Not that I didn’t love Brian with the horn-rimmed glasses, slicked back hair and kind eyes. But he went off to college at UMD. Still see him around town during his breaks.
Now, to forget the tempting Angelica and focus on getting home in one piece. I can already picture a hot shower and slipping into my flannel sheets before burrowing into the heavenly softness of my down comforter. Nothing is quieter than a night in the north woods of Minnesota and the muffins calmed the rumbling in my stomach. A quick sandwich before falling into bed will take care of the rest. Despite the coffee, exhaustion flows over me in waves.
When I reach for my heavy coat, my eyes seem to still be peeled across the room, because I see the exact moment when Jess makes a really bad decision.
Angelica is empty-handed, but a look of shock seems permanently etched into the lines of her face. She lands with an awkward flop in the man’s lap, kind of like a dying fish. Jess leans in and says something – something dirty by the blush that races up her cheeks – because the guys sitting around him laugh and whistle. One even slaps his knee. Angelica pushes against his massive chest, but Jess doesn’t budge. If anything, he pulls her tighter against him.
I glance around looking for Len. He would never tolerate this kind of inappropriate behavior because it’s sexual harassment and borderline assault. It could get this place shut down. Sheriff Callahan has a good handle on the local folk, and he doesn’t tolerate men treading where they’re not wanted all in the name of trying to cop a feel. And if Jess tried this with another man’s wife or daughter, that could get him killed. When I don’t see any employee other than Angelica in the front of the house, I mutter a surly, ‘damn’ under my breath and lumber to my feet.
I don’t fucking need this.
I’m too tired to get into it with an asshole today.
I’ve got my own problems and getting along with men who couldn’t survive in a city is integral to solving them. Creating a pissing match with Jess is going to hurt more than it helps. But dammit, her face isn’t flushed this time, it’s as pale as Casper the friendly ghost. Even from yards away, her expression lights a fire in my gut.
I don’t like it – it makes that pinching behind my ribs even more painful – and I intend to wipe it off her face.
I stalk over, my step so soft that no one even realizes I’ve arrived – until I reach over and pluck Angelica off Jess’s lap as if she weighs no more than a sugar packet.
“What the fuck?” Jess hisses, his wild eyes snapping to mine.
It takes a heartbeat to stop her trembles. For that moment – with my hands on her waist – I feel the supple heat of her body and inhale the citrusy scent of her shampoo. Everything below the belt tightens with a punch of lust that I never expected before starting a fight I didn’t ask for – but it doesn’t last long because an angry asshat demands a pound of my flesh for taking away the warmth of hers.
“I said what the fuck!” Jess snarls again, nearly tipping the table when he jumps out of his chair. “You’re not welcome here, mountain man! Go… go kiss a bear or something, you freak!”
I have no time to release my own string of annoyed curses. Because when a man like Jess asks for trouble – trouble jumps through the starting gate and takes off at a full gallop. Jess has obviously been drinking before he arrived at Cool Beans, or maybe he even spiked his coffee with whiskey. That’s not uncommon around these parts and mainly ignored by law enforcement and the proprietors of the few bars and restaurants in Sweetheart Hills.
Jess’s pinched face is flushed an angry red from booze and emotion. I grab him by the back of his camo jacket and give him a little shake. “Have you been drinking?” I say calmly, despite the irritation snaking up my spine. “I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t help you sober up before you took the risk of slipping behind the wheel. I’d hate to see Callahan put you in the drunk tank.”
Chairs scrape the hardwood. As if someone has just dropped dead, you can hear a pin drop inside Cool Beans until the espresso machine fires back up with a resounding hiss. As much as they might loathe my presence in their town, they respect my size, so no one attempts to get in between us as I propel Jess toward the door. Why would they? Jess is the kind of dude people merely tolerate rather than admire or even like, so him getting thrown out of Cool Beans on his ass provides them the best entertainment Sweetheart Hills has seen in a while.
The other customers stare, or whisper to each other behind raised hands, but no one even makes a move to stop me.
