Are you in the mood for a piece of Mr. Gingerbeard Man? ;)
Gingerbeard Man is a short ‘n’ steamy standalone contemporary romance and part of the Flirt Club’s new Mountain Man Holiday series.
And yeah…it’s hot. ;)
Not only is it out right now in Kindle Unlimited, but I’ve got a free excerpt for you to read right here and now. Enjoy the first chapter from Gingerbeard Man. Happy reading! :)
Colt
I survey the stack of cut firewood in front of me. This will probably get me through a few days, but I checked the weather this morning and the forecast isn’t great. I’m going to need more.
Wiping the sweat that’s threatening to roll into my eyes, I heft my ax once more and begin raining it down on log after log. The sound of my chopping reverberates through the forest, but not too far — the thick blanket of fallen snow absorbs the ax’s echo.
It’s cold enough to make my balls tuck up close to my body for warmth, but I’m sweating like it’s summertime. I’ve already ditched my canvas work jacket, splitting logs in just my customary flannel, jeans, and sturdy boots.
I find a rhythm, setting a log on my chopping block, splitting it, tossing the splintered pieces on the pile, then setting a fresh log. It’s hard work, but it feels good to move my body, blood pumping hard beneath cold skin.
Hell, that’s the way all of my life is these days — fucking hard work, but satisfying. I’ve lived up on the mountain for a few years now and I’ve never regretted a day of it.
The only thing I do regret is staying down in the town of Evergreen for longer than I wanted. Ever since my folks died in a car accident when I was sixteen, I’ve been the kind of guy to go it alone, stick to himself, keep his head down and get things done.
Living in Evergreen made that harder. Everybody knew my parents, and knew me as a kid. Which means that everybody in that town pities me.
I don’t have time for that shit.
So as soon as I saved up enough money from my career as a bestselling author, I purchased twenty acres up on the mountain and the cabin that came on it.
It sounds like that might be a lot for a young guy — even though it wasn’t until a few years back, in my late twenties, that my book started really making ends meet.
But this land is cheap. The lot is so high up on the mountain that nobody wants to risk the narrow, winding road to get up here — especially in winter.
And that means that nobody comes up here. Not ever.
So I stay up here on my lonesome, living off the land. I hunt and gather my own food and firewood, grow what sustenance I can in the summer, and generally fend for myself. In between, I write.
It’s just me and the mountain and my tomcat, Avalanche, who follows my every move. Yeah, even through the deepest snows.
He’s probably just as crazy as I am. It’s a perfect match.
And this life with him and no one else? It’s fucking perfect.
Today, though, I’m making an exception to the fend for myself rule, just like I do every year.
See, there’s not much I miss about Evergreen. But as much as I might not love life in town, I can’t deny that Nonna down at its lone bakery makes the best damned gingerbread I’ve ever tasted.
I’ve tried to recreate those crunchy gingerbread cookies. Living on my own, I’ve become a pretty good chef.
But those cookies . . . no matter what I do, nothing’s the same as the gingerbread cookies the elderly Nonna stocks Mountaintop Bakery with every December.
So you better believe that every year, I place an order. A massive one. I stuff my belly with those glorious cookies and stock my overflow freezer with the rest.
And today, Nonna’s delivering my cookies.
Well, one of her workers is. She knows I’d be angry with her for risking these treacherous mountain roads at her age. Better to let one of her younger employees navigate them.
I squint up at the waning sun, frowning.
My delivery’s late. I expected the cookies an hour ago. Even though it’s barely four o’clock, the thin winter light is quickly fading.
I split one last log with a growl. There’s nothing for it — I’m not getting my gingerbread today. Nonna’s no fool, she won’t send anyone up the mountain this late. The roads turn to ice sheets as soon as the light fades.
It’s the right decision to delay the delivery, as frustrating as it is for me. Particularly with the forecast being what it is. Safety first, always. Especially up on the mountain.
