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BIG, BEARDED AND
BRILLIANT
KAT BAXTER
Big, Bearded and Brilliant
Kat Baxter
Copyright 2021 by Kat Baxter

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events,
locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any
electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by an
information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission
of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

Edited by: Emily Beierle-McKaskle

Copyeditor: JADE
Book cover: Poppy Parkes

With regard to digital publication, be advised that any alteration of font size or
spacing by the reader could change the author’s original format.
Created with Vellum
 BIG, BEARDED AND BRILLIANT

THIS RECLUSIVE BILLIONAIRE mountainman was committed

to bachelorhood, until he met her.
Jefferson Black escaped to a secluded mountain cabin to get
away from his reputation as the most eligible billionaire bachelor.
Three years later he’s nearly unrecognizable wearing flannel and a
scruffy beard. When Molly Hart accidentally hits Jefferson with her
car, she insists on being his caretaker. Despite his injuries being
minimal, the grumpy tech genius is drawn to her sunshiny
personality.
After fleeing to the mountains to escape her cheating ex, Molly is
one bad decision away from being a certifiable hot mess. And then
she literally hits the sexiest man she’s ever seen with her car. Now
they’re trapped together in a cabin. Can one heated night together
convince them that commitment isn't so bad after all?
If you love grumpy, growly men who fall for sweet, awkward
women, then this instalove mountainman romance is for you!

The mountain men are calling, and we must go . . .

This spring, twenty-one of your favorite romance authors
are joining forces to bring you a mountain man series to
make you swoon. Join us all May long for thick beards, big
hearts, and instalove that won’t be denied. The Spring’s
Mountain Men series of short, steamy stories is sure to put a
spring in your step. *wink* HEAs guaranteed!
 CONTENTS

Big, Bearded and Brilliant

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Thank you for reading!
Excerpt from Curves and Cars
Spring’s Mountain Men
About the author
 CHAPTER 1

