Table of Contents
Chapter One - Mia
Chapter Two - Jacob
Chapter Three - Mia
Chapter Four - Jacob
Chapter Five - Mia
Chapter Six - Jacob
Chapter Seven - Mia
Chapter Eight - Jacob
Chapter Nine - Mia
Chapter Ten - Jacob
Chapter Eleven - Mia
Chapter Twelve - Jacob
Chapter Thirteen - Mia
Chapter Fourteen - Jacob
Chapter Fifteen - Mia
Chapter Sixteen - Jacob
Chapter Seventeen - Mia
Chapter Eighteen - Jacob
Chapter Nineteen - Mia
Chapter Twenty - Jacob
Chapter Twenty-One - Mia
Epilogue - Jacob
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Hungry Mountain Man
By: Charlize Starr
Table of Contents
Chapter One - Mia
Chapter Two - Jacob
Chapter Three - Mia
Chapter Four - Jacob
Chapter Five - Mia
Chapter Six - Jacob
Chapter Seven - Mia
Chapter Eight - Jacob
Chapter Nine - Mia
Chapter Ten - Jacob
Chapter Eleven - Mia
Chapter Twelve - Jacob
Chapter Thirteen - Mia
Chapter Fourteen - Jacob
Chapter Fifteen - Mia
Chapter Sixteen - Jacob
Chapter Seventeen - Mia
Chapter Eighteen - Jacob
Chapter Nineteen - Mia
Chapter Twenty - Jacob
Chapter Twenty-One - Mia
Epilogue - Jacob
Specially Selected Bonus Content
Doctor's Fake Fiancée
The Boss's Secret Baby
The Rich Cowboy's Baby
Daddy's Bad Friend
Hungry Cowboy
Hit by the Football Player
Daddy's Big Friend
The Mobster's Secret Baby
Daddy's Bossy Friend
Shattered Daddy
About Charlize Starr
Selected Other Books by Charlize Starr
Join the Heartbeat Reads Readers Club now if you want to receive 3 EXCLUSIVE hot contemporary romance short stories for FREE and get notifications of new releases and promotions.
Chapter One - Mia
There is something in the mountain air that makes me feel alive.
I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it thrumming through my entire body. I’ve never been much of a morning person, but today I bounded out of bed fifteen minutes before my alarm in a rush to get a head start on my new life. Now, walking down Main Street, it feels as though every step I take is toward somewhere grand and exciting.
It’s just like I remember it – the air and the whole vibe of the town. I haven’t been to this quaint mountain town since I was in middle school when I’d had the most wonderful vacation with my grandparents. They’d loved this little town their whole lives. They even got married here. My grandma’s parents had never approved of their relationship, so the summer after graduation, they ran away and eloped in one of the small chapels here. They visited every summer as adults, too, celebrating their anniversary in a cabin up in the hills overlooking the town. I remember driving in with them that summer, hearing that same story I’d heard them tell a hundred times before through a completely different perspective as I experienced this town for the first time myself.
My grandma died the winter after that trip. Sometimes I think she knew the end was near and wanted me to see this place with her before she passed. Grandpa never could bring himself to come back here without her. The whole town still holds a sort of magic for me because of it all. Being here feels romantic, even if I’m all alone, because of the way their stories make everything come to life. I’ve wanted a love like theirs my entire life, and this town makes me feel closer to them – makes their memory come alive for me.
My friends hadn’t understood me when I said I was leaving. They understood it even less when I said I was moving up to the mountains. But lately, I’d been feeling called here. Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just boredom. Either way, I wanted to find out why. I’d been spinning my wheels at work for the past two years, feeling worse with every day more tedious than the last.
I’d always imagined that working in advertising was going to be glamorous and exciting. I’d wanted to design luxurious campaigns for travel, jewelry, fine dining, or fashion. I thought that it’d be a great way to find new brands and products worth trying out for myself – things I could feel good passing onto customers. Instead, I’d ended up with dry frozen dinners, boring cleaning products, and medical supplies shoved off on hypochondriacs who probably didn’t even need them. It was all taking its toll on me. My last few projects were terrible, sloppy, and poorly done, and I’d known it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to put my heart into something I didn’t care about. So, standing there in my boss’s office, getting lectured and nodding in all the right places, I’d made my decision.
Instead of promising to put out better work that aligned with my previous standards, I’d quit right there on the spot.
I knew I couldn’t actually do better work – couldn’t put my all effort and passion into yet another ad for the same old tin of cat food – so I’d given my boss my two weeks’ notice right there in his office. I left the city behind and headed for this small town, feeling like what I needed was a drastic change of surroundings. I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours yet, and it’s already turned out better than I’d hoped, at least so far.
