Mountain Man’s Valentine
Lauren Milson
Contents
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Mountain Man’s Valentine
1. Valoria
2. Cole
3. Valoria
4. Cole
5. Valoria
6. Cole
7. Valoria
8. Cole
9. Valoria
10. Cole
11. Valoria
12. Cole
13. Valoria
Epilogue
Private Client
1. Julie
2. Dan
3. Julie
4. Dan
5. Julie
6. Dan
7. Julie
8. Julie
9. Dan
10. Julie
11. Dan
12. Julie
13. Dan
14. Julie
15. Dan
16. Julie
17. Dan
18. Julie
Epilogue
Touch
1. Caleb
2. Ava
3. Caleb
4. Ava
5. Caleb
6. Ava
7. Caleb
8. Ava
9. Caleb
10. Ava
11. Caleb
12. Ava
13. Caleb
14. Ava
15. Caleb
16. Ava
17. Caleb
18. Ava
19. Caleb
20. Ava
21. Caleb
22. Ava
Epilogue
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Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Milson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Designed by Cormar Covers
Created with Vellum
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Also by Lauren Milson
Jack Frost (A Steamy Holiday Short)
Skin (An Older Man Younger Woman Romance)
Mountain Man’s Valentine
I came to the mountains looking for peace. What I found is better. What I found is mine.
I don’t let people get close to me. Not anymore. Not since the accident.
So I used my fortune to build a home in the mountains, seeking refuge from the tragedy that tore me apart.
But then a young woman with heart-shaped candy red lips shows up on my security camera.
And she is in trouble.
I haven’t left my castle in so long.
But for her, I’ll brave the storm.
She is a sweet, brave little princess with dangerous curves, but once she’s in my castle, I’ll make her my queen.
I’ll keep her safe from the storm and the threats lurking just outside these walls.
Sweet Valoria.
My sweet Val.
You’re mine.
My Valentine.
Candy sweet. Scorching hot. No cheating. HEA.
This edition of Mountain Man's Valentine includes 2 bonus novellas that are just as sweat and steamy as MMV. Thank you for reading!
1
Valoria
The chocolate is not stale. It’s not old. It’s aged.
That’s what I tell myself as I pull a dark chocolate caramel out of the ziplock bag I prepared for my trip.
The chocolate isn’t forgotten. It’s not sad or lonely. It’s with me.
And it tastes just fine.
But I can’t be distracted by that right now. I have a more important task at hand.
I spot a bullseye on a tree about twenty feet away. There’s a rustling of leaves and the crunch of boots on the ground’s cold frost to my left. But again, I cannot allow myself to become distracted, so I steady my gaze on the bullseye.
This is my next target, but I have to act fast.
Spotting a tree on its side, the thick, wide trunk perfect for me to hide behind, I steady my footing to pace down a few dew-and-moss covered rocks. The stream just past the rocks has turned to solid ice, and I slow down as I cross it, the crests and waves frozen against the rocks. It’s a bit slippery, but I have the right boots to traverse this terrain.
I am prepared. I am ready. And this ain’t my first rodeo.
The footsteps off to my left slow down and come to a stop. I can sense a presence near me, closer than it was before.
It’s probably some dude.
There aren’t many women out here, and that’s fine. It’s not exactly a group activity, which is the way I like it.
That’s the whole reason I like it. I like the solitude. Especially on this day, of all the days of the year.
It’s no coincidence that this event is held on February 14th every year.
I nestle my back against the tree trunk and steady my rifle in my hands, balancing it in my palms and putting the butt against my thigh. I haven’t taken a shot yet - not this year, and certainly not last year, because I was too new and too afraid - but this is my target.
The bullseye just over my shoulder is mine.
The wind whips through the air, shaking a dusting of snow off the high tree branches overhead. The trees out here in the mountains of Northern California are majestic, but when I look up for a moment to take in their beauty, I can’t see to the tops of them. They’re blending in with the sky, the misty grey clouds and cold converging together to make the air and ground bright grey and white.
And I love it.
Quickly pushing a stray lock of hair away from my face and back into the big hood of my coat, I check the marker on my paintball gun to make sure it’s off. I can’t let any opponents know my position, and I know there is at least one nearby.
Shoving the baggie of chocolates into my pocket, I swallow the last of the rich bite and turn around against the tree, and steady my rifle on the wide trunk. It’s dry, which makes sense because it has no roots. It could have been chopped down or taken down by a storm years ago, judging from the way new branches are sprouting out of it.