Molly

“You’re where?” my sister’s voice shrieks on the other end of the

call.
“In Arkansas. In the Ozark mountains.” I’m trying desperately to
keep my eyes on the winding road, but the scenery is breathtaking.
“It’s so pretty, Hailey. Oh, I wish you could see it! It’s so lush and
green. And mountainy. And—”
“But why?” Hailey interrupts her voice tinged with panic. “Why
are you in the Ozarks? You hate to travel!”
I wave a hand dismissively, even though she can’t see me, all
while sending up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god of
technology invented the Bluetooth link connecting my phone to my
car so I can navigate to the house I’ve rented and talk at the same
time.
“Nonsense,” I say. “I hate to fly. I don’t hate to travel.”
“No,” my sister, the person who knows me best in the whole
world, disagrees. “You hate to travel. It’s why you never go
anywhere. It’s why you haven’t been more than a hundred miles
from home in the past decade.”
She isn’t wrong.
I don’t go anywhere. I am—usually—content to live my quiet and
peaceful life at home, working at my job as a freelance writer from
the safety of my home office.
But that is all officially going to change.
Because from now on, I’m going to be more adventurous. I’m
going to be bold and brave. And … not so much of a giant pussy.
So, in the interest of being bold and brave and not a giant pussy,
I blurt, “I caught Garrett cheating.”
Hailey gasps. “That bastard!”
Again, I wave a hand. “No, no. it’s okay. For the best probably.
Considering he was cheating with his personal trainer. His male
personal trainer.”
“Oh my God!”
I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “What a dick. Thank
God you never slept with him.”
I’d wanted to wait until I knew things were going somewhere
with us. I’m not a casual sex kind of girl. I’d come close, but we’d
never gone that far. Okay, by close, I meant we’d made out a couple
of times and he touched my boob once. And in truth, I’m not a sex
kind of girl, casual or otherwise. At least not yet. Pesky virginity.
And even though Garrett and I had dated for months, I’d wanted
to be absolutely sure before I took that step. I’d wanted to be …
well, safe. I’d wanted guarantees. “Yes. I’m very thankful I hadn’t
slept with him.”
“Did you know he was bisexual?”
“Um, no. That never came up. Frankly, nothing ever came up so
maybe he’s just gay. Or maybe he was never attracted to me.” And
I’d been too focused on making sure we had a solid foundation to
build our relationship on, I never wondered why he never seemed
interested in building on that foundation. “I don’t know. Don’t care.
But after a string of shitty decisions I needed a change of scenery.”
Almost as if she can sense the prevarication in my voice, she
asks, “Are you sure that’s all it is?”
“Absolutely!” In for a lying penny, in for a lying pound. “What
else would it be?”
She doesn’t answer outright, but instead says, “Because I could
hop on a plane tonight. I’ll fly to … wherever there are airports in
the Ozarks. I bet I could be there in five hours.”
 “And leave your fantastic little bungalow in L.A? No way!”
“I could—j”
“Who would drool after your hot next door neighbor if you
weren’t there?”
“But—”
“Even though you’re taking a break from film school, you’re
taking that break so that you can work on your script. Not so that
you can come babysit me!”
There’s a long, stewing sort of silence on the other end of the
phone.
She knows I’m right. Thank goodness.
Because I need to do this alone.
The thing about being a giant pussy in one area of your life—for
example, your love life—is that it’s usually a sign that you’re being a
giant pussy in every area of your life.
At least, that’s been true in my life.
I knew it even before I found out about Garrett’s extra-
relationship relationship. I knew it when my sister—my baby sister!—
moved to L.A. to pursue her dreams of being a scriptwriter and I
stayed at home in Midland.
Yeah, I had made a stab at spicing up my life. Starting a
relationship with a guy I’d known since we were both toddlers hardly
counted as a grand adventure.
I saw that now.
“But, Mols,” Hailey says, and I can hear the hesitation in her
voice. “Are you sure you’re ready for this kind of thing?”
“Absolutely!”
If I say it loudly enough and with enough cheerful enthusiasm, I
can convince anyone of anything.
Hailey might be the bravest of us, but I’m persuasive. That’s my
super power.
“So are you actually going to one of the destinations you’ve
reviewed?”
I write for a variety of online magazines, but—ironically—my
bread and butter has always been travel articles. I’ve written about
places all over the world and I’m damn good at it, considering I’ve
never been to any of those places. I have a phobia of flying. Having
your parents die together in a small plane crash will do that to you.
So I don’t ever actually go to the places I write about, but no one
ever knows that. I’m very good at research and that takes care of
the highlights I need for my articles.
“Technically, no, but I can always write about it and submit it as
a freelance option.”
“Hey, I’m proud of you, sis,” Hailey says, her voice going gentle.
“I know it’s hard for you to leave Austin.”
My sister. We both experienced the same loss of our parents, but
we handled it in vastly different ways. Me, I mostly avoid and
metaphorically run away. Like right now when I’m going to change
the subject.
“So how’s the script coming?”
“Really good, actually. I think taking the semester off of course
work has really helped my creativity. Of course it does slow down
the degree finishing.”