But worry niggles at me nonetheless. It’s not like Nonna to be late. I haven’t laid eyes on her in quite a while. I wonder if it’s time I made a rare journey into Evergreen to check up on my favorite baker.
I shoulder my ax and heft a bundle of the firewood under one arm. Making for the warmth of my cabin, I stow the ax in the closet just inside the front door, the one that’s full of the rest of my must-have tools for survival, like my hunting rifle and emergency hand-warmers.
Tossing the firewood on top of the stack next to my hearth, I head right back out to gather the rest of the fruits of my labor, storing the cut wood in the shed next to the cabin.
A few trips later, Avalanche following in my footsteps, all of the fresh-cut wood is stored in the dry shed. Night is well and truly falling.
I’m about to hole up the cabin for the night when I hear a low growl that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Avalanche hears it too and hisses.
“Hush,” I mutter to the feline, ears straining through the gray light.
My heart’s pounding because my first thought is that it’s a grizzly. Avalanche and I will be safe enough in my cabin, but a bear can seriously fuck with the less secure shed.
In addition to firewood, it’s where I store my less essential but still needed tools — not to mention my freezer full of frozen venison that I’ve spent the last nine months building up a store of.
Not for the first time, I tell myself I really need to bear-proof that outbuilding. But there’s always so much to do that it falls to the wayside.
The growl grows louder. I hold my breath, waiting.
The sound becomes louder still, and closer. Now it’s much less like a grow and more like a hum.
The hum of a motor. Like a car straining up the steep, rugged road to my doorstep. Headlights flash through the thick trees, heading my way.
Fuck. Nonna can’t have let her delivery person head up the mountain this late. Could she have?
My heart’s racing, but this time in panic. If Nonna’s making these kinds of dangerous decisions, I need to check on her. Like me, she doesn’t have anyone else besides the townsfolk of Evergreen, and I think I’ve established my feelings about them.
The car rounds the bend and my jaw drops.
Because it’s the very worst kind of car to navigate these alpine roads safely. Or at all.
If my eyes don’t deceive me, a 1980s Chrysler LeBaron is pulling up to the doorstep I’m gaping from.
A fucking convertible.
The fabric top is up, of course. It’s cold as balls out.
But still. It’s a convertible.
I definitely need to check on Nonna.
The door swings open and I’m down my front steps before the driver can emerge.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing driving up here in that thing?” I bellow. Avalanche, sensing my outrage, does his customary jump into my arms and I deposit him on my shoulder just how I know he likes.
“Um, are you Colt, um . . . Burr?” a tiny voice pipes from within the car. The interior dome light didn’t come on, so I can’t see who I’m speaking with.
“Are you joking? You risked your neck driving up here late in the day in this thing,” I jut my chin at the car, “and you don’t even know if you’re in the right place?”
“Sorry,” comes the voice again, “I’m new here.”
“Apparently,” I mutter, half to myself. That would explain why a person would get it into their head to risk life and limb taking on the mountain roads in this ancient lightweight of a vehicle.
But Nonna wouldn’t let her employees do such a thing, no matter how much they wanted to. Not the Nonna I know. The worried knot in the pit of my stomach tightens.
I open my mouth to roar at the driver once more. But then they emerge. And yeah, it’s dark out, but not enough that I can’t see the fucking glorious woman standing before me.
She’s got curly mahogany hair tied up in a messy knot on the top of her head. It looks like a crown. Her emerald dress clings to the ample curves at her bust and her hips, and she’s got green eyes to match.
Green eyes that feel hot and heavy on my flesh.
Suddenly, it’s very hard to catch my breath, much less chew this woman out, no matter how foolish she may have been to try these roads in the LeBaron.
“Well?” she says, words as sharp as my own. “Are you Colt Burr or not? Because if you’re not, I’ve got to find his place.” Her bravado — her sexy, attractive bravado — fades and she’s blinking at me shyly from beneath thick lashes. “And, um, if you’re not Colt Burr, could you point me in the right direction?”