The wind has finally died down, but a bitter chill kisses the air when I yank open the heavy front door. The icy air slams straight into my lungs. It’s getting dark out, but the fresh snow sparkles like the light of a thousand stars. I release Jess’s coat, reach down and scoop up a handful of fresh snow, shoving it right into the man’s red face.
Blustering and sputtering like a typical asshole, he tries to throw a punch which I easily sway out of the line of fire. I scoop up another ball of cold snow and try again. He’s not a man who learns his lesson the first time and I’m not immune to teaching it again.
“My mama raised me not to pick on people smaller than me and especially not women. Only bullies do that, and bullies are nothing but chickenshits in disguise. Apparently, yours wasn’t as loving. Are we clear?”
Jess lets loose a string of expletives about my mom’s weight, the sexuality of my non-existent little brother and the moonshine brewing talents of my grandpa but he keeps his meaty fists to himself.
“Look, Jess, you’ve had too much to drink,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper. “Why pick a fight with a big guy like me when you won’t even remember it in the morning? But if you really want to, I’ll oblige you. Just leave Angelica alone.”
“Fuck you, Evermore. You’re the asshole. Stay out of shit that isn’t your business. If I want a little fun with Angelica, it ain’t none of your concern.” It takes an enormous amount of wind and hot air until he finally runs out of insults to hurl at me, his breath coming in white pants between us. I just stand there and take it trying to do damage control and keep the animosity between me and Sweetheart Hill’s resident dipshit to a minimum. I’m not looking to make an enemy out of Jess that might require the man to constantly seek revenge. I just wanted sweet, innocent Angelica left alone.
How do you know that she’s sweet and innocent?
My eyes narrow because I don’t really know, but my gut tells me differently. Once Jess’s insults wind down, I inhale, studying the man’s expression. The ‘I want to kick your ass from Sweetheart Hills to Duluth’ settles down. Jess seems like he’s just plain cold, shivering violently in his light jacket, snow dripping from his beard and down the back of his neck, settling into a snake tattoo. A few minutes in arctic temps has a way of letting everything outside of survival fade into the background.
Content he’s finally learned his lesson, I shove him toward the door and walk away. Thoughts of Angelica will just have to wait until after a good night’s sleep.
Chapter Two
Angelica
God, why are men so disgusting and hateful?
Not finding an answer to my rhetorical questions, I blow a puff of steam into the frigid air. All I want is to avoid the other half of the human species, so it seems the height of irony that I find myself in a sin den full to the brim of raging testosterone. In a coffee shop no less. Of all the places to be fondled like the town whore. But screwing up is my specialty and when I make a mistake it’s go big or go home. My life has been filled with the colossal, viral social media, the whole town talking for weeks and weeks kind of gaffes.
How did I know that I’d land in Sweetheart Hills, the manliest city in northern Minnesota? But I was headed even further north toward the border when I blew a tire and after talking to the locals, kind of fell in love a bit.
With the town that is. Apparently, they have a Valentine’s Festival every February and who could object to that kind of romantic gesture?
I stuff my hair und
er a cap with pom poms and grab my snowshoes. The pastel colors of the yarn soothe me, and I crocheted it myself. After I breathe in a lungful of the crisp air, I tell myself that moving here was a good idea. Misunderstanding the woman to man ratio notwithstanding. I’d also failed to understand the simple concept of making a living. In my wildest dreams, I’d never thought I’d have to become a server, catering to asshats and perverts, but there had been no other jobs for women in Sweetheart Hills.
Not even one.
My dream is to teach organic soy candle making and open my own shop. I want to be the Yankee of the great white north, sans toxic chemicals. With stars in my eyes, I heave a sigh. I’m not quite there yet, despite my savings.
My next shift at Cool Beans in the land of reality doesn’t start until five for the dinner rush, so my day stretches out in front of me until the bewitching hour.
