Claimed by 3 Mountain Men (Silver Ridge Mountain Men)

2. Mac

2

MAC

T his is it—my first major assignment.

The airport buzzes with the hum of travelers, the clatter of suitcases, and the occasional announcement crackling over the intercom. I stand at Gate 24, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

I’ve been given the opportunity of a lifetime; to gather research on the near-extinct silver lynx in Silver Ridge, Montana.

It’s the kind of project I’ve dreamed about, the reason I spent countless nights hunched over textbooks and lab reports. The reason I avoided dates and relationships while working endless hours.

I adjust my backpack, stuffed with notebooks, cameras, and field guides, and take a deep breath. My fingers play with the boarding pass, the paper soft and worn from my anxious grip.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass window.

I pull my hair loose from the braid and gather it into a messy bun, securing it with a hair tie from my wrist. The movement is automatic, something I’ve done countless times during the long hours spent in the lab or out in the field.

I look like a mess.

It’s already been twelve hours of flying and layovers, coming up from Brazil from the last research project I was a part of.

As I finish adjusting my hair, a murmur ripples through the waiting area. I glance around and see several people gathered around a nearby TV screen, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern.

Intrigued, I get up and make my way over.

The news anchor’s voice is serious, almost grave. “Breaking news; Luke Truitt, renowned logger and real estate landowner in Montana, has tragically died during a logging accident. Truitt, known for his extensive logging operations and controversial land deals, was killed on his property during a tragic logging accident. Authorities have not yet released all the details.”

“No way,” I mutter under my breath. This can’t be happening.

The anchor continues, “Truitt’s death comes at a time of heightened tension in the region, with many questioning the future of his family’s empire. We’ll continue to follow this story as it develops.”

The screen shifts to a somber image of Truitt, a rugged man in his early sixties, standing amidst a forest.

My mind races with questions. Would this unexpected turn of event impact my research?

I’m being sent by the Silver Ridge Wildlife Conservation to track and monitor the remaining silver lynxes left alive. The last ones are believed to be on Truitt property.

There were rumors floating around the research community that Luke Truitt played a huge part in destroying their remaining population.

He, his three sons and their awful logging business.

“Serves the bastard right,” I mumble, stepping away as the television cuts back to commercial.

The PA system announces the final boarding call for my flight. I whip around, clutching my boarding pass and hurry towards the gate.

I cannot miss this flight.

Suddenly, a hand brushes against mine, and I turn to face a man, early thirties, with a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through me. He’s holding my carry-on in a massive hand.

“I think this is yours?”

For a moment, I’m struck speechless. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, their wings brushing against every nerve. The man is tall—at least 6'5"—with an athletic, lean build that suggests years of hard, outdoor work. His dark brown hair is slightly wavy, kept short but not overly neat. A hint of stubble lines his strong jawline, and I notice a small scar above his right eyebrow.

“You left it near the television,” he says with a smile that slowly curls at the corner of his mouth.

Shit. Talk, Mac.

“Uh, yes, thank you,” I stammer, reaching out to take the bag. Our fingers brush again, sending a small jolt of electricity up my arm. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, my mind trying to catch up with the moment.

He’s dressed in rugged work clothes, a flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves, worn, faded jeans, and sturdy boots.

“Thanks again,” I manage to say, pulling my bag closer. “I’ve a flight to catch.”

He nods, his blue eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary. I can hardly take it anymore.

I quickly turn away from him and disappear into the throng of people rushing to their gates.

The gate agent looks frazzled, her eyes scanning a list as passengers trickle onto the plane. When I hand over my boarding pass, she gives it a quick scan and frowns. “Miss Redfern, it seems we’ve overbooked the flight. I’m afraid there isn’t a seat available for you.”

My heart sinks. “What do you mean? I have a ticket. I need to get on this flight.”

“I’m very sorry,” she says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But we’re at full capacity. I can try to get you on the next flight, but it’s not until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? I can't afford to lose a day. “There has to be something you can do. I have an important research assignment in Silver Ridge. I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

She glances around, as if looking for a solution. “I’m afraid we’re out of options. Please see the customer service desk for rebooking.”

Frustration bubbles up inside me. I’m on the verge of arguing further when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

“She can have one of my seats.”

I turn to find the ruggedly handsome man standing next to me, his blue eyes meet mine. My heart rate spikes again.

“Excuse me?” I manage to stutter.

“I booked two since I’m tall and like the elbow room, but I don’t mind sharing, that is, if you don’t mind tagging along?”

“I… I don’t mind,” I finally say, hoping my cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel.

The gate agent looks relieved at this neat solution, and quickly reassigns my seat next to his. “Thank you.”

He hands her his boarding pass and after a few seconds, I’m given a new one in…

Wait. I squint my eyes. First class?

“Is there a problem with your new seat?” he asks, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Uh, no, It’s just… I’ve never flown first class before.”

He grins and shrugs. “Well, today’s your lucky day then.”

“Thank you,” I mutter under my breath, unable to help the heat crawling up my neck.

“Who knew we were both headed to Silver Ridge,” he chuckles. He reaches over. “I can carry this for you. Ready?”

I gingerly hand him my carry-on.

As we board the plane, I can’t help but wonder if this is just a stroke of good luck or if fate has something else in store for me.

First class is really something else. The seats are plush and wide, with ample legroom and an air of quiet luxury. Blue Eyes places my carry-on in the overhead compartment with ease, then gestures for me to take the window seat.

“Figured you might enjoy the view,” he says, settling into the aisle seat beside me. His broad shoulders and long legs take up more space than I expected, but he seems comfortable, leaning back.