“Try to remember that you don’t actually have to have a degree
in screenwriting or anything else for that matter to write a successful
script,” I tell her. It’s my duty as the older sister to bestow upon her
my wisdom.
I listen to her argue her points of why she HAS to have the
degree while I look from the car’s navigation system to the road
ahead. It steers me onto a smaller road—which is saying something,
considering each road is smaller than the last.
“Where are you staying up there in the mountains?” she asks.
“I rented a cabin. The pictures online were so adorable, I
couldn’t resist. I brought a cooler full of groceries to get me started
and then I figure I’ll venture into whatever town is closest to get the
rest of whatever supplies I need.”
The road gets more tight as I wind upwards, my ears popping as
I go. Every once in a while I get glimpses of the stunning view
through breaks in the pine trees.
“How’s your mysterious neighbor? Have you talked to him yet?” I
ask.
 “Hmm. Not yet.” She makes a yummy noise. “Still so hot. Older,
you now with a bit of grey in his beard and at his temples, but
soooooo hot. He makes me tingle.”
“Whoa, too much information.” I chuckle.
“Seriously.” Hailey sounds dreamy as she continues to describe
him. “He’s tall, dark and has these piercing green eyes, then the
beard and just muscles on top of muscles.”
“What’s his name?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him. But he does that slow
martial arts thing in his back yard without a shirt and I peek through
the holes in the wood.”
“Hailey! You can’t be a stalker!”
“I’m observing him. He’s inspiring my script, so technically, when
I watch him, I’m working. Doing research.”
“It’s a wonder I’m not completely grey haired with how much you
worry me sometimes. Please be careful so you don’t get yourself into
trouble.”
“Molly, I’m fine. Promise. He’s totally harmless. Enough about
me, tell me what are you planning to do there?”
“Read, write, relax. I don’t know, I’ll figure it out when I get
there. Which should be soon.” I slow down some as I watch for the
turn off to the cabin. “One thing I do know is that I am done with
men for a while.” I ignore Hailey’s snort—since we both know I’ve
never actually started with men. “I’m taking a break, because
they’re so not worth the trouble.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Oh, I think I’m here. Wow, tight turn into this driveway and
seriously why does everything have to be gravel?” My SUV bumps
slowly down the driveway and I pause, stopping to eye the cabin.
“That’s not right.”
“What’s not?”
“This cabin doesn’t look like it did online.”
The cabin I rented was a one story cottage straight out of a fairy
tale. This place is more ramshackle cabin than charming cottage.
The paint on the clapboard siding is faded. The porch looks like it
might collapse under the weight of my rolling suitcase.
 Hailey laughs. “They never do.”
I peer closer and see that the number hanging on one of the
porch columns is six and not the eight I was looking for. Thank
goodness!
“It’s just the wrong cabin. I gotta back up and get to the main
road. I think I’m just a few cabins off. Though I don’t see any others
near here. Just thick, thick woods.”
I slide the car into reverse as I say it, glancing at the rear camera
display, as I turn the steering wheel, and--
Thump!
I slam on my breaks at the same time I hear a yell.
“Oh fuck!”
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck!
“What?” Hailey screeches.
“Hailey, I think I just hit someone. I’ll call you back.” I put my
SUV in park and push the button to disconnect the call, then jump
out and go around to the back.
The biggest man I’ve ever seen is on the ground behind my
vehicle.
“Oh my God! Are you okay?” I scramble to him, dropping to my
knees beside his still form. “Of course you’re not okay, I just hit you
with my car. I can take you to the hospital, though admittedly I don’t
know where it is so you’ll have to give me instructions. Or I guess I
could use my GPS, but it told me to turn here and this isn’t the right
cabin at all.”
My heart is beating so fast that I think I might be
hyperventilating. Possibly because I’m talking so fast.
“Please don’t be dead. Shit. Fuck. This is why I never leave my
house.” His eyes are still closed and he’s so still! Not caring that the
gravel is digging into my legs through my thin leggings, I lean over
him, prepared to do whatever CPR measures I can remember.
I lean down, putting my ear close to his face so I can hear if he’s
breathing. Relief washes over me when I hear a strong inhale and
exhale of air. I turn my face and I’m met with the most incredible
eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re copper. I suck in a breath and choke
on…spit? Air?
 Who the hell knows because this is me and I can fall down while
already sitting. Whatever it was I sucked, has gone down the wrong
way and I’m coughing and wheezing like I have tuberculosis.
Why am I such a disaster?
I’ve never understood. Hailey isn’t like this. No, my younger
sister is brave and sassy and beautiful and not a walking disaster.
“For fuck’s sake,” the man says. Or more like growls. He pushes
up into a sitting position, only wincing a little. Then he smacks me
on my back a few times.
I wheeze a few times and manage to remember how to breathe
like a normal person. But now he’s sitting very close to me. He’s
enormous. Like seriously so big he could almost play Hagrid. Not
only tall, but impossibly broad and thick. Not fat, but not sculpted.
My face heats and I find myself staring open-mouthed at the
handsome giant.