The space I rented over the phone is great. It’s an entire one-bedroom house for less than the price of the cramped studio apartment I was renting in the city, all charming and old-fashioned with cute wallpaper and a view of the mountains and a little front porch to sit on and relax. I’m in love with it already. And everywhere I go, the town itself seems alive, even now in the stillness of this early morning. I smile walking past every window, taking in all the little businesses and storefronts I hope get to know inside and out and all the shop owners I can’t wait to make friends with. I’ve got the most delicious cup of coffee from a little diner down the road where I’d also had a warm, gooey cinnamon muffin and watched patrons and locals eating before they headed to work. The waitress had told me that my bottomless coffee refills included a complimentary to-go pour, something I can’t imagine happening in the city. It’s still warm and comforting in my hand as I make my way through town.
I pause outside an old-fashioned chocolate shop, noticing the small sign in the window announcing that they’re hiring.
My grandma had loved making chocolates. Some of my happiest memories are of standing in the kitchen with her, talking about my day at school or hearing stories from her youth while stirring that hot, sweet-smelling liquid before pouring it into little candy molds or dipping fruit or nuts into it. Working in a quaint little shop like this might be a great way to capture a little bit of that feeling again. I think I could be passionate about making chocolate if I could prepare it with all the love and care my grandma put into making it with me. Maybe seeing the look on my customers’ faces when they take their first bite, giving my seal of approval to a product I can say with all honesty that I’d recommend, is the missing ingredient
from my work in advertising. I see that the shop opens in an hour, so I decide to head up to the small library in town to print out my resume. I hope I’ll be able to catch the owner this morning and get the details of my new life all sorted on my first day here.
I turn back around from the shop window and proceed to collide squarely with something tall and sturdy.
Or, rather, someone tall and sturdy.
A man – an attractive man who is now wearing my coffee on his shirt and whose arm I’ve grabbed instinctively for support – is frowning down at me.
“Oh, crap!” I blurt, regaining my balance. The man in front of me is ruggedly handsome with broad shoulders and serious sort of face. He’s carrying a paper bag filled with groceries, and though he’d put up an arm to catch my fall, he doesn’t look happy about it. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were there.”
“Watch where you’re going,” he says, scowling down at the coffee spill on his shirt. I scoff a little at that. He could have just as easily avoided me. He could have stepped aside.
“I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone,” I say, crossing my arms. “The sidewalks have been so empty this morning.”
“Then maybe you should pay attention next time,” he says. His voice is rough and gravelly – as if he doesn’t use it much. I can’t help but think, Well, maybe if you’re this much of a jerk to everyone, then it makes sense. No one would want to talk to you. I feel my blood start to boil but shake my head, dismissing it. I’ve always had trouble backing down from a fight, so I have to consciously remind myself it’s not worth it to get into it with a stranger over something so trivial as coffee.
“Let me pay for that,” I say, reaching for my purse to dig out a pen and paper.
“Pay for what?” he asks, and his forehead wrinkled in confusion. It would be attractive if he weren’t still looking at me like I’d greatly inconvenienced him. Like somehow I’m the one being rude here.
“Your shirt,” I say, clicking my pen open. “Send me your dry-cleaning bill.”
“My dry-cleaning bill,” he repeats as if I’ve said something foolish. Really, what is this man’s problem? “I made the coffee stain, so I can
pay to get it out. Then we’ll be even,” I say. I write my name and number down on a sticky note and hand it to him. “I’m Mia,” I add, sticking the paper onto a carton of eggs sticking out of his grocery bag when he doesn’t take it from my hand.
“Jacob,” he says in a mutter that sounds more like a grunt. I frown again. No ‘thank you.’ No ‘you really don’t need to do that.’ No ‘well, then, nice to meet you, Mia.’ Nothing. Everyone else I’ve met so far in this town has been so sweet, so pleasant, like when I was a child, but this Jacob seems to have no manners at all.
“Well, Jacob,” I say, putting an extra sickeningly-sweet note of cheer in my voice just to spite him. “Give me a call about the bill, will you?”
He doesn’t respond again, and I’m tempted to really give him a piece of my mind about it all. But I look back at the chocolate shop window, getting a whiff of something sweet from inside, and I try to make my anger melt away with it. Don’t let some random grouchy man ruin your day, Mia, I tell myself. He’s just not worth it. I’m better than that, I remind myself. After all, I have so many more important things to focus on about my day than a man like him.
Chapter Two - Jacob
I’m being a colossal ass and I know it.
This woman probably thinks I hate her, or that I honestly care that much about this shirt, or that I frequently snap at strangers on the street. It’s not any of that. I don’t even mean to yell at her – I just don’t want to be stopped here on Main Street for any longer than I have to be. The longer I’m here, standing on this sidewalk, the more likely I am to be seen – to be discovered. The whole reason I get groceries this early in the morning is to avoid situations like this. I’ve perfectly planned these rare trips into town every few weeks to occur at the least crowded possible time.
