“Our deal required him to show me bank statements to prove his worth, and the salary he’s going to pay me is all in an escrow account that the lawyer will make monthly payments to me from. I’ve already got my first deposit, so I’m just trusting it.”

  “Money before you’re even knocked up. This is crazy.”

  The sign for Jamestown comes into view, and the turn for Fletcher Mountain is just after it, so I use that as an excuse to get off this regrettable phone call.

  “Hey, I’m headed up the mountain now, so I’m going to lose you.”

  “Okay...call me when you’re preggo!”

  “Okay, bye.” I hang up and sigh. I won’t call her when I’m knocked up. And she probably won’t notice I didn’t call her either. That’s the extent of our relationship. And it’s sad, but she’s the only family member I still talk to, so I tolerate it.

  My somber mood instantly lifts as I traverse the final bend through towering pine trees, and the big red barn comes into view. It’s the first building you see when you get to the top of the hill, and Millie the goat is out in her pasture, munching on some hay like a damn postcard. I park in front of the barn entrance, and she comes trotting over to the gate to greet me just as my phone pings with a notification.

  Everly: Happy move-in day!

  Me: Thanks, kid. Millie says hi.

  I hold my phone up and send a quick pic of the goat that she hearts right away.

  Everly: One final warning before you begin this great adventure... Uncle Wyatt has a heart of gold, but he occasionally treads the fine line between sweet and psycho. Nothing to be afraid of... I promise it’s always sweet, and I know you’re tough enough to put him in his place. Just keep that in mind if you ever want to stab him in the gut with a pitchfork, okay?

  My eyes bulge out of my head at that last sentence. Okay, maybe my sister was right. This is crazy.

  Chapter 13

  Weeks Pregnant: 0

  Animals on the Mountain: 2

  Trista

  “How many animals are in that thing?” a deep voice rumbles from behind me.

  I turn to find Wyatt standing at the entrance to the barn. It’s a classic Dutch door with the top section open while the bottom is closed, and I can’t help but think it’s another postcard moment. No psycho vibes so far, thank goodness.

  I smile brightly. “Just Reginald in there. Queenie was adopted by a lovely elderly couple. She’s going to give them a run for their money. But I borrowed the van from work to haul the rest of my stuff. It holds more than my car.”

  Wyatt eyes me warily. “Didn’t our contract include moving expenses?”

  “I used some of the money to move out,” I reply with a shrug, thinking about the teenage neighbor boys who were more than happy to take twenty dollars each to haul my shitty furniture and mattress to the curb. I put a “free” sign on it, along with some other odds and ends, and the stuff was gone before we even loaded the rest of my van.

  It’s not blind optimism that made me purge all my old shit. More so, it was a conscious decision to use this opportunity for a fresh start. It’s entirely possible I won’t get pregnant and have to leave sooner than I thought. But I still don’t want to go back to the past. Not that apartment and certainly not that dumpy sofa.

  This is my chance to leave that all behind, and since Wyatt’s barn apartment came fully furnished, there was no reason not to put all my ovarian eggs and pig in this basket.

  Plus, I have some serious confidence in this gruff mountain man. Even if he does supposedly tread the line between sweet and psycho.

  Wyatt swings out the lower gate to come striding over to where I’ve opened the van door to reveal my entire life jam-packed into various dog-sized kennels. Kind of a depressing sight.

  Reginald spouts out a series of short grunts from his place in the bottom-row kennel. “Welcome to your new home, Reggie!” I coo and reach my hand into the metal fence to touch his stubby snout. “This is Mr. Mountain Man.” Reggie grunts only once, and my brows lift. “Yikes.”

  “What?” Wyatt asks, frowning at the pig like he’s diseased. The dick.

  “I don’t think Reginald likes you,” I tsk while grabbing the long wooden board I use as a ramp to help Reggie out of the vehicle. I open the gate, and he stands there, staring out at me as if he’s saying, “Who’s this fucker?”

