.
“Did Ted say the name of the company that wants the property?” I asked.
She stubbed out the cigarette and shook her head. “Nope. Oh, shit, I almost forgot.” Her purse was on the table and she pulled it into her lap and rummaged a hand around the inside. She handed me a bent business card.
The card read: Charlie Prescott, Executive Vice President, Jenner Investment Group, Denver, Colorado.
I held up the card. “Who’s this and why should I care?”
“This guy came into the club last night with Tyler Jenner.” She paused for my reaction. I didn’t have a clue who she was talking about, so she held up her hands and swirled them in the air. “Tyler Jenner? Billionaire mountain man? Lots of muscles, long beard, shit loads of money? Just built that huge fucking log cabin on the side of the mountain west of town?”
“Okay, so?”
“Jesus girl, you’ve got to get out from under your rock,” she said, huffing at me. “Charlie Prescott is Tyler Jenner’s right hand man. They were both in the club last night and I heard them talking about staffing up the house he just built.”
I bit into my lip to keep from smiling at her. I swirled my hands in the air to match hers. “So, you were eavesdropping on them as you served them drinks?”
She made a funny face. “Do you wanna hear this or not?”
I hid my smile behind my coffee cup and gave her a nod.
“Anyway, I heard this Charlie guy say that they needed to find a local chef to work at the house or they would have to fly somebody in from Denver.”
“A chef?” I said, leaning in as if the word was drawing me across the table.
Jackie gave me a satisfied smile. “I happened to mention that my best friend and cousin Mags was a local chef who had gone to culinary school in Denver and might be interested in the gig.”
I felt my heart sink. “Jacks, I went to school for six months. I barely got past boiling water.” I sat back in the chair and felt the fleeting moment of hope fly away.
Jackie narrowed her dark eyes at me. “You can grill a steak and bake a potato, can’t you?”
“Of course.”
“That’s probably all this mountain man eats,” she said. “Look, you can follow directions in a cookbook, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
She gave me a satisfied smile. “Good, because you have an interview this morning at eleven.”
My mouth literally dropped open and my eyes blinked like a slot machine. “What? Are you serious? I can’t interview for a job like that. Oh, shit, Jackie, what have you done?”
“I’ve gotten you the interview that could change your life,” she said seriously. “All you have to do is say ‘yes’ when he asks if you can cook something.” She smirked at me. “Trust me, if he ain’t impressed with your cooking, he’ll be knocked out by your boobs. Wear something tight. I’ll pick it out for you.”
“I’m not going to do that,” I said, giving her a scolding look. “If I can’t get the job on my cooking skills…”
“You’ll do fine, Mags,” she said. “Just be yourself. Everybody loves you. All you have to do is get the job, then you can figure out how to do it.”
“I don’t know, Jacks,” I stared at the business card in my hand.
Jackie reached across the table and put a hand on my arm. “Mags, people like us don’t get too many chances at grabbing the brass ring. This is your chance. You can do this. I know you can.”
I smiled at her. Jackie was always my biggest cheerleader.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go.”
“Good,” she said, squeezing my arm. “And Mags?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t fuck this up.”
CHAPTER TWO: TYLER JENNER
I always meditated for thirty minutes in the morning, no matter where I was or what I was doing. It was my way of reconnecting with a higher sense of my internal self and realigning my psyche with the nature and the cosmos. It was like fucking oxygen for me.
I would find a quiet place where I could strip off all my clothes and be stark-naked and alone, then spend the next thirty minutes just breathing and thinking of absolutely nothing.
It was hard to clear my mind sometimes. Especially now that my outdoor sporting goods company had shot into the stratosphere and made me a billionaire at age thirty-five.
Shit, I just wanted to sell hunting and camping equipment like my dad did out of his little shop in Denver before he died. Now, Jenner Outdoor has become one of the largest conglomerates in the world.
Jenner Investment Group, the parent company, not only had major holdings in retail, but also in tourism, real estate, hotels, travel, communications, and technology.
I didn’t understand half the shit we did anymore.
I just let my right-hand man Charlie Prescott handle the business side of things so the money would keep flowing into my bank account and I could hang out in the woods doing what I loved; hunting, trapping, fishing, traveling, and fucking – and not necessarily in that order.
I stood on the balcony off of the master bedroom of the log cabin that I had built on the side of a mountain overlooking the tiny town of Mountain View, Colorado. I spread my legs and stretched my arms toward the clear blue morning sky. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly as I brought my arms down in an arc to my sides, then inhaled deeply as my arms swept up again.
