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Book #5 in Wild Rose Mountain K-9 Rescue

Claimed by the Ex-Military Mountain Man

When I stumble onto the snarly mountain man’s property, I never expected he’d put a baby in my belly by nightfall.

After years caring for my dying mother and losing everything—college, her, our savings, even my sense of direction—I pack up my crappy car and point myself toward a fresh start.

Only I don’t get far. I slam on the brakes for a wounded dog on the side of the highway and end up lost in the mountains searching for the K-9 Rescue.

Which is how I wind up trespassing (oh, the horrors!), according to the raging, bearded madman who stomps off his porch to chew me out for invading his private retreat.

But by that night?

The man who scared me half to death becomes the only one I want.

Then he growls, “Stay here. You and that dog. Your beat-to-hell car. I’ll feed you and keep you safe. You’ve done enough taking care of everyone else. It’s your turn now.”

And just like that, my life changes forever.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

REVIEWS

“You won't be able to put it down it's so good. This totally amazing author will have your interest from the beginning with witty banter, a tough dog, and a mountain man with a twin sibling. . . . The chemistry between them is unbelievably hot and their attraction is undeniable.”
— 5-star BookBub review

“I am having the best time reading the Wild Rose Mountain series. Each novella has had great characters, sizzling chemistry, and the funniest chapters from the dog's POV. . . . Jacob's immediate need to protect and claim both Kelsi and Diesel pieced it back together. So good! I highly recommend this series to fans of OTT novellas.”
— 4-star BookBub review

“Another beautifully written book about one of the soldiers with Wild Rose K-9 Rescue. The rescue works with retired military and traumatized dogs. I love each and every one of the quick reading, hot and steamy, books; and they can be read in any order.”
— 5-star Amazon Reader review

“Love this story! This book had me entertained from cover to cover. This is a great quick read with a fun and sweet HEA and epilogue.”
— 5-star Amazon Reader review

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

EXCERPT

Chapter 1 - KELSI

Two long days on the road with a dog I just met and I’m hopelessly lost. Lost in the mountains of West Texas.

Mountains that seem determined to swallow me whole.

My GPS fizzled thirty miles back, and my ancient Ford protests each turn up this miserable excuse for a road, the engine wheezin’ like Me-maw’s old asthmatic cat.

“We’re gonna be okay, Diesel,” I murmur, glancing in the rearview mirror at my unexpected travel companion.

The German shepherd watches me with those all-knowing copper eyes beneath the triangular ears that first pulled me over to the side of the interstate feeder road barely after the sun came up yesterday. Even filthy and underfed, there’s something stately about him. Something that hollars he deserves better than being abandoned like yesterday’s trash.

Just like me.

I banish the thought with a headshake. Self-pity ain’t gonna find us the rescue facility any faster, and my dwindling cash reserves (a pathetic $42 and change) won’t stretch to another night in a motel that charges extra for pets.

Won’t stretch to cover another night in a motel at all.

The bumpy road filled with dried rivulets from hard rains narrows further, trees pressing in on both sides similar to nosy neighbors after church. The whole area is so much greener than I expected for the desert, lush even.

When I stopped to fill my tank (okay when I stopped to add a paltry four gallons to keep me from running on empty), I overheard the locals talkin’ about how the usual mid-summer monsoons came early this year, hit just as spring was winding down. Seems as though the skies saved up all of this year’s rain, last year’s too, and poured it all out the last handful of weeks.

Maybe that’s why the dirt road is so atrocious.

Rocks roll beneath my balding tires, and my stomach knots each time I can’t dodge a pointy one. This can’t possibly be right. The lady back at the gas station said the K-9 Mountain Rescue was “just past the fork in the road once you reach Wild Rose, can’t miss it,” but I’ve passed three forks now, and the only signs I’ve seen have all been variations of “Keep Out,” “No Trespassing,” and my personal favorite, “Trespassers Will Be Shot, Survivors Will Be Shot Again.”

“I reckon we might be in trouble, buddy boy,” I whisper as a cabin appears around the bend. First sight of humanity in nearly an hour.