“You going to survive?” he asks, that gruff voice skitters across
my skin leaving shivers in its wake.
“I hit you with my car,” I say. Just call me Captain Obvious.
He starts to stand, and I practically lunge for him. “You shouldn’t
move! You might have a neck injury!”
He shrugs, giving me a look like I’m a moron.
“Though, I guess it’s actually that I shouldn’t move you in case
you have a neck injury. Not that you can’t move. Because if you had
a neck injury you couldn’t move anyway. Not that I could move you.
Because you’re kind of enormous.”
He just stares at me while I continue to say all the dumb things
running through my head.
“Do you need the hospital? Do you think you have internal
bleeding. Oh, or a concussion?”
Oh my god. Why am I still talking?
He still doesn’t answer. Instead he leverages himself to a
standing position all with the usage of only one leg and his arms. His
other leg he kind of hovers over the ground, not putting weight on
it.
“Oh my God, did I break your leg? Shit, I’m such a disaster.” I
wedge myself under his arm, and then brace my arm around his
waist. “Lean on me.”
“I’ve got it,” he growls.
“Don’t be a baby, I can help. It’s my fault you’re injured.” I
shouldn’t notice how divine he smells, but I do. Because that’s me -
if a moment can be made awkward or inappropriate, I’ll be the
driving force.
But this is next level, even for me, because I nearly just killed
him and I should not be sniffing him!
But seriously, as we clumsily make our way to the front porch, I
want to bury my face in his neck and inhale him. It’s like pine and
fresh water and linen and a summer rainstorm and sexy man all
rolled into one.
He’s also massive. I’m not a tiny woman. I’m not tall, but I’m not
small. If I was being politically correct I might say I’m big boned, but
the truth of the matter is, I’m what the media would call plus sized. I
have big boobs, a tummy, big hips, a big butt. I’m just full of curves
and bumps and I’ve been in my own skin enough to love myself, but
I know I’m not what most men want.
Not that I’m here to hook up with this giant stranger because I’m
obviously not. After all, I couldn’t be bothered to sleep with Garrett
after two decades of friendship and six months of dating. I am
definitely not going to sleep with this guy.
Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t! Because I’m pretty sure that
hitting someone with your car erases any chance you have of getting
into said person’s pants.
“I’m not being a baby,” he grumbles with that low, sexy voice of
his. “You’re the size of a child so I’m not sure how leaning on you is
going to help me.”
“I’m not the size of a child!”
“Pretty much,” he grumbles.
“Now that you’re actually speaking to me, do you need to go to
the hospital?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Because you could have a concussion. Nearly four
million people get concussions every year. True, most of those of are
sports related, but—”
 “I don’t have a concussion. You bumped me. I fell down. That’s
it.”
“A good percentage of traumatic brain injury related deaths are
due to falls, particularly among small children and the elderly.”
His gaze narrows as he stops walking to glare down at me. “I’m
not fucking elderly.”
I swallow and then clear my throat. “No. You’re not. Obviously.
You’re—” A huge, sexy beast of a man. Who is not fragile or elderly.
Every cell in my body lights up with neon flashing signs. Not
safe! Not safe! Not safe!
And those neon signs aren’t worried at all about my physical
safety. No, this guy isn’t giving off any serial killer vibes. He’s giving
off sexy, beast man vibes. The kind that effortlessly tear down the
defenses of demure homebodies like me.
Wowza.
I am in so much trouble here.
Except, I’m not. Because he’s a sexy beast and I’m … well, me.
Then again, as we stand there in the sun-dappled shade in front
of his house, with his arm around my shoulders and my body
wedged so close to his, his gaze shifts from a glare to something
else as his eyes roam my face and then drop to my lips.
And I get the strangest sensation that he’s thinking about kissing
me.
Which is totally ridiculous. Because men never think about kissing
me. Garrett certainly never did.
True, Garrett may or may not be gay.
But my sample size of men-not-interested-in-kissing-me is bigger
than just Garrett.
“Yep,” I say out loud. “You have a concussion. Almost definitely.”
Why else would he be looking at me like that?
“I don’t have a concussion,” he says, taking another step toward
the house.
Regardless of what he says, I am helping him. “I’m like your
human crutch,” I say brightly, trying to make him at least crack a
tiny smile.
 There’s no way I’m letting him tackle those steps by himself.
What if he falls again? Which seems very likely given his befuddled
state.
He grunts. “That’s not what I’d call you.”
Rude.
Thankfully he only has two steps to get onto the porch. Of
course we probably won’t be that lucky on the inside. “I don’t
suppose your bedroom is on the first floor?”
No response.
Once we reach the porch, he holds onto one of the thick wooden
beams and hops on one leg up the stairs. It’s an impressive feat of
pure, unadulterated strength and I’m not unaffected. Nope, I’m
staring at his ass muscles moving beneath the denim of his jeans.
“You have very good muscle control for someone with a
concussion.”
“I don’t have a concussion.”
“We’ll see.”
Only I would manage to find the hottest man in the world in the
middle of nowhere in the mountains and then hit him with my car. I
am a disaster.
I resume my position underneath his arm and wrap myself
