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She’s been driving me fucking crazy doing the absolute bare minimum.
I was fucked.
The mountain was a hell of a lot quieter before she arrived. For example, the other morning, Trista must have been running late for work because I came out early to do chores for Millie, and she barreled into me with the barn door. She had one boot on her foot, a donut in her mouth, and a jacket half on her body. Her wild curls swung loose, but she was too quick for me to get a good long look at it.
Irritating as fuck.
And I don’t know when the woman sleeps. She has to leave the mountain by six in the morning every day to have even a chance of making it to Denver in time for her work at the rescue center. Andshe doesn’t get back until damn near dark and doesn’t shut her lights off in the barn until nearly midnight. She’s burning the candle at both ends, and I don’t like it. Should I have included sleeping hours in my contract with her? Surviving on less than six hours of sleep isn’t healthy.
She’s this untamed, wild little creature that I just can’t seem to get out of my head…or my cock. And she’s only been on my mountain a week.
“What made today such a good day for Mr. Mountain Man?” she asks again, blinking her green eyes at me like a puppy dog.
Ignoring that unimpressive nickname, I answer, “We sold a smart house on a new development we’re working on, and hopefully, it’s the first of many more to come.”
She might not notice it, but there’s pride in my voice. These energy-efficient houses have been a passion project of mine for the past couple of years, and it took some convincing to get my brothers on board with it. We’re the first ones doing it in the Boulder area, and I think it’s going to be huge for us and the environment.
Trista frowns at me. “Why don’t you seem happier about that?”
My body tenses. “I am happy. What do you mean?”
“You seem sad to me,” she says as she watches me thoughtfully.
How the hell does she see that?I wonder as I struggle with how to respond. The truth is, she’s not wrong. Trista’s more perceptive than I give her credit for. But I shouldn’t be sad. My life is pretty damn perfect, despite my idiot brothers, but on days like today, when we achieve something amazing, I miss seeing the look of pride in my father’s eyes. I miss hearing him grumble over the missteps. I miss hearing his pride…when I was out of earshot.
And even though I don’t generally share too much of myself with anyone outside of my family, it almost feels…important…to share this with her. Like she deserves it after everything we’re going through together.
I slide my hands into my pockets and sigh heavily. “I guess I’m a little sad my dad isn’t here to see this.”
Her face softens. “How long has he been gone now?”
“A little over two years.”
“Do you mind if I ask how he died?”
My lips thin as I refuse to replay the course of that awful day. “Heart attack.”
Trista nods. “Would he have been proud of you for selling this smart house?”
“Not outwardly.” I huff with a knowing laugh. “He would have bitched that this development was more work than it was worth, and the old way of building houses was just fine. But then I’d catch him bragging to his friends about it.” I can still picture his knowing smile, sitting in his favorite chair in the barn we frequented after work.
My chest aches as it always does when I think of him.
“That’s odd.” Trista’s brows furrow. “Why wouldn’t he want you to know he’s proud of you?”
I smile and glance out the window at the mountains. “My dad was the king of being the devil’s advocate. He always challenged our ideas and pushed us to make sure we knew what we were getting into. But he never stopped us. I think he just wanted to make sure we considered all the angles. His voice lives rent-free in my mind all the time.”
Trista bites her lip thoughtfully before she asks, “So were you guys super close?”
My lips press together for a moment before I answer. “He was our boss, our coworker, our best friend, and our dad. I’m not sure we could have gotten any closer.”
Trista gets a strange look in her eye that I want to ask about, but she distracts me when she says, “What would he think about what you’re doing with me? With this surrogacy stuff?”
“Shockingly, I think he’d love it.” I pause as a pang of sadness hits me in the chest that I’ll never get to talk to him about it all. “He always hated that my brothers and I chose mountain life over traditional family life. And I thought when I bought the mountain, that would be my passion. I killed myself working the land, setting up a sustainable water source from the creek, installing solar panels, andmining the forest for stones for my fireplace. It was an obsession for years.”
“So what changed your mind?” she asks, her eyes piercing into me in a way that makes me want to bare my soul to her.
I hesitate for a moment as the memory of holding my mom in the hospital after they told us our father had died hits me like a ton of bricks. The memories of that day still cause my stomach to churn. Luke’s face…especially Luke’s face.