It’s amazing how nature will find a way to persevere, how new life will form, even when it looks like all hope is gone.
My rifle is propped up between two new leafless branches growing from the old, dying tree, and I close one eye and peer through the narrow viewer.
I have only one shot to get this right. This game is about discipline and accuracy. This is not a pump and pray game. I can’t take a bunch of shots and pray that one of them hits. We’re only allowed one shot per bullseye, and this is my first.
I put my finger on the trigger and line up my shot. I bite down on my bottom lip. A gust of wind throws my rifle off a few degrees and I curse silently to myself when I hear the rustling to my left start up again, and get closer.
I’m wasting time. I have to get this shot in.
Quickly adjusting my grip, I line up with the target and squeeze the trigger.
One quick pop rings through the air, and a bright pink splatter of paint appears on the target. I can see it clear as day in the greyness surrounding me, through the skeletal tree branches and rustling of old snow dusting the earth.
Bullseye.
I feel a big smile pull at my lips and spread across my face like a little girl who’s just received her first Valentine from her crush. I try
to hide my excitement. I try to play it cool.
But I can’t.
I pop up from behind my little self-made bunker and climb over the tree, carefully swinging my legs up and hopping over.
And there it is, among the rustling thicket of dry leaves and wet branches, the quiet, cold breeze and the grey sky blotting out the late afternoon sun: a bright pink pop of color, unmistakably mine, right in the middle of my target.
Not bad for a first try.
I started this game last year, but I never took a shot until now. It’s something I found online, and I was absolutely intrigued right away. Kind of a mixture of capture the flag and traditional paintball, but here, you collect targets by shooting at them.
And the game is held on Valentine’s day every year.
Of all days.
So of course, I had to sign up.
The game is played with a combination of the honor system and swift, rapid disqualification if you happen to be caught cheating.
That’s also part of what I like about it so much. Like I said, it requires discipline. And self-focus. And it’s a solitary game, which also drew me to it.
I unpin the target from the tree. The paint is dry already, probably because of the altitude and the dry air up here in the mountains. I fold up the paper target and tuck it into the left pocket of my oversized coat. I look around, wondering where the competitor I heard rustling around went off to. I probably scared him away. He probably took one look at me and doubted my ability because I’m a girl, and then ran away whimpering when he saw that I hit my target so gracefully.
Smirking to myself at my victory, I reach into my other pocket and pull out another chocolate. I deserve this.
There are more targets out here, but it’s getting late. The sun is setting. It’s the late afternoon, and the sun sets early out here in the late winter. I should probably get back to the camp before it gets too dark.
Anyway, my personal goal was to hit one target. And I completed that goal.
With flying colors, I must say.
The raspberry dark chocolate melts in my mouth as I throw my rifle over my shoulder.
I always buy my Valentine’s day candy a year in advance for the following year. It always goes on sale the day after Valentine’s day, and it’s at least fifty percent off. It’s not like I have anyone to buy it for on the actual day, and no one is buying it for me either, so I wait for the sale. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I save it in the freezer and forget about it until the next year. It actually stays well packed away in there, and it’s my treat to myself on the 14th every year.
Most of my classmates are out on dates today. They should be, and that’s the normal thing for a college student to do. Hell, that’s the normal thing for anyone to do. Except for the crazies out here shooting at man-made targets alone in the wilderness on what’s supposed to be the most romantic day of the year.
But we aren’t crazy. I guess for a split second when I was researching what to do alone on Valentine’s Day and came across this activity, I did think it was crazy. But that was only for a moment. Then I realized that it’s actually pretty cool.
It’s actually perfect for me.
I don’t really date. I’ve been on dates, but it’s just not something I’m all that interested in. The guys at my college tend to be immature. I’ve seen it first-hand. I’ve seen how they romance a girl. Their idea of romance is a six-pack of cheapo beer from the convenience store and then something in the bed of their pickup truck. I assume that the something is sex, but I’ve never really gone that far. The farthest I’ve gone is one beer into the six-pack before growing bored with a guy just rattling off the features of his truck or the classes he’s taking at our school, without letting me get a word in, let alone asking me any questions or asking how I feel.
It’s just not worth it. They’re all talk - literally all it is is them talking - and then they expect some kind of sexual reciprocation in return for hearing them ramble on at length about something that doesn’t interest me at all.
That’s not what I’m in college for. I’m not in college to meet a man, like a few of my classmates and past roommates are here for. I’m here to study, and if I meet the right guy, then fine. It’s just not something I’m looking for.