around his waist. I don’t care if he thinks he can do this on his own.
This is my fault and it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s okay.
The door is unlocked when I twist the handle and I help him
inside and to the large sofa to our right. Well, there are actually two
sofas. They don’t match and they’re that weird sorta fuzzy material
that I’m pretty sure was popular in 1970’s sitcoms. There’s an
enormous stone fireplace against that wall that’s flanked by two
windows. I think the kitchen is behind us, but I’m still “helping” him
to the sofa.
He drops down with a groan and immediately props his injured
leg up onto a large square coffee table. The wood is old and scuffed
and rustic. In fact, the entire area seems less rustic and more just
dated. Far more so than the pictures of the cabin I rented.
But I am not here to critique his decorating skills. Besides, what
was I expecting? For the beastly mountain man to have a posh
bachelor pad masquerading as a log cabin? I kneel and reach for his
leg, but he’s faster and grabs my hand.
“If you want to help, get me an ice pack from the freezer. There
are a few in there.”
His voice is so deep and rich and my body responds to it as if it
recognizes something in him. Which is ridiculous because clearly he
hates me. But my body is like, “yes! Let’s get naked!” A reaction I’m
not exactly used to considering I’ve never actually been naked with
a man. Except for that one gynecologist I had to go to a few years
ago. He was a man. But it was clinical and he was old enough to be
my dad. And wow, that digressed quickly. Thank God this man can’t
hear my thoughts.
I go to the freezer and momentarily consider sticking my head
inside because I’m obviously overheating. Maybe I’m just having a
weird panic attack because of the whole car accident. I barely have
a second to register the kitchen—which is sizable, but has old rustic
cabinets and then an island that’s basically a repurposed high-top
table. The countertops are a mustard-yellow Formica. I head back to
him with the ice pack.
I hand it to him and he unceremoniously slams it onto his knee.
“Do you need anything else? Some water or something?” I ask.
He leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes.
“Do you feel faint at all? The irresistible urge to sleep? Because
those could be signs of a concussion.”
He gives me a long, slow blink of disbelief and I resist the urge to
whip out my phone and try to track his pupil dilation with my
flashlight.
“I don’t. Fucking. Have. A concussion.”
“We don’t know that.”
He tips his head back again and closes his eyes. “I do know that.
I’ve had a concussion before.”
“Well then a repeat—”
He cuts me off before I can tell him that a second concussion is
even worse.
“I played ball in school. I’ve been tackled by three hundred
pound defensive line backers. I know what a concussion feels like.
This is just my old knee injury.”
His eyelashes are obnoxiously long and thick. He’s got a bit of
grey at his temples and his beard is thick and looks both soft and
scratchy. And hidden within that beard are full lips that look
impossibly soft.
What is wrong with me? Did I get whiplash when I slammed on
my breaks.
He pops open one eye and catches me staring at him.
“I’m Molly, by the way.” I glance behind me to the front door.
“Will your wife or partner or whatever be here soon to help you?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t have one or no, they won’t be here soon?”
He rolls his head to the side to look at me and I’m caught once
again in the coppery depths of his eyes. I’ve never seen eyes that
color. They remind me of a tiger. Not because I think tiger’s eyes are
this color, but just something about them reminds me of the
unsettled way tigers prowl and pace and snarl. Of course those are
zoo tigers so they probably do those things because they’re bored of
living in captivity.
Oh my God, what am I even thinking about?
“No one lives here, but me,” he finally says.
“Oh. Oh! Well, I can rearrange my plans for a few days until
you’re back on your feet. That shouldn’t be a problem. Let me just
get my stuff.”
His brows slam down and he scowls at me. “What the fuck are
you talking about?”
I point to my SUV outside. “I was driving to number eight cabin
and that’s why I was here in your driveway when I hit you. So I can
just stay here with you—I’ll sleep on the couch or floor or whatever.
And I have my own food. So you won’t even know I’m here, except
for when you need something or need help moving around.”
“You want to stay? Here? In my house? Why the fuck would you
do that?”
I frown. “Of course I’m going to stay here and help. I did that to
you.” I point at his knee. “It’s my fault therefore my responsibility to
come to your aid.”
 “Unnecessary.”
“Yes, yes, you’re a big strong, and strapping man who can do
everything on your own. Got it. But I’ll still be helping. I couldn’t
sleep tonight if I knew you were here alone. What if you fell? Or
passed out?”
“Why the fuck would I pass out?”
He’s so grumbly and growly and rude and I don’t understand the
effect that deep rumble has on my nipples. I don’t think they’ve ever
been this hard. Stupid nipples.
“Because of your—”
“I don’t have a concussion.”
“I was going to say the pain or whatever.” Because frankly, I
don’t care whether or not he thinks he has a concussion. I am not
leaving alone a man I hit with my car. “I don’t know why you’d pass
out. The point is, you need help and I’m here. So I’m going to get
my stuff. I’ll be right back.”
I dash for the door before he can protest.
I’m not leaving him alone. I don’t care what he says, I’m just
not.
 CHAPTER 2