The way her lips twist in embarrassment even as her cheeks flush in protest at my crude welcome makes me want to kiss her so damn hard. Or do I want to brush my lips over hers again and again so softly that she shivers and begs me for more?
I shake my head. What the hell is happening? I’m not the kind of guy to fall for a pretty face and alluring body. I don’t need anyone, particularly not the kind of woman who’d make such a dangerous trek in that kind of a car.
“I’m Colt,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest as if to shield myself from her attractiveness. “Who’s asking?”
Her eyes brighten. “Oh good! I was so worried I’d got the wrong place. But the numbering on these mountain addresses is pretty lax, isn’t it? Half the private roads I passed didn’t even have one.”
I scowl. “You didn’t answer the question.”
She cocks twin finger guns at me. “Right,” she says, wincing, then turns to dig in her car.
Finger guns. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
The weird thing is it only makes me warm to the woman more.
Which I can’t allow. I clench my jaw and force myself to look anywhere but her sweet peach of an ass.
I sigh with relief when she whirls around, holding out a brown cardboard box that’s printed with a logo that’s doesn’t belong to Mountaintop Bakery. Thank goodness. Nonna hasn’t lost her wits.
“Here,” the woman says, “your order.”
I frown. “My order?” She must have the wrong guy after all. I only order home deliveries from Nonna’s, and this box is clearly not from there.
I’m about to tell her as much when her reply makes my blood run cold — which is saying something, given how frigid it already is out here.
“Your gingerbread order. Nonna said you have a standing one.”
“I do,” I say slowly, feeling my brow furrow in confusion. “You work for Nonna?”
The woman shakes her head. “I work for me.” She holds her chin higher as she speaks, cheeks pinking with pride.
“But you just said—“
“I bought Mountaintop Bakery. I’m Ember, owner of the newly branded Firelight Bake Shop.” She gives me a goofy grin that could coax a smile from me if I wasn’t so damned flummoxed. “You know, firelight as in embers, like my name—“
“I get it,” I bark, words echoing among the trees.
Ember jumps, and I might feel bad if my mind wasn’t racing. “What the hell happened to Nonna?”
She frowns as if I’m the one who’s spouting nonsense. I don’t like the feeling. “Um, she retired.”
“Retired?” I shake my head. “No way. That’s impossible.”
Ember shrugs. “Sorry to break it to you, but it’s very much possible. I’ve got the deed and business license to prove it.” She cocks her head at me. “Do you want your gingerbread or not?”
“Did Nonna make it?”
“Well, no—“
“Then I don’t want it. Sorry you made the trip up.”
I force myself to ignore the look on Ember’s face, even though all that I want to do is gather her into my arms. What the hell is going on with me?
Turning on my heel, I stalk up the wooden porch steps and into my cabin. I slam the door behind me and bolt it, then wait until I hear Ember get back in her car and shut the door.
I sag against the inside of the front door. Fuck. How could Nonna retire without my knowing? I’m going to have to get down into Evergreen as soon as possible and make sure she’s okay.
It’ll have to wait until morning though. Ember might be a fool to test her fate on these roads after dusk, but I’m not.
As I head for the kitchen to prep Avalanche and I some supper, I try to ignore the guilty feeling tugging at my gut. It’s telling me to get back outside, stop Ember from leaving.
Yeah, it’s not the safest drive back to Evergreen this time of night.
But that’s not why I want her to stay.
And that? Well, that’s dangerous.
So I force myself to focus on prepping some venison for Avalanche and more for myself, along with carrots and potatoes I harvested from my garden plot this fall.
Because I don’t need Ember. I don’t need anybody. I’m just fine with me, myself, and Avalanche.
I manage to restrain my urge to run out my front door and demand that Ember stay the night, just in case the worst should befall her.
I succeed for about five minutes.
Then I find myself hauling ass across the cozy living room, out the door, and down the steps — only to feel gutted to find nothing left of Ember but her tire tracks.