My Mountain Man
By DeeDee Lane
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My Mountain Man - DeeDee Lane
Inc.
We got us a woman this year!
Shorty, I’m hungry. Where’s the fixins?
I’ll just eat this little gal.
Not if I get her first.
Rough hands pulled Addy up and onto a horse still in midstride.
Let me go.
Addy swung her arms wildly, trying to free herself from the man’s grasp.
The stranger easily subdued her arms and pushed his rough face against her mouth, searching for her lips. His thick hands grabbed her breasts, roughly squeezing them.
Now it’s my turn to get some lovin’ from this little sweetheart.
Another man grabbed her from behind. He pulled her dress roughly above her waist.
Oh, God, no…get off of me.
Terror blazed through her. Frantically, Addy tried to pull her dress down and twist away from the trapper’s lunging hands. She was trapped. Cold air swirled around her pantaloons.
Clyde, hold on, you can’t—
Big Jake’s voice boomed out over the chaos of the rendezvous.
I’m not holdin’ back fer nothing.
The trapper’s hands were clawing at her pantaloons, pushing them aside to get a handful of her womanhood.
Help m—!
Addy’s scream died out as Jake’s large fist shot out and caught her captor straight in the jaw. The man fell away from her and down to the ground like a saddlebag, limp and unmoving. Finally, the men were still. The only sound was the gasp of Addy’s breath. Jake grabbed her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.
He’s trying to tell me something. But what?
My
Mountain Man
by
DeeDee Lane
Slip in Time Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
My Mountain Man
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by DeeDee Lane
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Cactus Rose Edition, 2015
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0115-0
Slip in Time Series
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
Dedicated to my all time favorite Louis L’Amour reader.
Chapter One
Addy Spencer had never thought she’d make her living dusting a horse’s ass. Pushing her dark brown bangs aside, she examined the life-size replica of a brown mustang. One of the many things she loved about being curator for a relatively small museum was that every day was different. The Cowboy and Western Museum was quiet now, the bustle of children’s groups and tourists long gone, leaving behind a green glow from the security lights.
Addy yawned. It was time to check this project off her list. She stretched as high as her five-foot-two frame would allow and adjusted the clip lights to shine on the last coating of plaster dust. From this angle, just below the horse’s flank, she had a great view of the rider’s buckskin-covered backside.
Yep, that’s my mountain man.
He was caught in a moment of action and towered above her, encased in buckskin leggings that hugged his thighs and buffalo gauntlets that made him look like a legend of the old West. Though he was mostly plastic, Addy had to admit he looked good.
Six months ago, the museum technician had laughingly asked Addy to describe her fantasy man for a model for the centerpiece of this exhibit. Addy hadn’t even known she had a fantasy man until details had come pouring out of her mouth, all captured now in her mountain man. Addy climbed on top of the stepladder so she could reach his face. Stubble outlined his chiseled jaw, and the line of his mouth felt cold and waxy. Her hand wandered down to adjust his shirtfront and then trailed down to the spot where his sunburn stopped. She took his beaver pelt hat off and adjusted his curly red hair. Breathing deeply, she took in the scent of the buffalo hide blanket and the leather of the riding saddle… He seemed so real.
Addy felt flushed, sometimes she could picture him alive so easily, and it always made her feel a nice kind of tingly. This mountain man was definitely the stuff of fantasies. Her fantasies. But he was really made of Styrofoam—and from this century, not the old West.
One of the downsides of her job was she had no time to find and date a real man. This interaction with a museum model was the closest thing to intimacy she’d had since arriving in Idaho Falls twelve months earlier. Maybe the city wasn’t overflowing with single men, but there had to be some non-Styrofoam man out there with her passion for riding horses, picnics, and western folk songs.
Of course, he might not have the flowing auburn hair and piercing green eyes of her ideal mountain man—not to mention the thighs of steel and buns of yumminess. Still, he’d be real, and at this point in Addy’s single life, that was saying something.
Focus, Addy, the exhibit opens tomorrow.
When all else fails, talk to yourself—that was another of Addy’s mantras for living. One year of researching the old West, writing grant proposals, searching local attics, and traveling up and down the Snake River would culminate in tomorrow’s opening. The diorama was a life-size, fully realized scene: The Mountain Men of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company on a Rendezvous near the Snake River.
Tomorrow the museum would be open for the press at noon with a public opening and party at five.
Perched on the ladder, Addy took in the sights of her exhibit and the museum beyond. She loved this place with all her heart. She definitely didn’t do her job for the money, and that meant she’d be paying off student loans to the University of Tulsa for a long time. Still, her graduate certification in Museum Studies had been well worth it and had helped convince the Director of