Jefferson

I stare after the crazy woman—Molly—as she steps out of my house.

What the fuck is even happening? One minute I’m walking on my
property, the next I’m being plowed into by a lunatic.
A lunatic with curves that I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of. A
gorgeous lunatic with the energy of a summer thunderstorm. And
that pouty lower lip, I want to bite it.
Regardless of her being attractive, she’s clearly a nut. Weirder
still, she seems completely unintimidated by my size, my attitude, or
our relative isolation.
What the hell is up with that?
When I moved to this shithole cabin in the woods three years
ago—after getting fed up with life in Austin and the title of “Texas’s
Most Eligible Bachelor”—I did everything in my power to make
myself as unappealing and untraceable as possible. I grew a beard
so no one would recognize me. I … okay, in terms of changing
myself, the beard is pretty much it. Well, and the flannel. I never
wore flannel to the office.
After all, it’s not like I’ve ever been Mr. Personality.
I’ve never been friendly. I’ve never been charming.
The only reason Texan Monthly magazine named me the state’s
biggest catch is because I happen to own a very successful tech
company. And a football team. Part of a football team. Whatever.
The point is, no one who doesn’t know about my very sizable
fortune would want anything to do with me.
That’s the whole reason I moved to this cabin in the woods. So I
wouldn’t have to put up with people who wanted to be with me only
because of my money. So I could focus on my work without
unnecessary distractions.
And now this! I do not have time for this shit.
Of course, I know she doesn’t know who I am. When I bought
this place, I funneled the purchase through enough shell
corporations to fund a terrorist operation. Not that I’d ever do that.
Obviously.
So there is no way in hell she knows who I am.
Which means she is exactly who she seems to be. A gorgeous,
sexy lunatic driving around the Ozark mountains plowing down
unsuspecting men.
Even if she’s not here to seduce me and trap me into a paternity
lawsuit—trust me, when you’re worth as much as I am, that
happens more often than you’d think—I don’t have time to deal with
this level of crazy. Also her seduction game is weak. Or at the very
least exceptionally unconventional.
Other things I don’t have time for include this fucking knee injury
from my college football days. But that son of a bitch is already
swelling and hurting. Which means if I don’t get some ice and some
Advil—and fucking soon—I’ll end up laid out for days on the heavy
duty pain killers I really don’t have time for.
So, I’m trapped in my own house with a gorgeous lunatic … who
just might be right about me needing her. Which might not actually
be the worst thing in the world—especially since it has been entirely
too long since I’ve been alone with an attractive woman (even a
crazy one)—if it wasn’t for the fact that she seems to think I’m a
damn invalid.
I undo my button and zipper and lift myself up to scoot my jeans
off my ass so I can remove them.
I’ve just gotten my boots off and my jeans are hanging on one
foot when Hurricane Molly comes storming back into my house, a
rolling suitcase in one hand and a rolling cooler in the other. She
pauses when she sees me. Her gaze moving slowly from my boxer
briefs down my legs and then back up again as her mouth forms a
perfect “o” of surprise. She blinks. Then blinks again as a flush
creeps into her cheeks.
Holy shit. Could she look any more fuckable?
Yeah, if she was naked. Maybe.
God damn it. I am so fucked.
And not in the way I wish I was.
She visibly swallows and then pulls her gaze away from me
before dragging the large cooler over to the island and picks it up
with a “oof” noise. Then she rolls in a suitcase and brings it to the
corner of the living room, near the other end of the sectional sofa.
She turns to face me right as I kick off the remains of my jeans.
Her eyes again drop to my legs—now bare and I’m glad my t-
shirt is covering my lap because the way her chocolate brown eyes
are skimming over my body has things tightening inside my boxers.
She swallows visibly. “I could have helped you with that. Do you
need anything else?”
I shake my head.
“I’ve been driving for hours and really have to pee. Can you just
point me in the direction of your bathroom?”
“Down the hall to your left.”
“Thanks.”
I still don’t understand how thirty minutes ago I was alone in my
mountain refuge and now I have a fucking roommate. I should tell
her to leave. Yell at her. Maybe threaten?
Nah, I can’t do that. I know I’m big and scary looking but I could
never hurt a woman, couldn’t even pretend like I could. And she’s
not wrong about the fact that I probably will need some help. But
once I get some anti-inflammatories in me and ice this for a while,
the swelling will go down and I should be able to walk on my own.
Hopefully.
I can send her on her way to her cabin tomorrow. The cabin that
is not that far from mine. What is she doing out here alone?
 I pick up my phone and send a text to my best friend and
business partner.

ME: There’s a woman in my house.

EZRA: Then, why the fuck are you texting me? Go get
naked.
ME: No, not like that. She hit me with her car and now
she won’t leave because she feels compelled to
take care of me.
EZRA: First, are you okay?
ME: Yeah. Just flared up my knee injury. She wasn’t
going fast.
EZRA: <gif of woman laughing so hard, she’s crying>
ME: Fuck you. I don’t even know why I bother.
EZRA: Stop it, old man. You keep me around because
I’m hilarious. Also, you need to sign off on those
papers so we can finalize the new contracts.
ME: Right. ASAP.
EZRA: So this woman…is she hot?
ME: Fuck off.
EZRA: Heh…I’ll take that as a yes.

