by A. J. Wynter
WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY
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Copyright
Copyright 2019 by AJ Wynter - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Author's Notes:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are a 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. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third party websites or their content.
The Rancher’s Virgin was originally published as “Forgetting the Rancher”.
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The Mountain Man’s Virgin
A.J. WYNTER
Chapter 1 – Lucy
I smoothed my hands over my black dress and noticed that they were shaking. Would I ever feel comfortable around these people? These people, that sounds bad, doesn’t it? By that, I mean rich people. When would I stop feeling like an actor? Like someone just playing the role of Lawrence’s girlfriend? I met the tired eyes of the bathroom attendant who smiled as she handed me a warm towel. I thanked her, took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked back into the restaurant.
“Everything okay, gorgeous?” Lawrence stood and took my hand as I got back to the table. The other male guest, Hunter, also stood. I hated to admit it, but a part of me liked the old school chivalry groomed into these private school guys. After spending a few months with these gentlemen, I found myself judging the boys who kept their baseball hats on at the table in the dining hall.
“I’m fine, Lawrence.” I smiled and let him pull out the heavy chair for me. I had the wealthy mannerisms down pat. After all, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which of the many forks to use for a damn salad. I mean, technically, I’m going to be a biochemist, and even though ‘salad fork selection’ has yet to be added to the curriculum, I managed to sort it out.
It was the subtle things about rich folks that weren’t so easy to pick up - all the little inside jokes and name dropping went right over my head. Not unlike insider trading, their world seemed to have its own exclusive language and vocabulary that only they knew.
The waiter returned, cleared our dinner plates, and poured out the last of the nine-hundred-dollar bottle of Chateau Margaux, our third bottle. I smiled and thanked the waiter. I grew up drinking no name kool-aid and juice that had no actual fruit in it. When Lawrence and I first started dating six months ago, I couldn’t tell the difference between a ten-dollar bottle of wine and a two hundred dollar one. I’m still not an expert but have started to appreciate the subtle flavors of the expensive stuff.
We all passed on dessert, and I was feeling content and pleasantly full.
“What did you think of Professor Nordgren’s lecture yesterday?” Hunter asked as he set his linen napkin on the table.
“You mean how he totally glossed over the ethical issues involved with A.I.?” I said and took the last sip of my wine.
“What’s A.I.?” Hunter’s girlfriend, Tania asked. Tania was a freshman, and Lawrence told me that her parents had made a substantial contribution to the University to ensure her acceptance. If the University were to create a degree in Instagram, she would be on the Dean’s list, but outside of plumping her lips and working out, she didn’t seem to have much interest in school - or anything really. I put in a solid effort to include her in the conversation, but once I had gone through my limited pop culture gossip, no common ground remained between us.
“Artificial Intelligence, sweetheart,” Hunter responded without looking at his girlfriend.
“Oh, like pretending to be smart?” Tania asked, tossing her expensive extensions over her tanned shoulder.
“You got it, baby,” Hunter smirked at me and patted his girlfriend’s hand.
I raised my eyebrows at Hunter. I often wondered why he was with Tania, besides the obvious fact that she was beautiful. He clearly didn’t respect her, and I found his dismissive behavior pretty gross.
Tania smiled, proud of herself, the dig flying way over her empty head.
I cleared my throat and racked my brain to find a way to tactfully change the subject, to let the guys know that I didn’t approve of their behavior. It bothered me that Hunter and Lawrence took a certain pleasure in mocking Tania right to her face, and that should’ve been a warning sign for me, a big red flag.
Thankfully the sommelier returned with a bottle of champagne and presented it to Lawrence. Lawrence examined the label and nodded at the man who expertly popped the cork and then poured Lawrence a sample.
“Champagne?” I asked. I thought that dinner had been wrapping up. I was looking forward to getting home early, so I could study and get into bed at a decent time.
“Well, we have to celebrate.” Lawrence smiled slyly at me and downed the sample. He nodded to the sommelier who proceeded to fill the rest of our flutes. I noticed a glance between Lawrence and Hunter and wondered what inside joke they had going on now.
“Oooh, Chaimstem, my favorite champagne.” Tania shifted in her chair and raised her glass.
“It’s Ace of Spades,” Lawrence said, meeting Tania’s champagne flute with his own. “Chaimstem is for posers.”
Tania raised her eyebrows and leaned into the table, “I mean, I like Spades too, but Chaimstem is okay for mimosas, right?”
“If you’re in a pinch, it will do,” Hunter laughed.
I knew that Chaimstem was good champagne and only had to assume that this Ace of Spades was somehow better.