It’s beautiful in a rugged, intimidating way—all dark wood and stone, the kind of place that belongs on the cover of a wilderness magazine. Or maybe a horror movie poster: “City Girl’s Last Stand.”

Gulping away that thought, I pull to a stop, hope and dread battling for supremacy. If I’m lucky, maybe whoever lives here can point me back toward civilization, draw me a map. If I ain’t lucky? I swallow hard. Maybe they’ll shoot trespassers on sight and I won’t have to worry anymore. Fifty-fifty chance seems fair after the week I’ve had.

Before I can decide whether to get out or turn around, the screen door blasts open so hard I flinch.

Six foot plus of pure mountain-man muscle emerges, with broad shoulders that could carry the weight of the world—or at least me—without breaking a sweat. Dark hair curls slightly at the neck of his black T-shirt, and his thick beard does nothing to hide the hard, angry scowl. The pure thundercloud rage directed squarely at me freezes me in place and keeps the engine sputtering.

“This was a mistake,” I mumble, but my stalled-out brain can’t seem to send the message to my hands to put the car back in gear and flee. I’m too busy noticing how his faded jeans hug his big thighs as he jumps off the porch and prowls toward me, menace in every step.

He moves like a predator, and he’s closing in fast. I should be terrified. But I guess I’m not, because liquid heat swirls through my belly, a sensation I haven’t felt in… Well, ever.

My hand trembles as I flip the ignition and turn off the engine so we can hear each other. I push open the car door and step out. Standing feels like a declaration: I may be lost, but I ain’t easily intimidated, not after everything I’ve survived. Two years of watching someone you love die slowly builds a backbone of steel.

“You’re trespassing,” he growls, and his voice is exactly what I’d hope to hear in my midnight fantasies. “Trespassers get shot.” 

It’s low and silky smooth, how I imagine his beard might feel. The kind of voice that could talk a girl right out of her panties if it wasn’t currently threatening bodily harm.

“I’m real sorry about botherin’ you,” I say, hearing my accent thicken with nerves. “I was tryin’ to find the K-9 Mountain Rescue but got all turned around. My GPS petered out when I hit the mountains, and Lord, I ain’t seen a proper road sign since San Antonio—”

“You’re about fifteen miles past.” His beefy arms cross over his chest, making his biceps bulge against the thin fabric of his shirt. I try not to stare. I fail spectacularly.

Focus, Kels. This man ain’t happy to see you. Even if parts of you are inexplicably happy to see him.

“Fifteen? Good Lord.” The news hits me hard. I’ve wasted precious gas, precious time, precious everything. Ever since I exited I-10, the roads have been loads more remote than I expected. My chin quivers embarrassingly, exhaustion threatening to spill over into tears. Great. Just what Sexy Mountain Man needs—a blubbering mess in his front yard.

His eyes shift to my back seat, where Diesel has perked up, watching our interaction.

“What’s up with your dog?” His tone changes, not so menacing now. It’s as though seeing my hitchhiker has lessened his animosity. And the difference makes my heart skip with more than just fear.

The question ignites a spark of hope. “That there’s Diesel. I found him wanderin’ just off the interstate day before yesterday crossing through Louisiana. He has military tags with his name, but they’re real old. I figured the rescue might know how to find his home. Or a new one, maybe.”

I open the back door, revealing my sad attempt at canine care. Dried bits of mud splattered about, shed fur sticks to the seat, and the wrapper remains of the fast-food chicken I’d shared with Diesel last night create an embarrassing landscape. My jacket—my only decent one—is now his makeshift bed.

“He was real skittish at first,” I continue, unable to hide the pride in my voice when I tell him how long it took to coax Diesel into the car with me. “But we’ve bonded pretty well, considerin’.”

I push the door wide and invite Diesel to jump down and stretch. Only instead of running circles or going off to the nearest bush to do his business, he stands right beside me, leans against my leg as though he’s got no plans to go anywhere.

“Sits.” The grumpy stranger orders my dog to do what he’s been doing all day in the back seat.

Not your dog, Kels. You don’t have the money or the means to take care of him.