I take a tentative step, my snowshoes forging fresh tracks in the new snow. I glance around, in awe of the gorgeous Minnesota countryside. Coniferous trees flocked with the new flakes surround me, reaching toward a bright blue sky. The rolling woods are deep and peaceful. With every dip in the trees, rays of sun glisten on the stark white. Squirrels race around searching for a morsel of food and coming up empty.
I have no idea where I’m headed, and I don’t really care. After last night, I just need to be alone with my thoughts and the silence. There are endless acres of pristine land to explore. My rented cabin provides an idyllic place for a woman to hole up and live as a celibate man-hating hermit.
There’s no family around for me to disappoint.
No town looking over my shoulder, waiting to judge me for leaving the town hunk alone at the altar, despite his humiliating betrayal.
And although the Jess’s of the world are giving me fits during my shifts, during the day I don’t have to see anything with a dick unless I want to. And nothing with a Y chromosome appeals to me anyway – at least not in this godforsaken town.
The picture of an illicit fantasy flickers to life in my imagination.
A reflection of a huge, hulking man with searing green eyes drifts through my mind unwanted and unwelcome.
Especially not him.
You’re not attracted to him, Angelica.
Not. One. Bit.
Giant saviors hold zero sex appeal, right?
*checks notes*
Nope. Not one iota of sex appeal for this girl.
Despite my inner turmoil, I let the image linger, indulging in a little afternoon inspection. I remember the stranger’s overwhelming height and how he towered over me. How he plucked me to safety as if I weighed only a few ounces instead of almost two-hundred pounds. I remember the rare sensation of feeling safe. Because men who look like a hot as hell mountain man never go for curvy chicks like me with extra padding all around.
Back home in Iowa they call me farm fed.
I just call myself fat.
No matter how much I starve and exercise, I can’t get rid of my extra layer. And if I even look at a carb, I blow up like a pufferfish.
But for once, it seems my first impression of a man around my age might be dead on. The whole time I waited on him, he was kind and quiet. Most of all respectful. There was no teasing or touching. But maybe that was only because he has no physical attraction to me whatsoever. How could he? A man like that could have any woman he wanted with just a tiny crook of his finger.
But a girl can dream. And thinking about him is like indulging in a little window shopping at Nordstrom’s famous shoe department. I can look at the Jimmy Choo stilettos, but I can’t touch. And I sure as hell can’t afford to buy them without taking out a second mortgage. My mind drifts to his chiseled jaw lined with sexy scruff, his full lips and of course those compelling eyes.
After last night, his gorgeous face is etched on my brain. Never to be forgotten.
And when he touched me, I caught some major feels.
At the time, it barely registered that I was being rescued. He moved like a hunter, swift and steady, hauling Jess outside with a blur of power and rippling muscles. He never said anything – didn’t even come back inside so I have no idea what happened out there in the inky night air. When Jess came back in, he looked none the worse for wear, but he was polite to me until he left for the evening.
I owe that giant savior a debt of gratitude. Especially if it holds up and Jess doesn’t come back in looking for revenge against me or my mountain man.
No, not mine.
And I will thank him properly – that is if I ever see him again – but right now I have other things on my mind. My snowshoes drift through the fallen snow. I’m still new to snowshoeing and still prone to losing my balance and falling down but getting better each time I head outside into the elements. As I work up a cadence, the chilly air pinkens my skin and brings tears to my eyes.
Each day since I’ve been here, I snowshoe farther and explore new directions. When I first arrived in Sweetheart Hills and rented my cabin, I was so dejected. I hated myself really. Occasionally I still think about Dravon and everything I regret. Some nights I still wake up in a cold sweat, reliving the nightmare of fleeing the scene of my own elaborate wedding ceremony. Wearing the most perfect and exquisite white dress, standing in the church where I was baptized, my friends and family lining the pews, the whole town waiting for me to start that slow march down the aisle with my dad.
And I never made that walk. Instead, I ran away without an explanatory word or a backward glance.