I put my phone on the sofa next me, and then scrub a hand down
my face. Then Molly comes back into the room. She’s all awkward
smiles and curves and she actually waves at me as she sits on the
other side of the sectional.
“What’s your name?”
I debate a moment before answering. It’s unlikely she’ll
recognize me by my face. I look different. And it’s been more than
three years since I was on the cover of any magazines. Not only
that, but I never use my full name.
“Jefferson,” I say.
 “It’s nice to meet you, Jefferson.” Her smile falters as her blush
deepens. “Um, I’m sorry that I hit you with my car.”
It takes everything I have not to smile at the earnestness in her
apology. I might be a cranky motherfucker, but I’d have to be dead
not to recognize that this woman is adorable.
“What are you doing up here?” I find myself asking.
She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. She’s got on leggings and a red v-
neck top that’s cinched tight under her breasts and loose and flowy
everywhere else. The shirt plus the shrugging action does amazing
things for her tits. Which are amazing enough without needing the
help. “Just a little mini-vacation.”
“Alone?”
Her chin tilts ever so slightly. “You’re alone.”
“There’s a difference between living alone and traveling alone.
Plus, you’re a tiny woman.”
She snorts. Yep, that’s adorable too, which frankly is annoying. I
don’t find things adorable. Except for puppies because you have to
be dead inside to not love puppies.
She crosses her arms over her chest which only serves in
plumping her breasts. “I am not tiny.”
I raise a brow.
She scoffs. “Well, of course I’m smaller compared to you because
you’re enormous.” Her head tilts. “How tall are you?”
“Just under six foot six.”
“I didn’t realize they grew them that big here in Arkansas.”
“Not from here.”
“Where did you grow up?” she asks.
“Austin.”
“Texas?” Her smile lights up the whole damn room. “I’m from
Texas, too. Not Austin though. My family is from west Texas.”
I just nod because I fucking hate small talk. I glance behind me
at the stairs leading up to my bedroom and office. I need to get in
my office and work or at the very least get my laptop.
Molly’s phone pings and she picks it up to look at it and smiles.
“My sister,” she says. Then she sets down her phone. “You know
what’s weird? I was expecting the service to be terrible up here, but
my signal is amazing. Like better than what I get a lot of places at
home.”
I just nod because I’m not going to tell her about the Sky Link
router that keeps my network connected to the satellite and
therefore to the rest of the world.
“You keep looking up the stairs. You don’t have your crazy wife
locked in an attic up there, do you?” Then she laughs at her own
joke.
I just stare at her.
Her giggles stop and her smile disappears. “Do you?” she
whispers.
“Are you comparing me to Mr. Rochester?”
That wins me a huge smile that seems to punch me right in the
gut. “You’ve read Jane Eyre.”
I lift a shoulder. “My mom worked in a library growing up. I read
a lot.”
“Your mom was a librarian?”
I shake my head. “Night custodian.”
Her eyes soften. “And you’d go to work with her and read while
she cleaned? That’s so sweet.”
I didn’t think it was sweet at the time. But it wasn’t the worst
way to spend my childhood.
“So what are you hiding upstairs?” she asks.
“Nothing. I just have work to do and my bedroom is up there.”
“I can help you up the stairs. Or I can go up there and get
whatever you need.”
“No!” I say more forcefully than I need to. “Don’t go upstairs.”
“Ooookay.”
“I need to go upstairs,” I mutter.
“I can help you.” She stands.
“No, thank you. It can wait.”
“Don’t be silly. What do you need? If you’re soooo afraid of me
going up stairs.” She draws out the word “so” as if to imply I’m
being ridiculous.
I’m not, by the way.
 “What are you afraid of? Assuming you don’t have that crazy wife
locked in your attic. Do you think I’m going to get cooties all over
your stuff?”
“Of course not,” I grunt.
She rolls her eyes. “Then what?”
Then what, indeed?
There are three rooms upstairs. My bedroom. My gaming room—
because even though I live like a recluse, I still need something to
do on my down time. And my office—where I have enough
computer power to run an NSA field office as well as a prototype of
Sky Link’s latest satellite.
I don’t have even have a lock on my office door. Since the only
person who ever comes to my cabin is my housekeeper, Marlena,
who has signed an NDA so tight she’d basically have to give me her
kidney if she ever broke it.
So, yeah, since I don’t have another one of those just lying
around for spontaneous guests to sign, I need to keep Molly away
from the second floor.
“Nothing,” I grumble. “I don’t need anything.”
“What?” she asks again. She hikes her eyebrows up. Then
narrows them shrewdly in an expression she obviously thinks is
scary. “You might as well tell me because I’m not going to let this
go. Tell me what you need and I’ll go get it for you. And I promise I
won’t dig around in any of your stuff. Cross my heart.”
She holds her fingers up in a heart shape and then traces an “x”
over her chest and—Christ—if I can’t help looking at her tits again.
“Fine,” I blurt. “I need an Advil.”
She blinks, then jumps up. “Jesus Christ on a cracker! Why didn’t
you say anything?”
“I just did.”
“I mean before now!” She looks genuinely distraught. “Oh my
God. I’m so sorry! Wait! I have Advil!”
“Okay.”
She hurries over to her bag, flops it down on its side and unzips
it. She digs through it and a moment later pops up, jiggling a bottle
of Advil like it’s a trophy. “Ta da!”
 A moment later, she’s dumping Advil out into her palm.
She holds her hand out to me.
But before I can take it, she jerks her hand back.
“Wait a second.” She gives me the stink eye. “When was the last
time you ate?”
“I don’t know. Can I have the damn Advil?”
“Have you eaten in the past two hours?”
Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I ate. I was working in
my office all morning before I heard the crunch of tires on the
driveway and went out to see who the hell was at my house. “What
time is it now?”
She glances at her watch. “Three-ish.”
I shrug. “Sure.”
Her gaze narrows more. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”
I am. I think I had breakfast, but I can’t be sure. And that was
probably around six.
She doesn’t wait for me to answer, but pours the Advil back in
the bottle.
“You need to eat first. Ibuprofen increases the production of
stomach acid, which can irritate the lining of your stomach and lead
to long term health problems. Ibuprofen is the generic name for—”
“I know what the fuck Ibuprofen is.”
“Okay, good.”
As if the matter is settled, she turns and walks away. Taking the
Advil with her.
“Where the hell are you going?”
She pauses and flashes me a smile. “To make you dinner,
obviously.”
What the hell has happened to my life?
 CHAPTER 3