  Just kidding, I don’t know what he’s saying, but I often narrate Sir Reginald’s thoughts in my mind, and that’s the vibe I’m picking up.

  I press my hand to Wyatt’s chest. “Can you maybe go hide behind the van?”

  “Hide behind the van?” Wyatt’s tone makes you think I’d just asked him to go to war.

  “Yes,” I exclaim with my hands on my hips. “Reg doesn’t know you, and he just made it very clear that he doesn’t like you. If I want him to come out of the kennel, then we’ll need a little space.”

  Wyatt does that grunting thing he does sometimes but thankfully does as I say. With a little verbal encouragement, I manage to get Reg out of the van and into the barn that’s honestly way too nice to be called a barn. It’s got a large alleyway with multiple big, beautiful horse-sized stalls on each side. So many animals could fit in here. And Reggie’s freshly washed pink body with sleek black spots and coarse white hair looks fantastic in this space. This home is perfect for the king he is.

  “I laid some straw in that pen on the far-right corner,” Wyatt says, following me into the barn and pointing at the enclosure beside me.

  Reggie huffs and shuffles over to hide behind my legs, rubbing his coarse skin back and forth along my jeans to soothe himself. Wyatt said a couple of weeks ago that Millie was like a dog. Well, Reggie boy here is like a cat. Moody and starved for attention and food but only on his terms.

  I frown as I look into the very nice pen set up with two concrete troughs, fresh straw, and a closed drop door that leads out to the pasture. “Are you getting another goat?”

  Wyatt frowns. “No...why?”

  “Who is the pen for?”

  “Your pig.”

  My eyes widen. “You expect Reginald to sleep in the barn?”

  “Where else would he sleep?”

  “In his sleeping quarters upstairs next to me, obviously.”

  “Come again?” Wyatt is loud in the quietness of the peaceful barn.

  “Reggie is a rescue, Wyatt! He came from a horrible situation where the owners neglected him. He had hoof rot and couldn’t freaking walk. I had to give him daily doses of antibiotics and hand-feed him, or they were going to put him down!”

  “Jesus Christ,” Wyatt murmurs under his breath, looking away in obvious agitation.

  “Sir Reginald sleeps on a nice little crib mattress I bought secondhand. He even has a special blanket and likes to sleep in most mornings.”

  Wyatt’s head snaps as he points at the open wooden stairs leading to the apartment. “How are you going to get him up the stairs every day? Those legs don’t look long enough to climb stairs.”

  “I’ll carry him.” I shrug.

  The mountain man’s eyebrows shoot to the moon as he points an accusing finger at Reggie. “He’s got to weigh at least fifty pounds.”

  “Sixty-five, actually, but my vet friend, Avery, just put us on a low-calorie feed even though I think Reggie is beautiful just the way he is.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Wyatt growls and jams a hand through the top of his hair. “You aren’t going to be able to carry him up those stairs when you’re pregnant, Trista.”

  “Well, I’m not pregnant yet,” I scoff, my chin cocking up to meet his as he looms over me with his giant mountain-man stature.

  He pauses for a second as his eyes rove over my face. His voice is deep and husky when he replies, “Yet.”

  Goose bumps erupt over my flesh as one of the tiniest words in the English language just had a massive impact on my not-so-tiny body. I realize we’re not doing this pregnancy thing the old-fashioned way, but it’s been a while since I’ve been laid, and with that one little word, my traitorous mind wandered to a reality where we did it the old-fashioned way. And I liked that thought.

  I swallow slowly, desperate to get control of myself. I glance down at our chests, which are nearly brushing each other. When did we get so close? His scent of pine trees, woodchips, and hay is intoxicating.

  Wyatt’s eyes flick down to my lips as I wonder what the hell are we actually arguing about? I want to be pregnant. And I suppose he’s right... I shouldn’t be lifting sixty-plus pounds once I have a baby growing inside me. I guess Reginald’s sleeping quarters never came up in all our lawyer negotiating.

