Page 1 of The Mountain Man's Paradise
1
BARRETT
Istep out of the hotel shuttle and into wet heat.
Then I just stand there with my duffel bag in my fist and the sun beating down on my shoulders, trying to figure out how the hell anyone calls this paradise. The air is thick with salt and flowers and some sweet drink sweating in a glass somewhere nearby. People move around the resort in linen and swimsuits, laughing too loud, smiling too much, every one of them looking comfortable with palm trees, blue water, and sand tracked across polished stone.
I look down at my boots.
Wrong choice.
Not that I own the right choice for this place. Back home, I know what to wear because the weather will try to kill you if you get careless. Heavy socks. Good boots. Layers that hold up against wind, snow, rain, mud, and every other damn thing the mountain decides to throw at you. Here, I’m wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, and I already feel sweat gathering between my shoulder blades while a guy in a resort uniform asks if he can take my bag.
“I’ve got it,” I say.
His smile doesn’t shift. “Of course, sir. Welcome to Maui.”
Maui. Jesus.
I nod once and follow the signs toward the open-air lobby, keeping my duffel bag over one shoulder and my eyes moving. Old habit. Entrances, exits, staff doors, stairwells, blind corners. I don’t know how to enter a place without taking stock of it. My brother says that’s because I spend too much time alone in the wilderness and not enough around normal people. I say normal people are too comfortable ignoring everything around them.
This resort proves my point in under thirty seconds. A woman almost backs into me while trying to take a picture of a cocktail. A kid runs straight across the walkway with no shoes on. A man in white pants leaves his suitcase unattended beside a column while he kisses a woman wearing a floppy hat. Nobody notices a goddamn thing except the view.
I should be home.
That thought has been sitting in my chest since I boarded the plane, and it gets heavier with every step I take across the lobby. My cabin is quiet. My tools are where I left them. The west trail needs clearing, the porch rail needs tightening, and the stack of split wood beside the shed won’t finish itself. Up there, I know what I’m doing. Down here, I’m a six-foot-five problem in a place built for bare feet and tan lines.
“Barrett!”
I turn toward the voice and see my younger brother crossing the lobby with his arm raised. Noah looks happier than I’ve ever seen him, which is the only reason I’m here instead of three thousand miles away where I belong. He’s tanned already, hair lighter from the sun, wearing a short-sleeved button-down covered in little green leaves. I would give him shit for it if his fiancée weren’t walking beside him, glowing so hard I keep my mouth shut.
“There he is,” Noah says, stepping in to hug me. He slaps my back hard, but it still feels careful. Everyone is careful with me. “You made it.”
“I said I would.”
“Yeah, but you also said destination weddings were a crime against guests.”
“They are.”
His grin gets wider. “And yet you’re here.”
“Don’t get emotional about it.”
“I’m getting a little emotional about it.” He turns and pulls his fiancée closer. “Mindy, you remember Barrett.”
“Of course.” Mindy gives me a bright smile and reaches up to hug me. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to Noah.”
I bend down and return the hug gently because Mindy is half my size and marrying the only person who could drag me to an island full of strangers. “Happy for you both.”
Noah’s expression softens before he clears his throat and looks past me. “We’re doing welcome drinks in about an hour. Very casual.”
I glance down at myself. “This is casual.”
Mindy’s mouth twitches, but she doesn’t laugh. Smart woman. “It’s fine. Most people are still arriving.”
“Great,” I say, because that means more strangers.
Noah angles toward me. “Try not to look at everyone as if they’re trespassing on your land.”
