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  Rough Mountain Daddy

  Copyright © 2019 Izzy Slam

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters depicted in this work are over the age of eighteen (18) years and are not related by blood.

  Cover model does not endorse the contents of this book.

  When my best friend’s mom and stepdad are killed in a car accident, she ends up moving in with her estranged dad, all the way up in the mountains. When I can’t get ahold of her, I take a trip up there to make sure she’s okay.

  When I arrive, I sure don’t expect to find a rough mountain man answering her door. He looks like he hasn’t seen civilization in years, and he acts as if he hasn’t ever had the love of a woman. But since a snowstorm is approaching, it looks like I’m stuck with him…

  …whether I like it or not.

  I glance at the map on my phone, yawning from sheer exhaustion, but also relieved. I’m only three miles away from my best friend’s house. And it’s a good thing, too, because a winter storm is approaching, and I might be stuck here for a few days. Also, I’m so tired from lack of sleep and late nights of studying.

  I sure hope that everything is all right with Melissa. Her mom and stepdad died a few months ago. And, despite not having seen her real dad in years, or even having much of a relationship with him, she was forced to move in with him.

  Well, forced is probably overkill. She could have stayed in Rayford if she wanted to. After all, we are both nineteen years old and full-time students at the local community college. But losing her mom, well, it devastated her, and she ended up dropping her classes right after the semester started. She thought living with her dad and getting to know him would be good for her. I supported that decision, even though I miss her like crazy.

  And it seems like we hardly ever get to talk these days. Her dad owns a cabin way up in the mountains, and phone reception can be pretty shoddy. As a result, we only chat here and there. I don’t know much about her dad, except that his name is Bill Wilson, he’s forty-two years old, and he works as a consultant for a construction company who mostly clears trees for building new homes.

  The whole reason I’m taking this trip is because I’ve been trying to get ahold of Melissa for three days now. But she isn’t responding to my calls or messages, and she hasn’t been seen on social media for nearly a week. I’m terrified something has happened to her. So, this morning I woke up and sent a few emails to my teachers, letting them know I had a family emergency and wouldn’t be in for a few days. I packed a bag with a few essentials and hit the road right after lunch for the three-hour road trip.

  I have her address, but it looks like it’s nestled deep in the woods, sort of off the beaten path. And with this snowstorm coming, I want to get there as soon as I can. Darkness falls early around here. It’s almost four o’clock, and my headlights are shining brightly in front of me. The sun is out of sight, buried under multiple layers of heavy white clouds as it dips below the horizon.

  I follow the dirt road as it winds through the woods, feeling a little creeped out. I haven’t seen one sign of life for miles. No homes, no people, no animals or anything. It almost feels like I’m on another planet.

  In the distance, I catch a faint glimmer of light and see a trail of smoke billowing between the trees. I really hope it’s her house. And right as the first snowflake falls, the road ends right behind a huge, black truck next to a log cabin.

  I let out a sigh of relief, grateful I can see lights on inside and a chimney that’s probably got a roaring fire going. I cannot wait to sit in front of that thing and catch up with my best friend over the next few days.

  I pull my coat on inside the car and grab my purse before heading out into the cold. Shivers run down my spine as I run to the front door, the cold air hitting me like tiny little daggers. Well, at least the snow is pretty.

  I knock on the front door, realizing I’m probably scaring the shit out of them. Maybe I should have texted Melissa, just on the off chance she can see my messages. But when I pull my phone out of my coat pocket, I only have one bar, and it’s fading in and out. I just hope they aren’t too freaked out to actually answer the door.

  I hear the twist of the knob and smile before the door is pulled open. But the man on the other side is not smiling back. At least not that I can see through all the shaggy facial hair.

  “Hi. Sorry to bother you. I’m Kelsey, a friend of Melissa’s and … is she here?” I peer over his shoulder as he knits his brow, realizing it’s probably rude of me to peek into his home when he has no idea who I am.

  “No, she’s not. Who did you say you were again?”

  “Kelsey. We go to school together. Used to go to school together. She’s my best friend. She hasn’t mentioned me?” I force a smile this time, feeling like he should at least know of me.

  “I think she has. You can come in and wait on her. She should be back soon,” he grumbles, poking his head out the door and looking up at the sky.

  “Thanks. That would be preferable to waiting in my car.”

  He steps aside and lets me in, and I immediately feel the warmth of the fire. The inside of the cabin looks just like the outside with every square inch made up of wood. Even the kitchen table is unfinished oak.

  “You want me to take your coat?” he clips out, sounding a little irritated that I interrupted his alone time.

  “Sure. Thank you.” I slip off my coat and he hangs it on a wall hook. I take a few seconds to drag my eyes over his body. He’s well built, that’s for sure, has dark blond hair and hairy hands. I can’t see his arms because he’s wearing a thick flannel shirt, but he appears pretty muscular.

  “Have a seat,” he offers, tossing a hand in the direction of the couch.

  I sit down on what appears to be a one-hundred-year old piece of furniture. It’s a little stiff, and there are scuff marks everywhere, even a few tears along the edges. It’s apparent Melissa’s dad doesn’t care about having fancy new things. Which I totally respect.

