Challenging the Mountain Man (Paperback)

Thirty-seven missed calls from Harrison, and she hadn’t even been gone forty-eight hours. Lark Prescott let his latest voicemail play through the cell phone speaker and let her eyes drift out over the gorgeous Montana sky, bigger and more intimidating than any boardroom she’d ever walked into. It’s not like Harrison showed her this much attention when they were in the same zip code. He didn’t love her, didn’t even really care what she was doing. He just wanted to be sure she remembered she belonged to him. Unfortunately for Harrison Weston the Third and her father—she didn’t agree with that assessment. They weren’t even dating, though her father and Harrison had a different opinion.
She let out a cleansing breath. She didn’t have to think about them for at least two weeks. The mountains rose in jagged peaks around Redemption Ranch. Their snow-capped peaks, not completely melted at the very tops yet despite being early June, caught the early morning light in a way that made her fingers itch for her camera. As soon as the voicemail ended, she tucked the phone into her pocket with a sigh.
“Let me guess—Harrison’s wondering when you’re coming to your senses and heading home to plan the wedding?”
Lark turned to find Tara Morgan approaching with two steaming mugs of coffee, her friend’s knowing smile both comforting and annoying. The gorgeous porch of the main guest house stretched before them, a homey white farmhouse with hunter green shutters with a riot of flowers and flower boxes added to the cheer and welcoming atmosphere—unlike the sterile marble mansion with perfectly manicured gardens Lark had grown up in back in Connecticut.
“Something like that.” Lark accepted the coffee gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma that was so much better than the espresso her father’s staff served every morning at precisely seven-fifteen. “Along with a detailed itinerary of all the charity events I’m missing. Apparently, my absence is an inconvenience for several galas, not to mention the boards I should be heading now that I am assumed to be Harrison Weston the Third’s fiancée.”
“But you’re not, are you?” Tara settled into the chair beside her. “Does he know that?”
“I’ve told him often enough. I have attended galas with him, only because I couldn’t get out of it, but I never accepted the engagement, and we have never once been out on a date. Not that any of that discouraged my father or Harrison from making their own plans.” Lark’s grip tightened on the mug. Her father would have been happier in the nineteenth century, where he could control everyone and everything in his life without any pesky rules or women’s rights.
“I’m so proud of you, you know.” Tara’s voice was gentle. “Having the courage to go your own way, pursuing your dreams—”
Lark snorted. “If my father lets me. He’s not thrilled that I quit my position at the company, though apparently, he never expected me to keep it for long, not after I completed the merger.”
She thought of their last conversation, his carefully modulated tone as he’d agreed to “support” her little photography adventure while simultaneously arranging for the most challenging expedition possible. Mitchell Prescott never said no directly—he was far too sophisticated for that. He found other ways to dissuade you and persuade you to his way of thinking. But Lark had learned from the master, from years of being under his control. She knew his tricks and was too determined to forge her own path. She was too close to being free to fall for his manipulations.
Tara shuddered. “What a way to talk about marriage.”
Lark shrugged. “That’s Mitchell Prescott. Everything is a business decision.”
The only way she had been able to avoid attending an East Coast prep school was to convince her father that she could make new connections for his business by going to school out west. She had been tired of attending local schools and never knowing if the girls wanted to be her friend or were told to do so by their parents, or if the boys wanted to date her or to garner her father’s favor. Going to Colorado as a teenager, she could be fairly anonymous and meet at least a couple of loyal friends, including Tara Rawlings, now Morgan. Now, she was looking for another escape, gambling on her skill with the camera to give her an alternative to marriage to Harrison Weston the Third.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, taking in the view. The morning mist was just lifting off the mountains, revealing layer after layer of peaks that seemed to stretch forever. A red-tailed hawk circled lazily overhead, and somewhere in the distance, cattle lowed and horses neighed. The air smelled of pine and wildflowers and possibility—so different from the exhaust and ambition that flavored every breath in Manhattan. It was cooler than she expected for early June, but that was Montana, she supposed.
“I lived in San Francisco for years,” Tara said softly, watching the mist swirl through the valley below, “and I never realized how much I missed this. There’s something about this place that strips away all the noise and shows you who you really are.”
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.” Lark lifted her camera from the table beside her—a top-of-the-line Canon that had cost more than most people’s mortgage payments—and adjusted the lens. Through the viewfinder, the landscape looked even more dramatic, all sweeping vistas and untamed beauty. “I want to capture that feeling—that sense of something wild and real. Something that can’t be bought or staged or controlled.”
Unlike everything else in her life.
Tara was quiet for another moment, her fingers worrying the handle of her mug. Then she asked carefully, “Are you really ready for this? Hiking in the backcountry isn’t an easy task, Lark. It’s not like hiking trails in Red Rocks or Roxborough like when we were at school. You’re going to be out of touch and away from civilization. A lot can go wrong.”
Lark bristled, setting down her coffee with more force than necessary. She expected this negativity from her father and Harrison, hell, from everyone in her life. But she had hoped Tara would be more supportive. The ceramic mug clinked against the wooden table. “Are you doubting me too?”
“No, no—I’m just worried and want to be sure you’ll be okay out there. It’s dangerous, and you’ve never done anything like this before.”
“I’m not completely helpless,” Lark said, irritation creeping into her voice. “I hiked in Switzerland last summer, and I did that photography workshop in Costa Rica. I’ve been hiking on weekends at various trails and mountains in New England for the past few years, too.” Even as she said it, she knew those carefully orchestrated experiences were nothing like what she was planning. But she’d researched every piece of equipment, studied topographical maps until her eyes crossed, and read enough wilderness survival guides to stock a library.
“In addition, my guide should be good enough to keep me safe,” she continued. “We certainly paid enough for the best—”
The rumble of a truck engine cut her off. They both turned as a dusty black pickup pulled up the circular drive, disturbing the morning quiet. The truck looked like it had seen some miles—work-worn and practical, with a rifle rack visible through the rear window and mud splattered across the wheel wells.
Lark’s words died in her throat when the driver’s door opened.
The man who climbed out was nothing like anyone she’d ever seen in her world. Broad shoulders stretched a faded flannel shirt that had clearly been washed a hundred times, worn jeans hugged long legs, and scuffed boots hit the gravel with confident strides. When he pushed back his cowboy hat, dark hair caught the morning sunlight, and she could see he was deeply tanned—the kind of tan that came from actual outdoor work, not country club tennis. Everything about him screamed masculine, rugged, real—the exact opposite of the polished, soft men who populated her father’s social circles with their manicured hands and Italian suits.
A German Shepherd jumped down after him, alert and well-trained, staying close to the man’s side without needing a leash.
Something fluttered in her chest that had nothing to do with altitude.
Then he opened his mouth.
“You must be the city girl who thinks she’s ready to play in the mountains.”