  And why is he looking at me like that? And why does my body feel the way it feels right now? I’m hot and agitated having him so close to me and telling me what to do. I like it, and I loathe it. I like to loathe it! Gasp! This is the sweet-and-psycho bit that Everly warned me about.

  The voices of men outside force us to pull away from each other just as they walk into the barn with armloads of my stuff.

  “Trista, these are my brothers Calder and Luke.” Wyatt’s voice is strained as he avoids eye contact with me. Oh, he’s mad mad.

  The two giant men in flannel stop talking and gape at me for a moment. The heavily tattooed one with devilish eyes tips his chin up and says, “What’s up, MB?”

  Wyatt glowers at his brother. “Calder...”

  The slightly smaller one (although none of them are small, honestly... I’m in a barn full of flannelled giants) with floppy blond hair laughs boyishly, clearly enjoying the tension between his two brothers.

  “What’s MB mean?” I ask curiously.

  “Don’t ask,” another voice echoes from behind them.

  Calder and Luke spread apart to reveal what I can only assume to be another brother. “Wait...there are four of you? I thought there were only three.”

  “This is my eldest brother, Max,” Wyatt explains with a wave of his hand. “He’s Everly’s dad. He lives in Boulder, not here on the mountain.”

  My brows lift knowingly as I come face-to-face with the man who raised the girl with bigger balls than me. “Didn’t want to join in on the Seven Brides for Seven Brothers remake up here?”

  Max stares blankly at me, clearly not as up-to-date on his classic musicals as he should be. Honestly, I love that film, even if it is highly problematic. It’s about a bunch of bros who look like the retro Brawny paper towel man dressed in skintight buckskin and tassels. They sing and dance when they’re not busy kidnapping young women and trapping them up on their mountain with an avalanche until they develop Stockholm syndrome and fall in love with them.

  It’s a cinematic masterpiece.

  I stare slack-jawed at the men blessing me with all their beautiful hides and feel thankful I am up here of my own free will. If not for work, then for the beautiful views.

  Wyatt is the thicker of the four, pulling off that “I work hard, but I still like to eat” look. Calder, the one with all the ink, definitely looks like he clocks some serious time at the gym. And Luke, the smaller but not-small brother, is still fit but not nearly as bulky as his brothers. Hell, even Max, the non-flannel-wearing one, looks like he’d stretch some plaid if given the chance.

  “You want this stuff upstairs, I assume?” Luke asks and makes a move toward the steps.

  “Yes, but just leave it at the bottom here. I can carry it up.”

  I hear a low rumble from Wyatt, and my eyes fly wide. Seriously... I’m not pregnant yet. I can carry as much as I want to carry until we do this insemination, I pee on a stick, and we make this arrangement official.

  I move to take the stuff out of Luke’s hands, and he shakes his head and offers me a sweet smile. “I got it, MB. Give us an hour, and we’ll knock out that whole van.”

  Slightly irritated, I back up as the three of them stomp their way up the steps, making light work of a task that I expected to take me the better part of the day to accomplish.

  “Is there a way to make them stop?” I ask Wyatt, who is currently staring at Reginald, whose snout is pressing into the crack of the doorway that leads out into the pasture. “I planned on moving my own stuff. Your brothers don’t even know me. Moving my stuff is asking way too much.”

  “You didn’t ask.” Wyatt shrugs. “And they’re doing it for me as much as they’re doing it for you.”

  I frown at that simple response, feeling a bit stunned by the generosity of everyone, and I’ve barely been here for five minutes. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’ve never met someone who’s been kind to me. But these are literal strangers. Hell, Wyatt is still a stranger.

  And he made Reggie a pigpen.

  Heavy green flag, definitely sweet-not-psycho sigh.

  “I suppose we can try the pen out tonight, but I can’t promise Reggie will be okay with it.”

  Relief washes over Wyatt’s face. “You can put the crib mattress in there if it makes you feel better.”

  I nod. That certainly makes me feel something.

