Stranded with the Mountain Man
GRAB YOUR COPY ON AMAZON AND KINDLE UNLIMITED!
Chapter 1
“Clara, you just have to get over him,” my best friend Stephanie said as we packed up our bags after a long twelve-hour shift in the pediatric unit. “And you know the best way to do that?”
“No, how?” I shoved my water bottle into my bag and waited for her advice. Stephanie always gave the wildest, most random advice.
One time in college, she’d gathered our entire nursing class together and provided free healthcare checkups to bouncers at our favorite bar for free admission for the rest of the school year. It was kind of genius.
She smiled in anticipation, and I braced for impact. “The best way to get over one guy is to get under another.”
I snorted and then laughed. “That’s horrible, Steph.”
My best friend only shrugged and pulled on my brown ponytail as she walked past me. “It works. Ask me how I know.”
“Whatever. You love Doug.” They were soulmates. I’d been her maid of honor at their wedding ten years earlier.
She turned back and nodded with wide eyes. “Yeah, and how do you think I found him?”
Wait. What?
“That Valentine’s Day frat party? You said you met him in the basement next to the jungle juice trash can?”
“I did. And what we did after that sealed the deal.”
My mouth hung open as I followed her from our locker area. “How am I just now hearing of this?”
“How did you not put the pieces together before this?” She laughed as we walked through the parking lot. “Babe, you dated a dick. It’s done now, and you get to move on in your life. Have an adventure.”
I sighed. Adventure sounded like a lot of work. I needed something more in the nap department. “Maybe, but tonight’s adventure is going to be Netflix and DoorDash.”
“Fine, enjoy these three days off because next time it’s girls’ spa day,” she said, beeping her car to unlock it.
I waved goodbye as she pulled out before getting into my vehicle and leaving as well. Mr. Fancy Pants McGee—McGee for short—was waiting for me at home. If he didn’t get his special dinner, he’d keep me up all night with constant meows of irritation. I understood his pain because I also liked to eat at prescheduled times. It just didn’t happen that often as a pediatric nurse.
I grabbed myself drive-through takeout before feeding McGee and then plopped down on the couch to spend an evening watching reality television documentaries about living in the wilderness while scrolling on my phone. It was perfect in a way. I loved silence and alone time.
But sometimes it was too much silence and alone time.
What would an adventure for me even look like?
Mr. Fancy Pants McGee jumped on the couch and headbutted my phone. I put it down to give him ear pets.
“Do you have what it takes to live in Alaska’s more remote areas? We’re looking for the bravest men and women to take the leap.”
I raised my gaze to watch the television ad as it streamed a list of wanted professions to work on Alaska’s frontier. My grin grew when Nurse flashed onto the screen.
“What do you think, McGee? Should we move to Alaska?” I asked.
He dipped his head and bit the side of my hand as I stopped petting him.
“Find out by taking our short quiz with complimentary matchmaking service.” The ad switched to a baby diaper commercial.
“Matchmaking services in this day and age?” I asked the cat with a laugh. Who would do a crazy thing like that?
Three glasses of wine later, I hit submit on my “Can you make it in Alaska” multiple-choice quiz. The screen flashed, and then a balloon popped before displaying my approval in giant bold letters.
YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO MAKE IT IN ALASKA!
Confetti fluttered down my screen.
How funny. I bet they accepted everyone.
I took another sip of wine and clicked on the big red button that said “Apply Here.”
“What do you think, McGee? Don’t worry, we’ll get you some little sweaters to keep you warm.” I laughed and filled out the form.
Name: Clara Walsh
Occupation/Skills: Pediatric nurse who also enjoys routine viewing of Life in Alaska and Hunters in the Wilderness. I’m ready to debone the chicken and stomp my way through the snowy forest of America’s wild frontier.
McGee sniffled at me as I laughed hysterically and jostled him on the couch. “What? They’re going to love this.”
I answered a few more questions, laughing all the way until I hit the very last.
Don’t go alone. Let us match you with one of Alaska’s eligible bachelors!
“Do you want a new daddy, McGee?” He continued sleeping, completely ignoring my quest to find him a daddy.
I clicked yes and immediately started in on my list of requirements.
Requirements: Must be a lumberjack who wears plaid (black and white) at every opportunity. Needs beard or be willing to grow one. Will always keep the wood stove warm. Must be good with an axe and love animals.
Hmm. I paused. “Anything else, McGee?”
He didn’t answer, so I took his silence as acceptance.
I was sure he’d love his new daddy. The last remnants of the wine went down my throat, and I was still laughing about my beard-wielding lumberjack as I tucked McGee and me into bed.
**
I wasn’t laughing the next morning when my phone dinged as I finished brushing my teeth.
