Coming Home to the Mountain: Complete Edition

2. Anchor

CHAPTER 2

Anchor

I t's been one hell of a year.

Buying this furnished lake house was a spur of the moment decision. I knew I wanted out of the city, saw this listing—and bought it sight unseen.

Seattle is fine and all, but it's a bunch of tech startups and assholes who like to sit behind a computer. Me? I've never been that kind of guy.

I was born and raised on the water. And I do best when I'm out in wide-open spaces.

When I got the payout for my kayak company, I decided to look for a place to settle down for a while.

Of course, I wasn't interested in going too far.

As much as the world tempts other people, I've never been one who was lured by the thrill of an exotic location. Fuck, I've had my fair share of the limelight. I've seen Fiji and Jamaica. I don't need to go back to Bali and I sure as fuck don't need to sit on the white sandy beaches of Maui to know that I'm alive.

All I need is some fresh air. Some sun on my face. Hell, rain will do. I prefer to work with my hands, to think with my own mind. Though that kind of thinking is what got people pissed at me five years ago on that show. I’m a lone wolf, through and through, and I never should have done that gig in the first place.

Here though, I think as I pour myself a cup of coffee and carry that enamel mug of Joe out to the front porch, I'll be okay for a while, at least until I can clear my head and make a plan. Until I can think up what I want to do next.

Never thought this would be where I’d end up at twenty-six. Alone on a lake with more money than I need.

It's not that I was expecting a wife and kids. Hell no. But the fact that I have no family to speak of,have no parents to call on a good day or bad—that's what kills me. That's what fucking slays me.

I don't need to get into all that shit, though. Not now.

It's Monday morning, I have a good cup of coffee, And the sun is actually out. It's April second, and I'm no fool, but it seems like it's gonna be a good fucking week.

The real estate agent who sold me this property out here on Stout Lake told me it was quiet, and while I drove through the town of Burly, I got a hint of that.It's a little redneck, a little bit country, maybe a little bit too much for my liking. But I told her I didn't mind.

Now, I’m set to chill the hell out until I come up with my next creative enterprise.

The water on the lake is still. At this time of day there are no motorized boats out, which means it's a perfect time for me to take out the stand-up paddleboard. I gotta take advantage of this gorgeous day. There is an eagle on a limb of a tree on the other side of the lake, fish jumping in the fresh water before me, pine trees surrounding me.

I finish my coffee and head back inside the house. The A-frame cabin is lovely. That's not a word I use all too often. But it is. Whoever renovated it had real high-end taste—we're talking granite, stainless steel, wide-plank pine wood floors, and whitewashed walls. New sliding glass doors leading to the large front deck, and tons of natural lighting.

I'm not complaining, but it's way fancier than I need. Hell, give me a cot and a tent, or just a sleeping bag in a strip of grass and I’d be fine out here.

But this place? It's got three bedrooms and a master loft, skylights that stream the stars. Never imagined owning something so beautiful, but even with the high price tag, nothing about it is showy. It’s all muted colors, natural tones, soft. And after a lifetime of fighting my own demons, it’s nice to rest.

I change into some board shorts, streak some sunscreen across my nose and run a hand through my dark hair. With a blue button-down shirt on, I head outside, grabbing the paddleboard and an oar on my way down to the dock that I apparently share with my neighbor.

I look over at that house, which is equally beautiful—though at least twice as large.

In fact, the style and the architecture is so incredibly complementary to my house that when I first saw the listing, I thought they were being listed together. But the agent told me that the remodel project had been done by the owners of the neighboring property.

I guess they own some construction company who does renovations. The agent says they are some outfit over in Home, Washington, about 90 minutes away past the Burly Mountains.

Regardless, the house is empty now.

So I've got the dock to myself and I take advantage of it.

I step out of my flip-flops and drop the paddleboard into the still lake water.

There are a few boats out now, I see, but I’m gonna just mind my own business.

On the paddleboard, I begin to maneuver over the water, enjoying myself, taking in the big lake and working up a sweat, relaxed in ways I often am not—the water is the closest I feel to family.

People wonder why I’m always in a boat or on a board—after the hell I went through in losing my entire family—but I figure being on the water is a way I can stay connected to them. It’s why I have a houseboat on Lake Washington, over in Seattle. Why I make kayaks and surf over in Westport—the water is where I lost everyone I love. So staying close to it makes me feel less alone.