And because of that, there is now coffee dripping down my shirt and a very pretty woman is looking at me as if she’d like to have a conversation, and all I can think about is getting back up to my cabin before I’m spotted. I know I should offer her more of an explanation, this Mia. I know I should say it’s not a big deal. I should say it was my fault too, or I should offer to buy her another coffee. But I don’t say any of that. I don’t even give her the courtesy to tell her the dry-cleaning offer is kind but unnecessary.
“Well, Jacob,” Mia says, looking at me expectantly, “Give me a call about the bill.” It looks like it’s an effort to bite her tongue, to physically hold herself back from yelling at me, and I can’t say I blame her. I look at my grocery bag, at the slip of paper that’s affixed to it with her number on it, and then back down at my coffee-stained shirt.
The last time I got anything dry cleaned, my life was completely different than it is now. I used to have clothes sent out without a second thought, sometimes with no thought at all because assistants would handle it all for me. Clean, pressed, expensive designer clothes used to fill my closets. I’d never had much use for most of them: the personally-tailored blazers sent by companies hoping to do business with us, the leather shoes sent hoping I’d tell a magazine interviewer where I’d gotten them. Still, the constant supply of clean, fresh goods had been something I’d taken for granted.
But I suppose it’s amazing what you can learn to do without after several attempts on your life.
The last thing I have time to do right now, all things considered, is stand on this street corner and tell Mia all about how, actually, I don’t need her dry-cleaning offer because I wash all my own clothes with a fifty-year-old washing machine I’d spent a week repairing back to working order all by myself. I don’t have time to explain anything at all about my situation to her. Not that I owe her anything. She’s a complete stranger, and one random stranger thinking I’m rude is better than my hideout being found. I consider just walking off, just turning around and ending this conversation, but –
But.
There is something in Mia’s face, a sparkle in her eye and the prodding, slightly disappointed look she’s giving me behind her frustration, that makes me unable to do so. There is something about her that makes me miss my old life all at once in a rush – or at least the freedom it granted to ask out a beautiful woman whenever I saw one. To get her number for so many reasons that aren’t related to dry cleaning.
I pull the slip out of my grocery bag and slide it into the pocket of my jeans. “Right,” I say, nodding. It’s not much better than turning away, but it’s something.
She gives me an annoyed face and sighs. “Well, I’m sure you need to get those groceries home and get that shirt off,” Mia says curtly, “and I happen to have a busy day of my own to get back to.”
“Yeah,” I agree. I always used to be told I talked a lot – that I had a habit of telling rambling, drawn-out stories, that I loved to argue a point or engage in debate even a little too much. I guess I’m out of practice now. Or maybe I’ve just never been as good at the in-betweens, everything I say being either single-word answers or inappropriately wordy thoughts. Either way, it makes Mia narrow her eyes at me.
“Goodbye,” she says in a huff, turning and walking away from me before I can say anything else as if she’s not expecting me to. She’s probably right about that. I watch her for a few seconds and then start on my way back up to my cabin.
My eyes dart around as I walk, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. I walk quickly, but not quickly enough to attract attention. Coming into town is always a risk, and this morning proves it. I’m not sure how to get around it, but I’m unsettled about it every time I do, holding my breath around every corner until I make it back up to my cabin and lock the door behind me.
I’m not sure if being here is safe, even. If I’ve made the right choice making this place my hideout. I’ve got to be careful with everything that I do – even something as simple as r
unning out for groceries.
If I’m not careful… If I’m found out, it could cost me everything. It could cost me my life.
Chapter Three - Mia
It takes several nickels and a little fighting with the paper feed on the old printer in the library, but I get my resume printed and head back to the chocolate shop just after they open. I’m still determined to make this day a new start for my life, even if my run-in with that awful Jacob is still playing on loop in my memory. I can’t get his terrible attitude out of my head. I’ve known all sorts of men in the city, but I don’t know what sort of person behaves that way toward a complete stranger. What sort of man is that rude to a woman in a way that isn’t connected to sleazy pickup lines while trying to buy you a drink at the bar or not calling you about a second date?
I hate that I can’t get his handsome face out of my head, either. I hate that a small part of me keeps thinking, in spite of everything, that he was the kind of attractive man I wouldn’t say no to if he tried to buy me a drink. If he’d been nicer if I’d met him under different circumstances.
I know I should let it go, but it’s all still bothering me as I put on my best smile and step into the chocolate shop.
“Hello there,” I call to the man behind the counter. “I’d like to talk to the owner about the job opening.”
“That would be me,” the older gentleman says with a smile, stepping out to shake my hand. He’s got a red apron tied around his waist, and his eyes look warm and kind.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, shaking his hand. “I’m Mia.”
“Well, well. Lovely to meet you, Mia,” he says. “You can call me Martin.”
“Do you have time to talk now?” I say, smiling. “I brought my resume along with me.” The shop smells amazing, like warm, buttery chocolate and roasting candied nuts.
“Now should work, I reckon,” Martin says, reaching for the resume I hand him and scanning over it. “Are you new in town, dear?”
Hungry Mountain Man Page 1
