Heart of Gold: A Mountain Man's Valentine

by Frankie Love

  Heart of Gold

  A Mountain Man’s Valentine

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Kinky Resolutions and other New Year’s Disasters

  Chapter One

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  Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Copyright © 2017 by Frankie Love

  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.

  Darling Reader,

  This is my Valentine’s treat for you.

  Remember that you are loved, and that you are lovely, just the way you are.

  xo, frankie

  Chapter One

  There are only a few things that can get me off my mountain.

  Weddings. Funerals. The birth of a baby.

  And, apparently, my brother’s engagement party.

  I take a drink of my whiskey, scanning the swanky restaurant where we’re going to be served a six-course meal. The place is stuffy. Overpriced. And not even mildly entertaining. There’s no one here I’m interested in making small talk with, and certainly no one I’m interested in taking home tonight.

  “Do you think you could look more irritated?” Taylor asks, standing beside me, shoulder to shoulder. We may be brothers, but we couldn’t be more opposite. Taylor is business suits and cufflinks and courtrooms. And he’s boring as fuck. His idea of a good time is walking around Pottery Barn.

  Me? I’m flannel shirts and fresh air. Blood, sweat, and tears have been my motto for the past three years, ever since I left Denver and made my way to the Yukon Territory. Determined to stake my claim in the world, on my own terms.

  Working for the man might work for a guy like Taylor, but I’m not him.

  Of course, my sort of “life plan” pisses everyone off—honestly, I’m guessing that’s because they are jealous little fuckers, sick of the daily grind they’ve indebted themselves to.

  My brother has never been out to see where I live and what I do. And I like it that way. Let them talk about me; shit, no one else’s words define me.

  “I’m not irritated,” I tell him before finishing my whiskey. “I’m just bored. You said this was an engagement party? I’m still looking for the party, brother.”

  My brother knows I’m giving him a hard time—I like parties just about as much as I like having a boss.

  “Well, then you just keep standing here drinking your bourbon, looking pretty,” Taylor teases. “Meanwhile I’ll go talk to Sophia’s parents. Have you met them yet?”

  I cock an eyebrow at my brother. He might be six years younger than me but he's always been the bossier one.

  I scoff, “You think I talked with your fiancée’s parents? Who the hell do you think I am?”

  Taylor shakes his head. “I know, sometimes I just... Her parents are very nice and it’s nice to see a nice family.”

  “You think you can squeeze another nice into that sentence?” I know what my brother’s getting at, though. We lost our parents when we were young; were shuffled around from foster home to foster home for years.

  I was old enough to pull myself up by my bootstraps and keep Taylor under my wing. I had plenty of guilt over the whole situation, but I knew Taylor needed me, so I did well by him.

  Taylor though, being younger, always missed having a mom and dad. I see it when his eyes narrow, and for a second I feel like shit for not offering him more of a family myself.

  Leaving like I did for Canada, it probably fucked him up more. But Taylor was in law school when I left for the Yukon, he had his life mapped out and he knew how to take care of himself. And he has.

  I may give him a hard time for his three-piece suits, but he’s a partner at his soon to be father-in-law's law firm, and is engaged to a woman who comes from a legacy family. He always wanted a family and it looks like he’s finally got it.

  “Look, you sure do know how to lay it on on thick.” I set down my whiskey and nod toward Sophia’s parents, the family that he picked for himself. “Introduce your brother. I know I’m the only family you’ve got, together we can make a good show of things.”

  Taylor claps me on my back, and I know I did well. I’m glad I made the effort to come down here, leave my work on my mountain. I may be cold and not need a whole bunch of family getting up in my business the way Taylor has always wanted, but this night isn’t about me and what I need or want. This night is about my brother.

  We walk through the restaurant where people are mingling, still just arriving and getting cocktails before the six-course dinner is served.

  At the far end stands an older couple with silvery hair and big, white toothy smiles. When they see Taylor and me approach, they open their arms and offer my brother hugs and a kiss on the cheek. Then Taylor introduces me to Troy and Cora Larson.

  “So, this is the long-lost brother we’ve heard so much about,” Cora says, reaching out to touch me as if needing to prove to herself that I am real. “How is it that my daughter Sophia has been with Taylor for the last two years and yet we’ve never seen your face?”

  “I don’t leave my mountain very often. Good to meet you Cora, Troy.” I offer them a tight smile; it’s the best I can fucking do. Like I said: family meet and greets are not my bread and butter.

  Speaking of food, my stomach growls. I could use some bread and butter right about now.

  “Well lucky for you, you won’t have to go too far from it for the actual wedding,” Sophia says, sidling up to her fiancé and wrapping herself in his arms. Sophia is blonde, blue-eyed, and wearing a pearl necklace. Her dress leaves everything to the imagination. If I were to sum up this woman with two words it would be tight-ass. Or maybe, hard line. Perhaps, stick in the mud, but I know that’s more than two words. So, we’ll just stick with, no thanks.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Where’s the wedding?”