I’m out there for over an hour, maybe longer. And by the time I’m headed back toward the house, I’m starved.

When I get back to my dock, though, I'm surprised to see a woman standing there with her arms crossed, scowling at me.

And not just any woman.

The woman of my fucking dreams.

With my oar in the water, I move closer toward the dock. The last thing I want to do is scare her away.

As I inch closer, I watch her watching me. I call out, “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” she says. “I was wondering why you're at my dock, and why your stuff, your shoes and your phone—what’s it doing here?”

“I live here,” I say, “in that house.” I nod to my new lakefront property. “I just moved in a few days ago.”

“You moved in a few days ago?” she repeats. If she'd smile she'd be fucking gorgeous. She's got this curly brown hair and delicate features; a perfect body that is so sexy she’d look fucking indecent if she stripped out of that sundress and put on a bikini.

Hell, she could get on this paddleboard with me and I’d take us out to the center of the lake. We could sit there all damn day.

But she's not interested in that. Not right now. Her hands are on her hips. She's glaring.

“Well,” she scoffs. “I don't understand what you're doing on my dock.”

“It's our dock,” I say. “It was in the listing. The lady who sold me the house told me we share it. How did it work with the last people who owned this property?”

“No one's lived here for like 15 years. It was the Nelsons’ place but they let it go. They just had it renovated to put up for sale; they all moved to Vermont a decade ago.”

“Okay,” I say. “Well, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that.”

“Well, I don't either,” she says, frowning. “Honestly, the Nelsons were never here so if it was a shared dock, I never would have known.” She sighs, giving in to the reality that I’m right. “Who are you, anyways?”

“I'm Anchor,” I tell her.

She presses her lips together, pushing them forward. They're cute. Pink. Fucking kissable, and I realize I'm really fucking horny. I’ve been waiting my whole life to be turned on like this.

And the only thing I can think when I look at her is how much I want to wrap my arms around her and just relax .

We're at the lake. It's vacation.

But she doesn't want to relax.

“What's your name?” I ask.

“Lemon Rough,” she says.

“Nice to meet you, Lemon.” Pushing the oar through the water so I can move closer, I’ve never been more eager to get on a dock in my fucking life. “Sorry to intrude on the dock you've been enjoying all this time, but I think we have to share it now. Until you can build yourself a new one.” I give her a grin.

“You want me to build myself a new dock?”

I chuckle. “Hell no, I’m fine to share with you, but looks like you might have an issue with me.”

“You don't own the lake,” she says, “but you're paddling around as if you do.”

“I'm not paddling like I own anything. I went out on the lake and was having a nice time. And if I’m not mistaken, you walked out here looking like you own this dock.” I run a hand over my jaw, trying not to smile too broadly. But damn, this woman is making it hard. “And you looked pretty good while defending this strip of floating wood, I might add.”

“Don't,” she says.

“Don't what?” I push back.

“Don't compliment me.”

I smile. “Why not?”

“Because you don't even know me.”

“I know you're bossy. A little bit entitled. A little angry.”

“Stop it,” she huffs.“Those aren't compliments.”

“True,” I say. “They’re just facts.”

She groans. “What is your problem?”

“I have no problem at all right now. I’m having the time of my life.” And I am. Watching her get all worked up is turning me the fuck on. She has no idea how tightly wound she is, but I want to watch her become undone. “I mean, meeting you is a fantastic start to the week.”

Her lips twitch, and she looks me over. “Well, you know, you shouldn’t be paddleboarding around the lake without your shirt on looking like this because it's very inappropriate.”

“Oh, really?” I snort. “It's inappropriate for me to wear my swimsuit on this lake?”

“Yes,” she says. “You look way too… sexy,” she admits, groaning, but as she says it, she takes one step forward and I step back, because if we are inches apart, I don’t trust myself not to pull that woman into a kiss.

But as I step back, I miss the mark, not realizing how close to the edge of the dock I am, and I find myself falling back, into the lake.

Lemon reaches for me, instinctively, her hand meeting mine as if wanting to help me back up, but my weight is no match for hers—and I pull her in with me.

As she falls into the lake, her head hits the paddleboard.

Shit.