Red Hot Mountain Man

My momma’s Survival Guide for the Modern Woman is very clear.

Rule #1: Never get into a truck with a stranger.
Rule #22: Never drool over a man holding a chainsaw.
Rule #47: Above all else, Nova, don’t be stupid.

By noon, I’ve failed all three.

My car decided Lone Mountain, Montana, was the perfect place to have an identity crisis, and now I’m stranded with a bank account on life support and nowhere to stay—thanks to some influencer’s over-the-top destination wedding.
The no-nonsense mechanic fixing my car finds me a place to stay that isn’t the back of the garage on a pile of tires.

Enter Bridger.

He’s a massive, tattooed mountain man who lives in a luxury fortress with marble countertops, an espresso machine I just might sell my soul for, and a hot tub that’s just as tempting as its owner.

He’s a grumpy enigma who claims he wants silence. I’m a curvy, talkative brunette with zero filter and a talent for poking the bear.
He’s given me a roof over my head, but the way he looks at me doesn’t feel like hospitality.

It feels like a claim.

Momma’s rules said to run. My body says to stay.

And Bridger?

He has one rule of his own.
What he finds… he keeps.