“I can’t believe this,” I mumble, glancing around at the other first-class passengers who seem so at ease. “Thank you again. This is… incredible and very generous.”

He waves off my gratitude. “No need to thank me. I figured it’d be nice to have some company on the flight.”

I smile, trying to relax into the moment. “So, you travel to Silver Ridge often?”

“Every now and then,” he replies, leaning back in his seat. “I have some business to take care of up there. How about you? First time?”

“Yes,” I admit. “I’ve read a lot about it, though. I’m excited to finally see it in person.”

He nods, his eyes sparkling with interest. “It’s a beautiful place, though it can be a bit rough around the edges. But you look like someone who can handle a bit of roughness.”

I blush, heat creeping into my cheeks.

“I guess we’ll see,” I stammer, looking out the window.

The engines roar to life, and soon we’re hurtling down the runway before lifting off into the sky. The view from above is breathtaking.

“Two glasses of red wine, please,” he says without so much as a glance in my direction to the stewardess, as she passes by in her six inch heels and perfect make up.

I immediately begin toying with the hem of my worn, oversized cotton t-shirt.

This feels foolish.

He’s just being nice to me. The stewardess is the type of woman he probably dates anyway.

I should say something. Find the right words, but I’m too nervous.

His dark eyelashes make shadows over his cheeks, the trim of his 5-o'clock shadow rough against his olive skin. I open my mouth to say something, anything !

I could at least ask him his name.

Two glasses of wine seem to appear almost immediately. He takes them from the stewardess, and judging from the flutter of her lashes, she too has clearly fallen under his spell.

I am mesmerized by the way his full, perfectly shaped lips tip up at the end in a smirk as he hands me my glass.

“To good company,” he toasts, holding his glass out to mine.

“To good company,” I echo, taking a large gulp of the wine.

The look in his eyes makes me catch my breath.

Fuck me.

I want him to.

God.

What is wrong with me?

“Do you like it?” he asks, leaning in a little too close. The scent of him wafts my way, it’s like he bottled up the natural forest and doused himself in it.

I nod with my mouth hanging open like some dumbstruck idiot. This is why you’ve never had a boyfriend, Mac. You have no game and are incapable of talking to the opposite sex.

“Good,” he chuckles, low and deep in his chest as he leans back. “My apologies. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Mac.”

“That’s an interesting name. Not what I expected.”

“Well, it’s short for Makawee. But Mac is what most people call me. My family’s Cheyenne.”

“Makawee,” he whispers, his voice slow and even. “I love it.”

“Really? Most people think it’s weird…”

“You don’t seem like the type to care much about what most people think,” he says, sipping his wine.

I blush for the one hundredth time, and his lips tip up in a smirk.

“So, Mac? What are you doing in the middle of nowhere?”

“Research. I’m a biologist. Nothing too exciting.”

“Try me.”

“No, really. It's boring. I study animals, flora and fauna, and I collect samples. Sometimes I stare at them under a microscope for hours on end. Real exciting stuff.”

He grins at me, “I think you’re selling yourself short there.”

My cheeks burn even hotter as I start to tell him about my research, my post doc project, and everything else that usually makes men’s eyes glaze over. But not Blue-Eyes. His focus is trained on me with genuine interest.

The rest of the flight flies by and before I know it, we’re starting our descent into a small airport.

“Welcome to Silver Ridge Please make sure your seat belts are fastened and all baggage is stowed away,” the pilot’s voice says over the intercom.

As the plane touches down, I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that our conversation is coming to an end. I know nothing about him, yet he knows all about me.

We disembark together, and he helps me with my carry-on, his touch warm and reassuring.

“So, where are you staying?” he asks as we walk through the small, quaint airport.

“I’ve got a room booked at the Silver Ridge Inn for the night, but I’ll spend most of my time at camp.”

“Well, since you’re new to town, it’d be my pleasure to show you around.”

“Really?”

Good. Nice going, Mac. I must sound like a dazed idiot.

“Sure. I brought you here, didn’t I?”

My heart skips a beat at the thought. “I’d like that,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I could use a local guide.”

He smiles, the mischievous glint back in his eyes.

We reach baggage claim, and as I grab my suitcase, he stands next to me, a steady presence. “Here’s my number,” he says, handing me a small card. “Call or text me if you need anything before tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I say, slipping the card into my pocket. “I appreciate it.”

As he turns to leave, I call after him. “Wait! I didn’t catch your name.”

He pauses and turns back, a slow, almost reluctant smile. “It’s JT,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of something I can’t quite place. “Jack Truitt.”

The name hits me like a physical blow.

Jack Truitt.

The eldest son of the Truitt family empire.

The ones threatening the habitat of the silver lynx. My heart races, a mix of excitement, confusion, and a twinge of betrayal.

How could I have been so oblivious?

His expression changes as he sees the recognition and shock in my eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

I swallow hard, trying to regain my composure. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just… didn’t realize.”

“Didn’t realize what?” he asks, stepping closer, concern etched on his features.

“That you’re… that you’re one of the Truitt’s,” I manage in a voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darken slightly, a flicker of defensiveness. “Is that a problem?”

I take a deep breath.

“No. No. Of course not.” I am a terrible liar.

He stands still for a moment, the tension between us palpable.

“Good. You had me worried for a moment.” He takes several steps, backing away and gives me a half lazy smile. “See you around, Mac.”

He disappears into the sea of people before I can utter another word, leaving me standing there, suitcase in hand, reeling from the jaw-dropping revelation.

This is a problem.