  “Does she know you’re coming? Cause I don’t think she mentioned it.” Melissa’s dad uses a toothpick to flick around inside his mouth, curling his nose up at me while he pick-pick-picks away.

  “Um, no. I’m actually here because I’ve been trying to call her for several days and she hasn’t answered. I was getting a little worried.”

  He nods understandingly. “Shitty cell phone service here.”

  I happen to notice a small round table in the corner, upon which a landline telephone is resting. I can’t help but point it out. “Oh, I see you have a phone. I wonder why she didn’t give me the number.”

  “I don’t allow her to, that’s why,” he barks. “Anyone gets that number, the next thing you know I’ve got pain in the ass telemarketers calling me every single day. No fucking thank you.”

  Well, he seems pleasant. This must be why Melissa hasn’t hardly said a word about him. She’s probably embarrassed at what a dick he is.

  I sort of make a face and nod my head, like yeah, I totally get that. I really hope she comes back soon because I don’t know how long I can take being in the same room as him. Maybe I should just try to make polite conversation. Or maybe I should make myself scarce.

  “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

  He points past the kitchen. “Down the hall, first door on the left.”

  I can’t get out of the room fast enough. I close the door and sit for a few minutes. It’s chilly in here, but not nearly as icy as the living room feels, despite the fire. I hang out for a while, checking my phone periodically for a signal
. I end up composing a message to send to Melissa, even though I’m pretty sure it won’t go through.

  Hey girl. You’ll never guess where I am right now.

  I press send and as expected, a red exclamation point appears with the fine print, “Failed to send.”

  “Great,” I mutter.

  I run some hot water and wash my hands for about five minutes, enjoying the warmth, when I hear a knock at the door.

  I snap my head to the side and before I can say a word I hear Mr. Wilson. “Don’t use up all the hot water. I still gotta shower.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  Jesus. This guy is a real piece of work. I’m starting to really feel sorry for Melissa having to live with him after losing her mom. I can’t help but wonder how she has processed the fact that this is the man who donated his sperm to create her.

  Several minutes later, I force myself to come out of the bathroom. At this point, staying in here any longer would just be obvious. When I come down the hallway, I hear Mr. Wilson talking to someone.

  “Did you hear me, honey? I said your friend is here … Hello …? Melissa …?”

  He’s pressing the phone to his ear, and I feel a momentary rush of excitement that maybe Melissa is on the way. But when I make it to the couch, he hangs up the phone and runs his hand through his messy head of hair.

  “Well, doesn’t look like you’ll get to see my daughter tonight.”

  “Oh? What’s happened?” This is not what I wanted to hear. Not at all.

  “She’s at a friend’s house, about an hour away. Snowstorm has already hit up there, and she’s stranded. Bad connection on her cell phone too because I could barely hear what she was saying.”

  Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

  “Well, I guess I better leave, too. Otherwise I’ll be stuck here for all eternity.”

  I can’t believe I just phrased it like that. But honestly, that’s how it feels. Like staying here with him for one more minute would last forever.

  “I got news for you, darlin’,” he laughs. “Bottom of the mountain is a mess with freezing rain and sleet. And things get bad fast up here. You’d best hunker down, because you aren’t going anywhere, unless you want to be stuck out in the elements.”

  “Well, I can’t stay here,” I laugh cynically, walking towards my coat. “That would just be weird.”

  “Weird?” he says, crossing his beefy arms over his chest. “What’s so weird about staying at your best friend’s house?”

  “For starters,” I snap, grabbing my coat off the hook. “My best friend is not here, so I would be staying with my best friend’s dad in a strange house. And, no offense, but I don’t know you. And what I do know, you don’t seem to be very … warm and inviting.”

  His eyes flicker, and he knits his brow before lowering his arms. “I might not be warm and inviting, but I’m a hell of a lot more fun than a car crash, which is what’s gonna happen if you leave here.”

  “I’ll take my chances, thanks.”

  I slide my coat on and jerk the door open, yanking it shut with force. The snow is coming down so hard I can barely see in front of me and the ground is already starting to get covered. Jesus. He wasn’t kidding. Things do get bad fast up here.

  As much as I hate to admit it, it looks as though I am stuck. It would be pretty dumb for me to risk my safety out of spite. And now I have the fun task of knocking on the door and asking him to let me back in.

  Luckily, I don’t have to. By the time I turn back around and raise my hand to knock, he’s pulling the door open, a smug look on his face. “Come to your senses, did ya?”

  “I mean, I’m not looking to die just yet, so I guess I’ll stay here and wait it out.” Maybe tomorrow it will warm up and all this stuff will melt.

  “Smart girl. Come on in. I’m about to start making some stew.”

  “You’re going to feed me?” I ask, re-hanging my coat on the wall.

  He chuckles, showing that he does have the ability to be a little happy.

  “I might be an asshole, but I’m not about to starve some poor girl who has to stay with me.”

  I’m not some poor girl, but whatever. I don’t feel like arguing with him about it.

  “Well, thanks. I guess. You need any help?”

  “You can set the table. Silverware’s in this drawer.”