I raised my glass to meet Tania’s and waited for Lawrence and Hunter to join in the clinking of the expensive crystal glasses. I impatiently turned to Lawrence only to see him get up from the table and kneel down on one knee. I gasped as he opened the unmistakable blue Tiffany ring box. The ring was gorgeous. Its center stone was the size of a dime and it was flanked by two triangular baguettes. I guessed that the ring cost more than most people’s houses.
“Lucy McKennit, I’ve only known you for six months, but I know that you’re the woman for me. I’ve never met anyone like you before and I’d be a crazy man to let you go.”
I sat transfixed. I could feel all the eyes in the restaurant on me. This was the last thing that I expected to happen. Things had been going well with Lawrence. We had spent all the limited free time I had together. But marriage? I mean,
we hadn’t even slept together.
He was smart, handsome, rich as hell; I would be crazy to say no to him. Then why was my mind screaming No?
“Lucy,” Lawrence’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Will you marry me?”
How could I say no in front of all these people? My mind flashed through different scenarios and they flickered through my consciousness like an old-school film reel. If we had a long engagement I could grow to love him. Couldn’t I?
The ring glimmered and shone in the candlelight from the table, and my vision blurred as I felt tears brim up in my eyes. The restaurant was silent, everyone staring with bated breath, waiting for my response. A bystander would’ve mistaken them as tears of joy. And they might have been. Lawrence was everything I had been looking for.
I looked into Lawrence’s brown eyes. He cleared his throat again. I had to say something.
Chapter 2 – Mick
“Chopper!” I yelled from the porch and scanned the nearby treeline for any sign of my dog. “Chopper!” I shouted even louder, but there was no sign of the graying black lab.
I sighed and went back into the cabin to find my thick plaid jacket and grab my snowshoes. If Chopper was a typical dog, I wouldn’t be worried, but since he lost one of his back legs, trekking through the deep snow had been tough on the old guy.
I sat down on the steps to put on my snowshoes. They were massive and cumbersome but were able to float my two hundred pounds on the fluffy snowpack much better than modern snowshoes. The light aluminum ones were fine for walking on harder snow, or for city slickers to use on well-worn paths, but this year was proving to be a banner snow year, and only the big traditional snowshoes would cut it.
I stood to go look for Chops, then heard some rustling under the porch. I bent down to look between the boards of the stairs and sure enough, there was the old pooch, yawning and stretching lazily.
I smiled. I couldn’t be mad at Chopper. He had been with me through thick and thin. I dreaded the day the old guy would leave me for doggie heaven, and I worried that day was looming near. There were many times that I thought he might be losing his hearing, but his ability to hear a squirrel chatter from over a mile away always gave away his ruse.
“Come here, boy.” I smiled and clapped my suede work gloves together. “Let’s get some wood for the fire.”
He followed in my oval shaped tracks to the large wood shed. I had cords and cords of split firewood, but always left a few cords untouched so I could split them by hand. The act of chopping wood, raising the heavy splitting maul over my head, and then using technique, rather than brawn, to crack the wood apart, had proven to be the best way to take out my anger and frustration.
I looked at the mountainous horizon and saw that I had about an hour before I lost the sun. I didn’t really need to check my watch, I knew that it was nearing 4 p.m., and a quick double-check of my high-tech wrist altimeter confirmed it, 3:47. The days were getting longer.
At the top of my shed, the red and white striped wind sock lay limp against the pole. Thankfully the wind had dropped off and so had its accompanying chill. I spent two hours splitting wood, the latter hour chopping in the dusty light from my headlamp. I shivered. I had worked up a sweat and once the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks, a chill quickly started to set into my bones.
I packed the wood onto a sled and quickly fashioned a triple bowline. I slid the makeshift harness around my legs and waist. My thighs were thick, to begin with, but this cabin life had turned them into veritable tree trunks. Yeah, it would’ve been easier to use the slick trailer and tow it behind my mountain snowmobile, but some part of me really enjoyed roughing it. Was I punishing myself for my shortcomings? Maybe. All I know is that it felt good to be physically exhausted from exertion at the end of the day. “Come on, boy.” I tossed a raggedy wool blanket on top of the wood and Chopper hopped on top. Dogs truly are remarkable and adaptable creatures. After the initial healing process, it had only taken Chopper a week to get used to having three legs.
I heard the windsock flutter to life just as I felt the first flakes of snow in the air. I smiled to myself. If we got more snow overnight, I would have to clear off the helipad by hand. More hard labor. Could it be done with the tractor? Yep. Would I spend hours hand shoveling it? Hell, yeah.
