CHAPTER 1
Maple
I hear the bells at the entrance of the store ring letting us know someone has entered the store.
From my crouched position I hand another can of dog food up to my co-worker Cory, but this time he doesn’t catch it. Instead of winding up on the top shelf it lands with a thud on the cold shop floor, denting the can and ruining the contents.
Even though he’s well over six feet and lifts weights five days a week, Cory’s body language tightens. I can see he’s scared. His eyes dart from the front of the store back to the aisle as he lowers himself down the ladder.
He doesn’t have to tell me who’s entered the store because I already know. A man much bigger and badder than anyone I’ve ever seen.
The Mountain Man.
At least that’s what we call him around here.
He comes in once a week, gets what he needs without speaking to anyone, and then he’s gone until a week later. He’s never in a rush, yet he manages to fill an entire cart and get in and out of the store in under three minutes. I guess you don’t need much time when you know what you want and don’t bother with unnecessary chit chat about the weather or the town gossip like most of our customers do.
“I’ll get the mop from the back,” Cory says.
I look down at the can of dog food and see that it’s just dented. We can’t sell it, but it hasn’t spilled out of the can. The floor certainly doesn’t need to be mopped for the second time this morning. I roll my eyes as Cory scurries away, knowing well he’ll fumble around for a few minutes in the back until he knows the Mountain Man has left. What a wimp.
Good.
That means I get him all to myself.
I walk up to the register and watch as he maneuvers through the aisles. I’ve never seen one man whose shoulders seem to almost brush each side of the aisle as he gets the things he needs. Sure, our aisles aren’t the widest, but they’re not exactly that tight either.
But tight is exactly how my stomach feels.
There’s a bit of fear mixed with lust each week when we do our unspoken dance. Whoever else is working with me runs to the back while I go to the register and watch him collect his items, while he does without so much as looking in my direction.
Every week we do this and every week I tell myself I’m going to say something to him, but never do.
There’s just something about him when he comes to the register and stands there towering over me. I can’t even see around him let alone dare try and hold eye contact with him.
Not that his eyes are his only feature worth looking at.
I catch myself fantasizing about him and suddenly I hear the sound of canned goods being placed on the counter to be rung up. I shake my head slightly and open my eyes realizing I was in full fantasy mode.
I look down to grab the first item, my eyes scanning his body. He’s wearing a flannel shirt with the top few buttons undone. We’re in the middle of the coldest winter in the last ten years yet this man doesn’t even have a T-shirt on underneath. His sleeves are also rolled up putting his massive forearms on full display.
A can of tuna practically looks like a coin in his mitts, his hands are that big. I can only imagine if he got ahold of me the damage he could do.
But I’m not thinking about the kind of damage that sends the town off in the other direction every time they see him. I’m talking about the kind of sex that could ruin me for life, in the good way.
The kind where I’m being thrown around like a rag doll and know instantly this is a once in a lifetime experience in the way that no man could ever compare again.
But as much as he has my sexual sirens ringing there’s something more to him. Much, much more.
I imagine him grabbing me by the wrist and taking me out to that pickup truck of his and driving us up into the mountains for good…away from all this small town gossip and nonsense.
Just me and him up there all by ourselves. Not saying much, just enjoying the silence and stillness.
I mean do his vocal cords even work? Can he even talk? I’ve never even heard so much as a sound out of him, but I can imagine if he does speak it will be deep and masculine tones reverberating through that barrel chest of his and filling the air with a manliness that Barry White couldn’t even dream of.
I grab his first item and scan it. I twist slightly to put it in the brown grocery bag, but keep my eyes on him with my peripheral vision. It’s not that I’m afraid of what he might do if I take my eyes off him. I just don’t want to miss one second of his visit. I need to take mental pictures for later tonight when I’m thinking about him. I want the imagery in my head to be as vivid as this moment.
I turn back and reach for another can, but it’s not quite close enough to the scanner. I reach a bit farther and just as I make contact I feel his hand on top of mine.
The tiny peach fuzz hairs on my arm immediately stand on end and my forearms tighten. His grip is loose, but still I can feel the power in his massive digits and his thick palm against my wrist.
I freeze.
He doesn’t move.
Then I feel my hand moving towards the scanner. He guides it across the green light of the bar code reader and pauses.
The scanner goes wild, ringing it up non-stop emitting a constant beeping sound. The scanner’s not programmed to work that way, and I’m not programmed to work this way…getting wet immediately on contact.
He releases my hand and sends his back into his cart for the next item.
I breath out trying not to make it seen at how flustered and flush I’ve quickly become. I can feel the heat in my cheeks and my middle.
I turn to the register and void the twenty-one scans of the same item. Twenty-one…just like my age. Coincidence?
I turn back to grab the next item and he’s staring right at me. I can’t hold eye contact so I start grabbing and scanning feverishly.
I’m trying to get myself under control, but it’s no use. I’m completely freaking out knowing he’s staring me down like the old gunslingers that used to frequent this town over a hundred years ago.
A can slips from my grasp, my palms sweaty.
I finish as quickly as I can and say nothing. He looks at the small screen showing his total due in green and then looks right back at me.
He stuffs one of those massive hands of his into his pant pocket and pulls out two hundred dollar bills and holds them out to me.
I reach for them, careful not to touch him or to make eye contact.
The register pops open and I stick them inside, where exactly I’m not even sure.
By the time I’ve shut it he’s already hoisted four bag and is half way out the front door.
“Thanks. Come again,” I say. What in the heck?
He freezes, looks back over his shoulder.
His eyes lock on mine but this time I don’t look away.
“As long as you’re here, you can count on it.”
His head turns back around and he pushes through the door and into the lot.
I take a few deep breaths trying to calm myself, but it’s not working.
I run around the side of the counter and place my hands on the cold glass of the door watching his truck pull away.
Any other time there’s no way I’d put my hands against this glass. It’s too cold.
But because of him my blood is running hot and thick and I feel warm everywhere.
“Is he gone?”
I turn and see Cory peeking his head out from behind the far aisle.
“For today,” I say. “Can you watch the front for a minute?”
“Yeah, if you’re sure he’s not coming back today.”
“He won’t today,” I say.
Cory cautiously moves to the front registers and I take a shortcut through a near aisle and head back to the break room. I don’t need Cory seeing how flush I am, even though he’d probably register it as fear and not lust.
I knew he’d be in today. I could feel it. This time I was prepared.
I grab my spare pair of panties from my purse and quickly change them out in the ladies room.
Before heading back into the store I slide into the walk-in freezer where we keep the extra ice cream and frozen foods. I need a minute to cool down in these sub-zero temperatures after he just came in here and made me feel as hot as if I was standing on the sun.