  He points to the right then walks to the fridge, removing a bunch of vegetables and a fresh package of steak. My stomach starts grumbling at the thought of homemade stew.

  He’s quiet as I set the table, working on rinsing and cutting vegetables. He pulls a long twelve-inch butcher knife from the slab and starts cutting bite size pieces of the steak, working slowly but methodically.

  When I’m finished putting silverware on the table, I ask if there’s anything else I can do.

  He looks over his shoulder. “Just make yourself comfortable in the living room. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

  Suits me just fine to stay out of his hair. I make my way over to the couch and actually lie down, enjoying the heat from the fire. And I end up drifting to sleep. Mr. Wilson wakes me up a while later, gently nudging my arm.

  “Kelsey? You alive down there?”

  I open my eyes, feeling groggy and disoriented as I struggle to get my bearings. When I look up, I see Melissa’s dad and his shaggy beard.

  “Yeah, I’m alive. How long was I sleeping?” I ask.

  “Bout an hour. I’ve been trying to wake you up for ten minutes. Anyway, dinner’s ready, if you’re hungry.”

  Jesus. Ten minutes? I must really be sleepy. I still am, to be honest. But my stomach is also grumbling again. I sit up and stretch my arms. “I’m starved, actually.”

  “Good. Come on over and get you a bowl. I made plenty.”

  Feeling a little warmer towards Melissa’s dad—likely due to the fact that he is letting me eat his food and stay at his home—sitting at the table with him doesn’t seem so awkward. But he still isn’t very social, choosing to spend most of the meal flipping through the day’s newspaper. I didn’t even think people bought those things anymore.

  I also don’t really care that he’s not being social because I’m still sleepy as hell. Like, I just want to finish eating and go crash in front of the fire and sleep away the rest of this night, hoping that tomorrow brings sunshine and melting snow. Or at least cleared roads.

  I can’t help but look at Melissa’s dad as he eats. His hands are huge, and his eyes are the darkest of blue, like a deep river you could float on forever. A few crow’s feet span out around his face, and underneath the thick beard, I think I see a strikingly handsome face.

  He looks my way, catching me watching him, and I dart my gaze down, fiddling with my napkin nervously as I feel my face blush.

  “How’s the stew? You want some more?”

  “It’s delicious. And I think I’ll save my second bowl for lunch tomorrow, if there’s any left.”

  He smiles at me, melting all the icy irritation I felt towards him earlier. “I made enough to last a couple days. Even got some brownies in there if you’ve got room for dessert. They’re store bought but still…”

  Dessert? Oh hell yes.

  “That sounds amazing, Mr. Wilson,” I say, rolling my eyes heavenly.

  He chuckles and gets up, bringing me the box of individually wrapped brownies. “Here you go. And please, don’t call me Mr. Wilson.”

  I look up at him, at the serious look on his face, trying to gauge if he is irritated or not. “Bill?”

  He shakes his head, then sits back down, flipping to the last page of the paper. “Call me Daddy.”

  I have to bite my tongue to hold back a snort-laugh. Is he serious? “You want me to call you Daddy? Even though you are not my daddy?”

  His eyebrow rises as he points his gaze at me. “I am your daddy as long as you are staying here under my roof, letting me feed you and take care of you.”

  Okay, he has a point about the feeding me part. But still. Call
ing my best friend’s dad “daddy” is just, I don’t know, weird. Maybe if I knew him better or had spent more time with him growing up.

  But you know what? I don’t care enough about it to make a fuss. He wants me to call him Daddy, then I will. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be here past tomorrow. I hope.

  ***

  After dinner, I wash the dishes while Mr. Wilson, I mean Daddy, stays at the table and finishes reading the paper. After putting what’s left of the stew in the fridge, he goes to my car and gets my suitcase for me, and I make myself comfortable on the couch, picking up one of the paperback books that rests on the table. It looks like a popular mystery series, which isn’t my favorite genre, but at least it’s something to do besides sit here and twiddle my thumbs.

  Meanwhile, Daddy bundles up in a thick wool coat, hat, and gloves.

  “I have to go out back and cut some more wood in the shed. We’re gonna need all we can get with this storm.”

  “Do you need any help?” I toss the book aside as he pulls the hat further down.

  He smiles at me again, those dark blue eyes of his pulling me closer to him in a weird way I can’t describe. “Hell no. But that’s sweet of you to offer. Maybe when I come in we can make some cocoa.”

  “That would be good.” Hot chocolate sounds perfect right now. I almost want to make a cup without him. But that would be rude.

  Anyway, I think he’s totally redeemed himself at this point.

  I start reading the mystery book after he leaves, my eyes getting heavier by the second. I have sleep deprivation and this boring book to thank for that I suppose. So I get up to stretch my legs, and feeling a tad curious about this wood that needs to be chopped, I walk over to the far windows to see if I can catch a glimpse of Daddy.

  I pull the thick curtains aside and get a clear view of him. He’s standing in a shed alright, the doors wide open and a lightbulb dangling from the roof, illuminating the space where he works. I watch him sling the ax, splintering thick pieces of wood and watching them tumble to the floor. He reaches over and grabs another log, repeating the process over and over.