  “In Whistler!” Sophia says, squealing. She claps her hands and for the first time I see actual life in this boring woman. “It’s going to be small, intimate, everyone here tonight will be there.”

  “Is that so? The wedding is at Whistler?” I ask, repeating her statement and looking at my brother for confirmation.

  Taylor nods. “Sophia and I met on the slopes in Aspen, and a destination wedding would be apropos. Valentine’s weekend—in two months. We don’t want any of that long engagement fuss. And Valentine nuptials may be a bit cliché,” Taylor says, eying the circle around us, “But anything for my Sophia.” He gives his bride-to-be a chaste kiss and her parents clap encouragingly.

  I do my best to suppress a laugh, and as I look away, my eyes fall on a woman who’s has just arrived at the restaurant. She drops her purse onto an empty chair, pats down her wild blonde
hair, and unapologetically pulls on the waistband of her skirt, adjusting her tights.

  She walks toward us and immediately my cock twitches. My body has a strong reaction—maybe I’ve been alone in the woods for too damn long, but I don’t think it’s just that. She’s gorgeous.

  She has an upturned nose, dark brown eyes that seem to catch the light of every lit candle. She looks like fresh air feels. Like you could take a deep breath of her and feel better.

  Her clothes are a stark contrast to the room: bright tights, bold patterned blouse, and a short-ass skirt. It looks like she dressed without caution, without pretense —the clear opposite to everyone else here who is poised to perfection.

  I always pick the road less traveled, the dirt path and the gamble, maybe that’s why this woman is so damn attractive. She isn’t ordinary. She is set apart.

  If Taylor and the others were still talking about wedding details, I couldn't tell you any bit of it. Instead of paying attention, I was imagining dragging the woman with the kaleidoscope outfit away to the nearest hotel room for some fun.

  “Ava,” Sophia says. “You finally came. I thought you might be a no-show. Again.”

  Ava frowns openly. “I’m ten minutes late. God, had you written me off that quickly?”

  “Well, you are my sister,” Sophia says. “I thought you might be one of the first to arrive. Not the last.”

  Cora shoots her husband dagger eyes that look like some kind of secret family voodoo I’ve only read about.

  “Okay, girls,” their father says, resting his hands on both of his daughters' shoulders. “Everyone’s here now. It looks like you could both use a drink.”

  Ava rolls her eyes. “Great, because what’s a family get-together without alcohol? I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a thing.”

  She may be ripping her family a new one, but as a waiter walks around with a tray of champagne she reaches for two flutes. Handing one to her sister, she smiles. “Sorry. I know I’m being a brat. It just took me forever to get here, and the Uber driver got lost and I know that’s no excuse but,” she... stops talking and pushes a hand out in front of her as if preempting the lecture her sister is about to dish.

  “Seriously, though, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make excuses. I know you hate when people are late. But here I am. And here you are,” she says, this time dropping her hand and raising her champagne. “To Sophia and Taylor. To dreams coming true and being swept off your feet and to having the happily ever after you both deserve.”

  Personally, it may be a little over-the-top as an introduction, or even as a toast, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that her presence is refreshing. There’s nothing stuffy or uptight or boring about her. Ava is everything her family is not.

  “You’re supposed to save the toast for dessert. But that’s fine.” Sophia smiles tightly and then turns to her fiancé. “Taylor, introduce your brother to everyone.”

  With that, all eyes turn to look at me, but I don’t look around the circle.

  Because my eyes, well, they are firmly planted on Ava.

  Chapter Two

  I guzzle my champagne. No, I’m not a lush. I mean, unless it’s Monday night and I’m watching The Bachelor. But today is an exception. Today I’m at my sister’s engagement party.

  Now, I am happy for Sophia. Taylor seems like a really nice, albeit boring, man. But yes, the two of them are going to have a very nice life. I say nice because there really isn’t a better adjective to describe the pair.

  Most people,—ahem, my mother–would say I am a little jealous.

  But why would I be jealous of my sister’s perfect life? I’ve never wanted a life filled with garden parties and tea with the ladies.

  The thing is, when it comes to sisters there’s always going to be one who is the winner of the family, and one who is the loser.

  I finish my champagne, instantly looking around for another waiter to replenish my bubbly. There are none in the vicinity and to avoid my mother’s judgmental gaze, my eyes hit the floor.

  And then they run up my leg to see the gaping run in my pink tights. I shouldn’t have worn pink tights to this fancy pants restaurant. I should’ve worn sensible sheer hose. Maybe some peep toe shoes and a dress from a department store.

  I look at my sister in her delicate pearl necklace and diamond earrings and huge diamond ring. She looks so put together. So perfectly put together. So perfectly not me.