  The next forty-five minutes are a flurry of mountain men lugging stuff up to my apartment. At one point, his brother Max started opening up a wardrobe box and was going to hang my clothes for me, but I begged him to stop. If a pair of my granny panties tumbled out in front of these four beefy men, I would die of humiliation.

  Once I’ve shooed the big, tall men out of my space, I make my way down the stairs to take the van back to Earl. He’ll be so impressed that I’m on time for once!

  I find Wyatt leaning over the pen, watching my pig, so I move over to join him. “I suggest we introduce Millie and Reggie tomorrow. Tonight, we just let them get used to having another animal in the same building.”

  “That sounds good,” Wyatt replies with a thoughtful nod. “If they don’t get along, I already worked out a way for me to partition off the pasture so Reginald can have his own space and Millie can have hers. My brothers can help me run some new fence lines. It should be easy enough to pop up within an hour.”

  “You boys get a lot of stuff done in an hour, don’t you?” I reply with a smirk.

  He shrugs. Real chatty, this guy.

  “Anyway, I have to go, or I’m going to be late to return the van.” I slap my hands on the fence and make my way out of the barn, turning on my heel at the door to let Wyatt know one more very important fact. “Oh, by the way... I’m ovulating right now, so I say we get this show on the road tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Wyatt blurts out, his eyes the size of saucers. His Adam’s apple slides down his throat before he asks, “Are you sure?”

  “Yep.” I smile and shoot him a wink. “I should be back by sundown, so I’ll come up to your place then. Toodles!”

  As soon as I’m out of the barn, I cringe, my face scrunching up so much I can’t even see where I’m walking. Did I really just say to the mountain man whose sperm I’m about to inject into my vagina...toodles?

  I think I might actually be the psycho on this mountain.

  Chapter 14

  Surrogates Currently Ovulating: 1

  Animals on the Mountain: 2

  Wyatt

  The sun is just beginning to disappear behind the hill when I see Trista finally return to Fletcher Mountain in her tiny, beat-up Honda Civic.

  “Fuck,” I murmur as I glance at the tires on her car. They look like they’ve seen better days. It’s spring now, so they should be fine, but if she gets pregnant, that means she will be here for the winter...which also means that the car will not do for the duration of this.

  Yet another aspect of this arrangement we didn’t take into consideration. Along with the pig, who looked quite happy in his pen this afternoon.

  Dammit anyway.

  I make a mental note to talk to my brothers about loaning me one of the work trucks for Trista. We have a couple that sit at our shop, so I’m sure we could spare one for her to drive when the snow comes.

  Provided she actually gets pregnant with my baby, which apparently could happen sooner rather than later based on the bomb she dropped on me before she left to return the van to her boss.

  “By the way... I’m ovulating right now, so I say we get this show on the road tonight.”

  She sped off in her van, leaving me in a wake of nerves and anxiety. I wore a path in my recycled wood floor, pacing my house and waiting for her to return. I knew this day was coming. I just didn’t know exactly when. And now that it’s here... I’m not sure how to prepare for it.

  A knock interrupts my obsessive thoughts, and I realize it’s her.

  Time to make a baby.

  I open the door and stupidly grunt out, “I went to the Mercantile and picked up pizza.”

  She holds up two brown bags in her hand. “I picked up booze.”

  She kicks off her beat-up cowboy boots and marches past me, dropping her purse on my small farm table like she’s been in my place a million times...which she hasn’t. I watch her curiously as she props her hands on her hips and assesses the space for a second before making her way toward the kitchen, giving no outward reaction to the home I built with my bare hands.

  Not that I need her approval on this house, but I guess I just... I don’t know what I want. A baby. That’s what I want. That should be all that I want from this woman.

  She sets the brown bags on my butcher-block island and pulls out two bottles of white wine. Without pause, she twists the cap off one and takes a swig straight from the bottle.

  My brows lift. It’s going to be that kind of night.

  “These were two for seven bucks at the gas station, and it tastes like it.” She coughs and winces at the taste.

  “Do you want something else?” I offer, making a move to my refrigerator. “I only have beer.”