“Plats.” Another one-word bark at Diesel, and I can’t help but notice how after a second’s pause, Diesel lowers himself to the ground.

The man’s demeanor has changed, his initial fury gone as he holds his hand out and looks to me for permission. “May I?”

I nod, mesmerized by the gentle way those large hands examine Diesel’s tags. The contrast stops my breath—this human thunderstorm treating the dog in such a way, his fingers careful around the nasty wound on Diesel’s flank, as if something ripped through his skin before I found him. Big, strong fingers I can imagine tracing other, more intimate places. My intimate places.

Pull it together, Kels. You didn’t exactly put Lose My Virginity on your vacation list.

Chapter 2 - JACOB

I’m about to rip somebody’s head off and feed it to the wolves.

My fingers curl into fists as uninvited humanity shatters my mountain silence.

Right, because violence solves everything.

Engine noise—louder than the sound of me knocking deserving heads together—interrupts my peaceful afternoon and threatens my sanity.

Nothing ignites my rage faster than trespassers on my property. This cabin, nestled deep in the Wild Rose Mountains in remote West Texas is my sanctuary. My fortress against today’s world and its endless bullshit. The dirt road leading here isn’t on any map for a damn good reason.

Yet here I stand, boots planted on my porch, glaring through the screen door at the battered Ford sedan daring to crawl up my drive. The car stops twenty yards away, mud-caked and pathetic, victim of the recent downpours that transformed our mountain roads into treacherous sludge.

Through the filthy windshield, I spot a woman. Her relieved expression falters into deer-in-headlights as she registers my murderous scowl when I barrel off the porch. Good. She’s unwelcome and it looks as though she’s smart enough to know it.

The crisp mountain air bites through my T-shirt. The recent rains have dropped the temps but the cold doesn’t bother me. Nothing bothers me except people who can’t respect clearly marked “Surviving Interlopers Will Be Shot Again” signs.

“You’re trespassing,” I bark as she kills the engine—a death rattle that suggests her vehicle isn’t long for this world.

I get my first real look at her. She’s young. Too young, with dark hair fighting to escape a messy braid that ropes over her shoulder and one hell of an impressive breast. Make that breasts, plural, because I can’t help but note both look like inviting handfuls. Her clothes hang on her slender frame as if she’s been living in them for days. But it’s her eyes that disarm me—wide, determined, yet shadowed with a bone-deep exhaustion that speaks of more than just highway and travel fatigue.

“I’m real sorry about botherin’ you,” she says, and her voice carries a sweet Tennessee drawl that ambushes me from out of nowhere.

One of my fallen comrades was from East Tennessee. Cherokee Hills, “just a hop and a jump from where Dolly Parton was raised, don’t you know.” That’s exactly how Staff Sergeant J.T. Temple would say it. I held that man while he bled out in a dusty Afghan village, promised to deliver his last words to his wife and family personally.

But this woman doesn’t know she’s excavating buried landmines with every syllable. She keeps talking in that dipped-in-sugar accent that makes me want to simultaneously cover her mouth and record every damn word.

“I was tryin’ to find the K-9 Mountain Rescue, but got all turned around. My GPS petered out when I hit the mountains, and Lord, I ain’t seen a proper road sign since San Antonio—”

“You’re about fifteen miles past it,” I cut her off, crossing my arms over my chest to create a barrier between us. Her lips, full and pink even without makeup, fall open. I force myself to look away. I’ve learned the brutal way not to trust pretty faces or sweet voices.

“Fifteen? Good Lord.” Her shoulders slump forward, and her chin quivers. Then something in her back seat moves into view.

A dog. A German shepherd watching me in such a way I’m caught. A kindred spirit? One with military training and nothing to do with it anymore?

“What’s up with your dog?” I ask, irritated when my voice betrays me by softening.

“That there’s Diesel.” Her face transforms, lighting up as though I’ve offered her a lifetime supply of ammunition. Well, I guess for a woman it would be chocolate. 