  Exhaling, I remember who this is about—Sophia and Taylor, and their wonderful news. I may be jealous, but that isn’t the real emotion rising inside of me. Tears prick my eyes at the happily ever after they are finding.

  I lift my chin, open my eyes wider, paste on a smile. I am determined to be present. To be happy. To be in this. I focus, which, yes, it’s not exactly my strong suit, but I try. I focus and listen to the conversation around me.

  “So, Samson, you live in the mountains? And what is it you do out there, exactly?” My mother is a prier. She doesn’t drop a subject until she gets what she wants. Except, not with me. I’m a supreme disappointment due to my lack of ambition and drive. Because, according to her, starting a “craft business” is not a business. It’s a hobby and I need to grow up.

  Let’s not think about the fact that my business is thriving. Growing. That I just had a super sexy art show at a gallery in Boulder.

  Whoa. Deep breaths, Ava Grace. Clearly coming here tonight has been a trigger.

  I need to stop thinking about myself, which, I know, would be an amazing accomplishment for a 24-year-old young woman to do. Yes, some people might say I’m a little self-indulgent, but that’s what happens when you’re the baby of a family like mine.

  My father owns the most prestigious law firm in all of Denver. My mother basically runs the country club. My sister does charity work. Yes, that is her actual job title. Charity Work.

  And me? I’m an artist. A flailing mess of an artist.

  So yes... see how quickly I am back at me? It’s time for me to grow up. I blink, stop looking at my mother and follow her gaze to—oh.

  Samson.

  This is the infamous recluse, long-lost older brother of Taylor.

  Samson.

  My stomach tightens and my lady parts respond. I swear I dropped forty-three eggs just standing here looking at him. He looks like he was made from solid oak. Or pine. Or maybe maple? I’m not actually sure what kind of trees grow in the Yukon Territory where he is supposedly from, but he looks like he was made from the earth. A sexy beard. A flannel shirt rolled to his elbows—which, in and of itself, is a turn on.

  Who is this mystery man who had the balls to show up here at this restaurant, where entrées are three figures, in blue jeans and yesterday’s shirt? I’m already wanting to jump in his lap and let him ride me home.

  Or give him a ride home.

  Or okay, I’m not going to pretend here, one look at this hottie of a mountain man and all I want to do is have his babies. All of them.

  “I work on a mountain.” Samson’s sentence is short and to the point and pretty damn vague. My mother hates this kind of answer.

  “Work? What kind of work?” My mother asks again. I look over at my sister and see her eying her fiancé nervously. I know how badly she wants this night to go perfectly. Because that’s how everything goes for Sophia.

  Which is good. Great, even. I mean, there have to be people whose lives go perfectly, to balance out the people whose lives do not. And now I’m rambling. To myself. Awkwardly. Probably looking like a maniac. To make up for my internal dialogue, I blurt out, “I love the mountains. And I love work. That is so great.”

  Everyone looks at me. I raise my empty flute and magically a waiter replaces the empty one and I bring it to my lips and drink that sweet, sweet liquid courage.

  Not that I need any courage at this moment; it seems like I have this totally under control.

  “Is everything okay, Ava Grace?” my father asks, giving me a stern look. A look I am quite
familiar with.

  “Oh, I’m so good. It’s so good to meet you—Sam?”

  I have this thing where I make up for my insecurities by acting like I’m totally confident and cool. All of which I’m not. I don’t think it really works, but it makes me feel better about myself.

  “Samson,” he says coolly. “Not Sam. Samson.”

  Okay. Well, that was a conversation killer if there ever was one. Realizing I have overstayed my welcome, I squeeze my sister’s hand and lean in to her ear to apologize again for being late. And to tell her she looks lovely, and that I am so happy for her. Yes, it’s a lot to whisper, but Sophia and I are close and she knows my language. She knows me. Flaws and all.

  She whispers back, “I love you more.”

  Wanting her to be back in the spotlight, I address the group, “Well, it’s been fun catching up, but I’m going to go look for cousin Trudy. I haven’t seen her in months.” I smile widely at everyone and make my way to the cousin who is about as exciting as fried liver.

  I know, that’s not very nice. But last Christmas I sat next to her at dinner and she literally gave me the blow-by-blow of every Pokémon she had caught on her cellphone. Because that’s a thing. Apparently.

  Several hours later, the engagement party has come to an end. I am properly tipsy to the point that I don’t even give a damn about my ripped tights.

  “It went well, didn’t it?” Sophia asks as we are saying our goodbyes.

  “It went brilliantly. Everyone is so happy for you and Taylor.”

  Sophia smiles, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright —she is going to be a beautiful bride. “And don’t forget we have a dress fitting soon,” she tells me. “Janet and Cecily are going to email you the details about the bachelorette party.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s just a lot to remember, Ava, the wedding is going to be here so fast, and I’m going to need you.”

  “It’s all on my calendar,” I tell her. She thinks I’ll forget. But I won’t.