“This better not be work,” I said to myself as I fixed my hair in the mirror. I wasn’t going in on another day off. If they weren’t careful, I might never go in again. The hospital in Annapolis was overworked and understaffed.
I’d gone into nursing because I wanted to help people, but the constant demands, requirements, and honestly even the people were taking their toll. I wasn’t sure I’d still be there when my thirtieth birthday came around. That was if Stephanie let me leave.
An email notification hovered on my screen as I unlocked my phone. Something from the application last night. My heart skipped a beat, and I leaned against the bathroom counter as memories from the night before came back to me.
I’d applied to move to Alaska and hitch up with a bearded lumberjack.
This was why I didn’t drink wine unsupervised. Of course, my supervisor was normally Stephanie, and she was worse than me.
“Mr. Fancy Pants McGee, where are you?” I yelled for the cat as I opened the email and started my search for him.
I found my bed first and flopped onto it to read the message.
Subject: You’ve Been Matched!
Congratulations, Clara Walsh! Alaska has just what you’re looking for!
Whoa! I sucked in a breath as I scrolled to the picture of my match. He was hot. Bearded like I’d asked, and wearing buffalo plaid in his picture—although red and black, not black and white. He had a certain smirkiness to his smile as if he knew he’d just made hearts melt.
Grant Hale was a thirty-six, former Navy SEAL who lived on Fairplay Mountain in western Alaska. He was a homesteader creating a community of like-minded families in the area.
“Your new daddy sounds like a cult leader, McGee!” I yelled for the cat since he was still nowhere to be found.
What ridiculous nonsense was this, anyway? I bet a thousand women matched with Grant Hale. He was probably a fake person created by AI.
At the bottom of his write-up was another button—this website loved its big red buttons—that said, “Accept Your Match.”
I bet if I clicked it, they’d ask me for a thousand dollars or something crazy. This was all just a scam. Nobody actually said yes.
I clicked it.
Two hours later, as I came back from my run, my email pinged again. My heart did a weird little pitter-patter thing that I couldn’t explain but probably needed a doctor to check out as I pulled my phone from my pocket.
I redid my ponytail and headed into my apartment, clicking on the notification.
Holy shit.
It was an email.
From Grant Hale.
The Grant Hale from Alaska.
“Your cult daddy wrote us back, McGee,” I said as I plucked his little gray ass from the kitchen counter.
He’d written me a note.
Hi Clara,
This is Grant Hale from Alaska.
I chuckled at the formality of it. You’d think they’d have the AI bot write it a little more suavely.
To be honest, I don’t really believe in this matchmaking stuff because I don’t see some nurse from Maryland leaving her cushy life to move to Alaska, but your note said you liked chickens.
I scrunched up my nose at his insinuation I had a cushy life in Maryland—even if I did—and then tried hard to remember what I said about chickens in my informational questionnaire. What the hell had I said?
I would have ignored our match, but my neighbor, Tessa, said if I didn’t write you back and at least confirm you weren’t AI, she’d force us to eat more of her special hamburger mac.
Anyway, if you could send her a picture so we can confirm you are a creation of the internet, I would be greatly appreciative.
Yours,
Grant
Who the hell was Tessa? And why was she talking to my Alaskan lumberjack mountain man? Also, I wasn’t AI. He was AI.
“Can you believe he thinks I’m AI?” I asked McGee as he climbed onto the bed with me.
I’d put up with a lot of things, but I wasn’t going to be mistaken for AI. With McGee at my side, I fixed my hair and snapped a quick picture.
I attached it to a return email and wrote simply.
“Not AI. What about you?”
It took him less than five minutes to write back.
And that’s how I spent the rest of my three-day weekend. Talking with a mountain man from Alaska.
When I returned to work on Wednesday, we were still talking. About everything and nothing. The road to his home and the neighboring town was shut down over the winter—sometimes up to seven months. He was running out of good food and couldn’t wait for it to open again so he could restock at the Costco in Fairbanks. The man really loved chocolate chip cookies but had finished his supply in January.
Two weeks later, I’d learned about his family. He had a mother and father still living in Washington, but he’d lost a brother two years earlier to cancer at only twenty-eight years old. He also had fifteen chickens. The road was closer to opening, if even only for a few brief days before another storm closed it until summer’s official start.
One month after my first message to Grant, I made the choice.
“You’re moving to fucking Alaska!” Stephanie said as I got out of my car at the hospital.
I grabbed my bag and locked the door. “You read my email.”
“Yes! I read your email. You don’t say that shit to your best friend in an email, Clara!” she followed me toward the main doors. “I don’t know if I should tie you down or commit you. I know you’ve enjoyed talking to this guy, but Alaska?”
This reaction was exactly why I’d laid out my entire plan and decision in email. I wouldn’t get a word in otherwise.
I slowed at the main door, letting Stephanie open it for me. “What’s the worst that can happen?”