Burning Mountains (Wind River Mountain Men #1)

Chapter 1

1

ZOE

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I pulled up to Wind River Mountain Lodge . The majestic peaks loomed before me, their snow-capped summits piercing the sky like nature's own bad hair day. It was a far cry from the urban jungle of Denver , but as I stepped out of my car, I felt a thrill of excitement coursing through my veins – or maybe that was just the four espressos I'd chugged on the drive.

" This is it, Zoe ," I whispered to myself, smoothing down my blazer. " Time to show these mountain folk what a real wedding planner can do. Spoiler alert: it involves a lot of glitter."

I strode confidently towards the lodge, my mind already racing with visions of the most spectacular mountain wedding Wyoming had ever seen. Fairy lights twinkling against rugged pine trees, wildflower bouquets cascading down rustic wooden tables, the happy couple exchanging vows with the breathtaking Rockies as their backdrop. It would be perfect. It had to be perfect. Or else I'd have to fake my own death and move to Belize .

My heels sank into the muddy terrain, and I stumbled. I glanced around, hoping no one had noticed, and quickened my pace. The last thing I needed was to look like some city slicker who couldn't handle a little dirt. I was a sophisticated urban professional, damn it! I'd once survived a sample sale at Barneys – this was nothing!

As I neared the lodge, a gust of wind whipped my hair across my face. I looked up to see dark, ominous clouds rolling in, looking like they were ready to star in their own disaster movie. The air seemed to thicken, crackling with electricity, and a shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature and everything to do with my irrational fear of being turned into a human lightning rod.

Unbidden , memories of another stormy day flooded my mind. The church bells ringing, my white dress spread out around me like a deflated parachute as I sat alone at the altar, mascara streaking down my cheeks as I realized he wasn't coming. The pitying looks, the whispers, the overwhelming sense of failure... It was like a bad rom-com, minus the com and heavy on the tragic.

I shook my head, banishing the thoughts faster than I'd banish a client who wanted to use Comic Sans on their wedding invitations. That was then, this was now. I was Zoe Mitchell , Denver's top wedding planner, and I was here to conquer new territory. No man, no mountain, and certainly no memory was going to stand in my way. I was woman, hear me roar! Or at least, hear me complain about the lack of decent sushi in rural Wyoming .

But as I reached for the lodge's heavy wooden door, a crack of thunder split the air. I jumped, my hand flying to my chest as my heart raced faster than a bride sprinting towards a 90% off sale at David's Bridal . Rain began to pour down in sheets, and I darted back to my car, barely making it inside before the downpour drenched me completely.

" Okay , slight change of plans," I muttered, fumbling for my keys. " I'll just wait this out and make my grand entrance once the storm passes."

I turned the key in the ignition, planning to at least run the heat and dry off a bit. But instead of the comforting purr of the engine, I heard an ominous clicking sound. My stomach dropped faster than my ex-fiancé's pants when he met his secretary.

" No , no, no," I pleaded, trying the key again. " Come on, baby, don't do this to me now. I promise I'll stop calling you a glorified golf cart if you just start!"

But my faithful city car, so reliable on Denver's paved streets, seemed to have given up the ghost in the face of Wyoming's wild weather. I slumped back in my seat, a sense of panic rising within me that rivaled my fear of running out of hairspray mid-wedding ceremony. Here I was, trapped in a dead car as a storm raged around me, in the middle of nowhere. It was like the start of every horror movie I'd ever seen, minus the attractive but ultimately doomed teenagers.

Another crack of thunder made me jump so high I nearly gave myself a concussion on the car roof. I fumbled for my phone. No signal. Of course. I was truly on my own out here, with only my wit, charm, and extensive collection of emergency beauty products to save me.

The wind howled rocking my little car as if it were a baby's cradle. Rain lashed against the windows with increasing fury. I hugged myself tightly, trying to quell the fear that threatened to overwhelm me. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to sweep in, dazzle everyone with my expertise, and prove once and for all that I could handle anything life threw at me. Instead , I was cowering in my car like a scared little girl, all my big city bravado washed away by the mountain rain faster than cheap mascara.

A resounding crack split the air, different from the thunder. My head snapped up just in time to see a massive pine tree, uprooted by the gale, toppling towards me. Time seemed to slow as I watched it fall, my mind blank with terror and filled with regret that my last meal had been a sad, stale granola bar instead of something fabulous like truffle risotto.

This was it. This was how I was going to die. Crushed in my useless car, before I even had a chance to prove myself. My obituary would read: " Here lies Zoe Mitchell , flattened by flora. She came, she saw, she got squashed."

The tree crashed down mere feet away, the impact shaking the ground and sending my heart into overdrive. I screamed, the sound lost in the howling wind, as branches scraped against the roof of my car.

Suddenly , through the rain-streaked windshield, I saw a figure emerging from the storm. Tall , broad-shouldered, moving with the confidence of someone who knew this wild land like the back of their hand. For a moment, I wondered if I was hallucinating, conjuring up some mountain spirit to save me in my hour of need. Maybe all those patchouli-scented crystals my New Age aunt had given me were finally paying off.

But as he drew closer, I realized this was no spirit. This was a man, as real and solid as the mountains themselves, and hot enough to melt all the snow on those peaks. He reached my car in a few long strides, and I found myself staring into the most intense pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen. They were like sapphires, if sapphires could smolder and make you forget your own name.

He yanked my door open, rain and wind whipping around him. " Are you okay?" he shouted over the storm, his voice deep and gravelly enough to make gravel itself jealous.

I nodded mutely, still too shocked to speak. My usual razor-sharp wit had apparently decided to take an impromptu vacation, leaving me with all the eloquence of a stunned goldfish.

" We need to get you out of here," he said, his eyes scanning the area. " That tree could shift any moment. Come on!"

Without waiting for a response, he reached in and scooped me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing, which was a testament either to his strength or to the effectiveness of my latest juice cleanse. I gasped, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck as he carried me away from my car. The scent of pine and leather enveloped me.

My heart raced, pounding against my ribcage. The world tilted and spun around me, rain pelting my face, wind roaring in my ears. But through it all, I was acutely aware of the solid warmth of the stranger's chest, the strength in his arms as he held me securely against him. His muscles rippled beneath my fingertips, and I fought the urge to explore them further. A shiver ran down my spine, and I wasn't sure if it was from the cold, the electricity crackling between us, or the realization that this was the most action I'd gotten since my ex left me at the altar.

My breath hitched as his grip tightened, pulling me impossibly closer. I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat, a soothing counterpoint to the samba my own heart was attempting. His stubbled jaw brushed against my forehead, sending tingles across my skin.

As we moved, I became hyper-aware of every point where our bodies connected, my nerve endings doing the cha-cha with gleeful abandon. The heat of his skin seemed to seep through my drenched clothes, warming me from the outside in like the world's sexiest hot water bottle. My fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of his shirt, seeking an anchor in this whirlwind of sensation.

Despite the danger, a part of me wished this moment would never end, content to remain in the protective cocoon of his arms. Because really, was there any better meet-cute than being rescued from death by tree in the middle of a raging storm by a man who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a romance novel cover?

As we finally reached the safety of the lodge's porch, I looked up at my savior, ready to thank him with all the gratitude my waterlogged heart could muster. Instead , what came out was:

" Nice weather we're having, huh?"

And in that moment, I realized that no matter how far I'd run, no matter how much I'd tried to reinvent myself, deep down I was still the same awkward, disaster I'd always been. But as the stranger's stoic expression cracked into a smile that could outshine the sun (if the sun ever decided to show its face in this godforsaken weather), I thought that maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing after all.