Molly

My skills in the kitchen are limited to ordering take out. Since I’m
pretty sure Uber Eats will not deliver to this location, I do a little light
reconnaissance in Jefferson’s pantry and pull out some pasta.
I find bacon, cheese, and eggs in his fridge. After briefly
entertaining a fantasy of dazzling Jefferson with my cooking skills—
after all, I have written for some cooking magazines and
theoretically I have a “fool-proof” recipe for carbonara on my phone
—I decide to settle for buttered noodles. Because who am I kidding?
Fool-proof does not equal Molly-proof.
I put some water in a pot—just eyeballing the pasta package’s
recommendation for two quarts of boiling water. Once I get that
going on the stove, I pull out my laptop and get it hooked up to my
personal hot spot. I check on Jefferson.
He growls when I swipe his ice pack.
“I still need that.”
I shake my head as I back away. “You can have it back in twenty
minutes. Most doctors recommend twenty minutes on and twenty
minutes off to reduce the risk of frost bite.”
His brow lowers to a scowl, though I swear I see his lips twitch.
“I’m not going to get frost bite.”
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 He turned to Stephan, who was staring at him incredulously.
“If you don’t think I’m telling the truth,” he snapped, “I’ll go and kiss
every pretty girl in camp to prove it! You’ve been here twenty years. I
can’t touch you. I can’t deport you. And I’m mighty glad of it! As for
killing Vladimir and his brother, I’m going to do my best to get you
medals for the performance. I’m going to set my men on these fool
farmers and chase ’em home. We’ll sue them for the houses they’ve
burnt. We’ll put that sheriff in jail. We’ll—we’ll—— Cunningham, you
lucky son-of-a-gun, I’m going to be best man and kiss the bride!”
But Cunningham was already preceding him in that occupation.
 18

It was a very, very long time later. Cunningham was sitting peacefully
upon the veranda of a house among tall mountains. His eyes roved
the length of a valley that was closed in at the farther end by
precipitous cliffs. There were small, contented sounds from the
house behind him.
A motor-car rolled up a smooth, graded roadway. A man by the
road saw the occupant of the car and shouted a greeting.
Cunningham sprang to his feet and ran down to meet it.
Gray tumbled out of the car and gripped Cunningham’s hand.
“I brought my fishing-rods,” he announced exuberantly. “Where’s
that stream you were writing about?”
“Find it in the morning,” said Cunningham happily. “How d’you like
our valley?”
Gray came up the steps and stared out at the empty space below
him. There were tall buildings down in the valley floor—great
concrete buildings, with a tall shaft-house where motors whirred and
an engine puffed.
“There ain’t any such place!” announced Gray firmly. “I’m
dreaming it! I found a concrete road leading here. I passed half a
dozen motor-trucks on the way. And one scoundrel waved at me
from a steering-wheel and I’ll swear he’s the chap that had a knife in
the small of my back once, ready to stick it in.”
“Quite likely,” admitted Cunningham, grinning. “He is quite glad,
now, that he did not stick it in. I’ve spread the news that you were the
one who proved their title to the valley, through twenty years’
occupation.”
Gray squirmed, then grinned.
“Might be useful,” he admitted, “to be popular here, in case there
are any more fire-ceremonies going on.”
Cunningham’s face was serious for a moment.
“They were desperate, then,” he said. “They’d tried the Christian
God and things still looked black. So they called upon some ancient
deities that their forefathers had worshiped.... You mustn’t blame
them, Gray.”
“I don’t.” Gray grinned. “But I do want to study their dialect,
Cunningham.”
“Go ahead. It’s disappearing. We’re going in for politics, and boy
scouts, and radios. We are a long way from a railroad, but our mine
has built a road to it, and we have a motor-truck line that’s as good
as a trolley any day. We’re highly civilized now, Gray.”
He opened the door into the house. And there was Maria to smile
and give Gray her hand.
“Your husband,” said Gray, “has been boasting outrageously about
what’s happened in the valley since you people came back.”
“He did it all,” said Maria proudly. “Nobody does anything, ever,
without asking him.”
Gray chuckled and lifted an eyebrow at Cunningham.
“You haven’t seen the prize exhibit yet,” said Cunningham hastily.
“Chief!”
There was a movement and Stephan came up a flight of steps that
led outside. There was a tiny figure balanced on his shoulders.
Stephan twinkled as he saw Gray, and he set his burden on the
ground.
“I found him,” he announced proudly, “going down the hillside with
his air-rifle. He was going to hunt bears. That is a grandson!”
Gray stooped and beckoned. The small figure came shyly forward.
“Son,” said Gray gravely, “don’t you waste your time on small
game like bears. Wait until you grow up a bit, and see a picture of a
pretty girl in a magazine, and you find out where she is. And then—
why, then you can start out on the route to romance and adventure.”
 [THE END]

Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in serial form in the

March, April and May, 1928 issues of Weird Tales Magazine.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STRANGE
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