She opens the back door, telling me how she found the dog. I listen with half an ear as I get my first proper look at the animal. He’s in rough shape: clumped fur matted with dried mud, visible ribs pressing against his dull coat, and a half-healed cut on his flank that’s begging for proper first aid. His eyes glint at the attention; so he’s alert despite his condition. My expertise kicks in. Before I know it, I’m cataloguing injuries, estimating how long he’s been on his own, and mentally preparing a treatment plan. Evaluating him the same way I’d assess a wounded soldier in the field or, more recently, one of our newly arrived canines.

“He was real skittish at first.” Her voice takes on a protective quality that rouses urges in me I’d rather remain dormant. “Took an hour of sweet-talkin’ for him to hop in the car, but once he did, that was that. We’ve bonded pretty well, considerin’.”

As she talks and strokes the back of the dog’s neck, I can already see they’ve formed a connection. Whether she realizes it or not, this dog has no intention of being dumped off again. “You prob’ly want to stretch your legs, don’t you, Diesel?”

As though she’d lured him with a slab of raw steak, the dog jumps down and stands beside her.

I hold my position, monitoring how Diesel watches me with caution but no aggression. But the second I step toward them, he moves. Positions himself between the girl and me. Between the tags and the way he acts, my suspicion deepens. This dog’s military trained, has seen combat, just as I have.

To confirm…

“Sitz,” I command in German. And make no mistake, it’s a command.

Diesel’s ears twitch. For a moment, he hesitates—then slowly lowers his haunches to the ground, his eyes never leaving mine. Military muscle memory overriding the more recent neglect.

“Platz.”

He drops to his belly after considering whether or not to comply, still watching me intently. Not instant obedience, but I’ll take it. No telling what he’s suffered recently.

“May I?” She nods, and I crouch down, letting Diesel sniff my knuckles before I examine his tags. The metal’s dulled, but I can make out enough. This dog served in Afghanistan, perhaps IED detection based on his responses and bearing. Brothers-in-arms, separated by species.

“I’ve tried cleaning him up, but…” She gestures helplessly at her car interior, which looks as if Diesel here’s gone a few rounds with a swamp gator. The back seat is lined with an old blanket and what appears to be her jacket, sacrificed to make a just-met rescue comfortable.

Beyond his shed fur and the stench of damp dog, the car’s interior is a patchwork of worn upholstery and budget fixes—duct tape holding together a tear in the passenger seat, a cracked phone mount jury-rigged to the dash. Everything speaks of making do with less. Everything except the bright blue collar around Diesel’s neck and the matching leash coiled on the seat. Brand new, high-quality gear that probably cost more than she could afford.

She spent her last dollars on a stray. The realization hits me with the force of a rifle butt to the solar plexus.

I straighten, studying her more carefully. The circles under her eyes. The way she’s tugged the waistband of her jeans up twice. The chipped polish on her fingernails.

“You rescued him. Might’ve saved his life.”

Her cheeks flush pink and the color spreads down her neck. “Anyone woulda done the same.”

Like hell they would. Most people would have called animal control and driven away, conscience clear, if that. This girl stopped her life to save a stray. She’s got more honor than half the people I’ve met since leaving the service.

“I’m Jacob,” I say, the introduction bursting from me like a round from a hot chamber.

“Kelsi.” She extends her hand and I waste no time clasping it. When she squeezes and pumps, giving my hand a heartier shake than I figured she had in her, I drop her hand as though I’ve grabbed a live wire. Because from the way electricity is surging up my arm, I might as well have.

“How long you been on the road?” I ask, needing to establish a perimeter between us.

She answers but I can tell there’s more that she’s not sharing. I shouldn’t pry. I should direct her toward the rescue and reclaim my solitude. I might not be on staff today, but Steve and Jei typically live there, even on their days off. Either one would take good care of her and Diesel here. But the thought of sending her away? Not acceptable.

“What’s in Cruces?” My curiosity escapes before I can stop it.

She shrugs and her oversized T-shirt slips to reveal a smooth collarbone. That and the pale pink of a bra strap. Now I’m clenching my fists as if I’m gripping a safety line. No longer interested in doing violence at the interruption, now I’m battling the urge to tug that neckline a little lower, expose more of her bra—and that bountiful breast playing peekaboo behind the thick braid.