I pull the hood of my coat up tighter around my neck, steadying myself with one hand against a frost-covered tree and peering around. All I see around me is forest - dense in some places, and then with small clearings in other places - but all it really is is trees and grey.
I start for my phone - not to call anyone, because there’s no service out here - but to check my compass app. Apparently phones these days are able to detect poles, which I never knew before, and I think is a pretty cool thing.
Opening up my app, I hear the rustling behind me again. It’s getting closer, so I look around again to check for any nearby targets another player might be trying to approach. Maybe I can get in another bullseye before the end of the day, after all.
“Hey!”
The voice is close to me - closer than I thought the footsteps were - and I turn my head to see a fellow player walking toward me, in the small footpath clearing through the trees that I just came from.
“Hey!” I call out, waving and shifting my gait so I’m facing him, still carefully holding myself up against a tree. It’s slippery where I decided to stop to figure out my bearings.
The man walking toward me is about my age, maybe a bit younger. I don’t recognize him at all, but you could swap him out for any of the guys in my pre-med classes and he would look right at home. His body is covered in head-to-toe in grey and white camo print, except for the yellow vest he has on which all of the players receive before the game.
“That was a pretty good shot,” he says, pushing his hood away from his face. He smiles at me and points back to where we just came from, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “I didn’t know if you had it in you.”
He is a bit on the short side, sure, but he has a full, thick head of black hair and tanned skin and piercing blue eyes the color of the ocean on a bright, cloudless day. He looks a bit younger once he shakes his hood off, hanging against his back, as he tries to get the wild, errant flakes of snow to drift to the ground.
“Didn’t think a girl could take a shot like that?” I say, my tone a mixture of incredulous and sweet on purpose.
He chuckles, taking a few steps closer to me.
My heart skips a beat as he shoves his hands into his pockets.
“Something like that.” His eyes trail down to my feet and then up to meet my eyes again, and I get a strange sensation deep inside me. “Let’s just say you looked distracted. I didn’t know you were out here to win.”
“Of course I was out here to win. Why would I be here if I didn’t want to win?”
“I don’t know,” he replies, pushing one hand through his hair. “I saw you eating your candy and you kind of looked like you were all over the place. You didn’t seem to hear me even though I was making a ton of noise right over your shoulder.”
“So that was you I heard.”
“You did hear me,” he says, taking another step toward me.
He gets close. Very close.
“I heard you,” I reply, “and I knew I had to act quickly to get my bullseye before the person stalking me did.”
He smiles and turns away from me, gesturing with his head for me to follow him. I push off the tree I’m still grasping and begin to follow him.
“You know where you’re taking us?” I ask, checking the compass on my phone. “I was honestly starting to wonder how to get back to the camp.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, “I know where we’re going.”
He leads me a few paces through the trees, our feet crunching against the ground, the frost becoming more and more frozen with each step, each moment. The sun is just starting to peek out through the clouds off in the distance, painting it in orange and red, though the sky behind us is still g
rey.
“So what brings you out here?” I ask, grabbing a tree branch to steady myself as I continue to follow his lead. “No hot date for Valentine’s Day?”
He chuckles and glances over his shoulder, throwing a grin back at me.
“A few of my buddies and I have come out here to do this the past several years. We’ve been doing it since high school. Not many girls come out, though.”
“Yeah, I can see how it would be more of a bonding activity for guys,” I say.
“You should be careful out here on your own,” he says. “A young woman all alone in the woods.”
The way he says it is almost peculiar, and a small wave of heat unfurls inside my belly.
But I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s just being nice.
And really, he is right. Sort of. Because I’m not entirely alone, am I? I’m with a group of people. The people who’ve signed up for the activity.
It might be a solitary activity, but there are plenty of people around if I need them.
“I guess I’m just adventurous,” I say, clearing my throat.
The chill in the air suddenly grasps me and I shove my hands into my pockets, though I should leave them out to steady myself, keep my balance.
“You seem adventurous,” he says, stopping in his tracks and turning back to me. “I never met a girl out here who was all alone. A few bachelorette parties who thought it would be fun to do this, maybe, but never a girl all alone in the wilderness.”
His eyes narrow on mine and he takes another step toward me, snapping a branch in two under his heavy boot.
“I’ve met girls like you before,” he says. “Girls that come to events like this, where it’s all guys. I know why you’re here. You’re acting all coy and shit, but you’re really here to meet a guy, right?”
“Actually, no,” I reply. I can feel my face getting hot. And red. And suddenly, I feel like a complete moron. “I can do something on my own without having it be about getting a guy, can’t I?”
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