I had been at the cabin since October. The first month was tough, I had felt like an addict going through withdrawal. Well, technically, I am an addict, so, I suppose it truly was withdrawal. With each month that passed, it seemed to get easier and easier to be away from society.
My life might sound rough, even like punishment to some. A life lived by a hermit with nothing to his name, but I couldn’t be further from that. Could I have a multi-million-dollar log home in Aspen? I could have five. Could I have a staff of fifty to run my household? Yes, and I have had all that. I sold my Aspen home two years ago and I don’t miss it one bit. I don’t miss Marcus, the chef, or the cheerful cleaning staff, or even my driver, Anthony. None of it. I’m here alone. I’m getting what I deserve. The harder my life is the better.
I mean, there is one luxury item that I allowed myself to keep. I smiled as I looked out the back window of the cabin at my favorite material thing in the world. My helo was basking in the white light of the generator powered floodlight, and she was beautiful. Keeping a helicopter was a justifiable luxury. I still needed to make trips to the office and I mean, one of the companies I own manufactures them, so what kind of a CEO would I be if I didn’t endorse my own product?
I flicked off the generator and felt my heart rate slow as the serenity of silence took over. The only sound in my cabin was the crackling of the fire, the hiss off the kettle on the woodstove, and Chopper’s loud snoring.
Was my new life a self-inflicted purgatory? Sometimes it felt like it, but then sometimes it felt like heaven - I couldn’t decide. I had put myself in the woods to protect society. I was a menace. But the longer I spent here, the more it feels like I’m where I was meant to be - away from temptation. My last relapse had been a bad one. I couldn’t be trusted to be out in society. The cure for my addiction was isolation. Solitude was both my jailor and savior.
Chapter 3 – Lucy
I still remember the day that I met Lawrence.
We were running interval drills on the track. I was the anchor in the 4x800, the most grueling of all the races, in my opinion. It doesn’t have the same strategic game playing as the longer races, and yet isn’t an all-out sprint.
I try my hardest at everything that I do. I’ve been told that I have a natural ability both on the track and in school, but people have no idea how many grueling hours I’ve put into both. I never want to feel like I haven’t put my ‘all’ on the table, that I haven’t tried my absolute best at something.
I jumped up and down on the orange track, opening and closing my hands until I saw Sasha round the corner. Every muscle in my body was tense, like a stalking tiger ready to pounce, waiting for her to shout ‘stick’ and pass the baton to me.
“Stick!” Sasha screamed, and I heard her track spikes punching into the rubberized surface as she bore down on me. I took off, my arm outstretched behind me. As soon as I felt the metal of the baton hit my palm, I clenched my fingers around it and took off at ninety percent of my capacity.
I loved the way running made me feel. It was the only time in my life when my mind wasn’t racing, that I wasn’t thinking about a million things: School, grades, money, cancer. Running gave me freedom from myself.
On my second lap, my skin started to tingle, that feeling you only get when you know that someone is watching you. As I rounded the corner, I stole a glance at the infield and saw two of the rugby players staring at me. I averted my gaze and focused on the finish line. I lengthened my stride and my tanned runner’s legs whisked me to the finish line.
“Lucy! Great time,” Coach Reid yelled to me and smiled.
My legs were wobbly, and I bent over, placing my hands on my knees, and actively tried to
slow down my breathing.
“That was your fastest split this year,” Coach Reid said and clapped me on the back. “Do I need to get the rugby team to come to our next meet?” she smiled and winked at me.
As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. Knowing the players were watching had pushed me to run faster than I had in months. I was both excited and disappointed in myself. Attention from the opposite sex was new to me. Had I been showing off?
I stood up and tried to subtly pull down the legs of my short track shorts. No matter what I did, they always rode up over my muscular thighs.
“Thirsty?” I heard a low voice ask.
I turned to see one of the rugby players staring at me. Eek! Had Mr. America just seen me pick my wedgie? I blushed at the thought.
He held out a metal water bottle and smiled at me. His sandy blonde hair rustled in the warm September wind that fluttered his rugby jersey against his body. His shirt was just tight enough for me to see the definition of his pecs and his six-pack - or wait, could that be an eight pack? My eyes trailed back to his bronzed Adonis-like arm, still offering up the water bottle.
I cleared my throat and tried my best to smile at him. “Thank you,” I said, taking the bottle and screwing off the top. I was an accomplished athlete and my pulse should’ve already recuperated to resting rate, but with this man in front of me, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. My hands were shaking as I took a swig, and it was like I had never drunk before in my life, the cold water spilling down the front of my racing tank.
“Shit,” I whispered under my breath, brushing the water off my top.