I could say it’s a challenge to keep my eyes off the pair of them, stretching the material of her shirt, but in truth, her face is just as compelling. Watching her lips form those Tennessee sounds? Some buried part of me is climbing toward her sun, ready to hear her talk forever.

“Hopefully a job. Somewhere to stay.” Her eyes meet mine, hold a second before she finishes, “My momma passed away a couple months back. I took care of her a while before that.” A long while, I infer. “Need a fresh start.”

The simple statement detonates in my chest. I recognize that look, the determined, not quite glassy stare of someone who’s spent too long in the trenches. Seems as though this gal has been forced to grow up fast, carrying burdens that would break soldiers twice her size.

“I just need to find the rescue,” she continues, her voice taking on a desperate edge. “Someone has to help Diesel. I can’t keep him in my car, and I’m almost out of money for hotels.”

“The rescue is at capacity,” I lie, knowing damn well we have at least two empty kennels waiting back at the facility. But territorial instincts override honesty; I’m not ready to watch her drive away. “I work there. Co-own it, in fact.”

Am the driving force behind it, my buddies would claim.

“You do?” The happiness that flashes across her face makes my throat constrict as though I’m back in basic training, choking on tear gas. “Thank goodness! Then you can help Diesel.”

“Not so fast.” I scratch my fingernails through my beard, feeling the muscle in my jaw lock like a weapon ready to fire. “We don’t have space. Not until we place some of our current canine residents.”

Her face crumples the same second Diesel whines. Then she’s on her knees in the muddy yard, comforting the damn dog, murmuring soft words I can’t catch.

When she looks back at me, she swipes away tears with the back of her hand.

 “Guess I’ve grown more used to him than I realized.” Her voice wobbles as much as her lips. The sight of her struggling not to cry unmans me faster than a sniper’s bullet. “I’ll figure something out. Is there another shelter nearby?”

She can’t go. Not yet.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” she says, standing and facing me as if she’s expecting enemy fire. “If you could just point me back to the main road—”

“Stay here.” The words burst from me like a combat order.

She blinks those big, doe-soft eyes at me. “Come again?”

What the hell am I doing? I’m inviting a complete stranger into my home. A female stranger. A young, vulnerable, gorgeous female stranger who’s currently frowning as though she doesn’t trust her ears.

“I have a guest room,” I clarify, already regretting this tactical error but powerless to retreat. “And a fenced yard round back for Diesel.” All right, yard is being generous; it’s more of a rock-encrusted, weedy patch of dirt, but it’s secure. “You both look like you could use a hot meal and a shower.” I gesture at the mud-painted car. “Maybe a car wash in the bargain.”

She stares at me as if I’ve just offered her a live grenade.

“I’ll call my brother about finding a foster for Diesel.” That, too, is a lie. Because right now, that dog is my line to keeping her here. “In the meantime, you can stay here where it’s safe, instead of burning through what’s left of your cash at some sketchy motel. Which, if it matters, doesn’t exist for at least another seventy miles. If it hasn’t gone under.”

“Why would you do that? Invite a stranger into your home?” Suspicion shades her voice. Smart girl. “I could be an accomplished thief, here to rob you blind.”

“We both know you’re not,” I growl, not about to admit the foreign, possessive feelings already building in my chest. “Besides, Diesel deserves better than sleeping in a car that sounds as if it’s one pothole away from the junkyard. And you…” I pause, acknowledging how her exhaustion reminds me of soldiers after a three-day firefight. “You deserve a break.”

Her teeth catch her bottom lip as she considers. I read the war in her expression—desperate relief battling with caution. I’m a stranger, after all. A big, gruff, mountain-dwelling stranger who probably resembles an ax murderer to a girl her size.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she says finally, her voice small against the vastness of the mountains surrounding us.

“It’s not a burden if I’m offering.” I step back, giving her space to decide. “But it’s up to you.”

As I wait for her answer, deep down, I already know the truth: I’m not letting this woman drive away. Not today. Maybe not ever.

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