I had my reasons for doing it and they’re still valid. Damn valid if truth be told. The humiliating memory of what Dravon did to me still makes me cringe, but I’ve slowly realized that being cheated on by a drunk fiancé the night of his bachelor party isn’t the real source of my hurt. Not even the blasting I took on social media by all the girls I went to high school with who never thought the ‘fat cow’ was good enough for Dravon Black, the handsome quarterback of the football team. How they said I’d be lucky to marry him and I should just roll over and accept his sloppy seconds because I couldn’t do any better.
They’re right. I’ve felt like a second-class citizen over and over again when it comes to Dravon. When it comes to anyone really. The stone-cold weight of being unlovable and unworthy is strapped to my back. Dravon turned out to be a cheater and a liar.
What if he is the best you can get?
I swipe that thought away even though it wants to settle in and stay awhile. Even my own mother told me to push my pride to the side and marry the man anyway. That I would never have another chance at marriage. That I was giving away my one shot to have a man that doesn’t look like Michael Moore, so I put on my dress and went to the church to take my penance like a good girl.
But at the eleventh hour, I summoned just a sliver of self-respect and I said no to a miserable and humiliating future.
Now I’m broken. A shell of the woman I used to be. But I’m here trying to find myself and I’m working on putting the pieces back together.
Baby steps.
When I brush against a pine branch, snow shivers down in a shower of fluffy flakes. A smile plays at my mouth. It’s not that hard finding a sip of joy in the little things in life. And in Sweetheart Hills, those little things are easy to find if you look around at Mother Nature. I shuffle to the crest of a hill, and then, bending my knees, rush down to the belly of a small valley. At the bottom I stop, breathless and exhilarated, yanking off a glove to check the Compass app on my iPhone. Northeast. If I keep heading in that direction, I’ll eventually end up in Lake Superior. Even if the landscape looks strange, I have my bearings, and I won’t get lost. I zip the phone back into my jacket pocket again and pull on my glove when I hear it.
Grrrrrrr.
A sliver of fear snakes up my spine and lands in my chest, accelerating my heartbeat. It sounds like a bear, but I don’t see it. Where is the growl coming from? Then another roar comes from a grove of trees to my left, a sound so ferocious that my throat closes. Every muscle in m
y body clenches and locks. I can’t speak. I can’t even swallow over the lump of terror in my throat. Adrenaline shoots through my veins in an ice-cold rush.
The trees rustle and I see it.
Huge.
Imposing.
Deadly.
I have bear spray in my pocket along with my phone, but now I wish I had a rifle. The guy at the sporting goods store had recommended one for self-defense but I never considered critters would be considering me for supper. At another terrifying roar, I whip my head around. Holy Mother of God. There’s more than one bear, albeit two are really tiny baby bears.
At least they’re black bears and not grizzly bears. And why aren’t they hibernating for the winter? Do they start hibernating at the first snow? Dammit, why didn’t I pay more attention in high school biology? It is January after all and there are inches of snow insulating the ground. I guess I don’t know a lot about bears, but in this moment, I wish I’d did.
Note to self: If you get out of this without being torn to shreds, hit up your old friend, Google.
As trees snap around me, I realize they’re on the move, lumbering closer and closer as they duck in and behind the pines, keeping me in their sight.
I start to see stars as I hyperventilate, and I struggle to stay conscious. There’s no time to run, I couldn’t get far through the deep snow, and I’m not supposed to run anyway. I think I’m supposed to speak calmly and back away slowly. But how do I snowshoe backwards? I’m so new to all of this rugged life and its unique rules and norms.
As I run out of time to do anything, panic seals my throat. I don’t want to die alone, ripped to pieces by animals that look like cute stuffed toys but are really mean and vicious. And apparently hungry.
I’m on a journey of self-discovery, God. Please get me out of this so I can improve and grow even more. I promise never to swear or be mean to people, even men. Even Dravon. And I’ll call my mom every Sunday. I’ll make my bed and put my dirty clothes in the hamper and…
Finally A Bride: A Valentine's Day Romance Page 2
