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TRUSTING THE MOUNTAIN MAN

LILAH HART
 Bachelorettes of Blackbear Bluff, Book 3
Version 1.0119

Copyright © 2024 Lilah Hart

All rights reserved.

No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior
consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

Cover Design by Designrans

Copyediting by Brandi Zelenka | My Notes in the Margin Book Services | mynotesinthemargins.com
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
 1
DALLAS

t was the strangest sound I’d ever heard, and it was coming from outside my house.
I I set down my coffee cup, pushed away from the table, and stood, making a beeline for the front window of my tiny
cabin. Although there was plenty of traffic up and down the main road leading through Blackbear Bluff, few cars made it up
this way. There was only one house past mine, and it belonged to the guy who owned the bar in town.
I squinted against the sun’s reflection off the snow, my gaze homing in on the navy blue SUV stalled in front of me. At least
it was stopped in place on the icy, sloped road, rather than sliding down.
And then it started again. The same strange whirring sound I’d heard inside my cabin.
Now that I had the vehicle in my sights, it was clear to see what was making the noise. The driver was pressing on the gas
and the tires were spinning, going nowhere.
“Fuck,” I said, stalking over to the front door.
I yanked my coat off the hook and shoved my arms in the sleeves. The last thing I wanted to deal with on this freezing cold
wintry morning was a stuck driver, but I couldn’t just sit in my warm cabin and watch this person struggle.
I threw open the front door, hoping the car had gained traction and was on its way up the hill. But instead, it was stalled
again, this time at a crooked angle.
The noise started up again. “Don’t do that!” I called out, knowing the driver probably couldn’t hear me. “Lady!”
Why I was screaming that as I started across my front lawn was beyond me. There was no reason to assume a woman was
behind the wheel. Maybe it was wishful thinking. It had been a long time since I’d been anywhere near a woman. Certainly not
since I’d moved to this town of mostly men. Damn, it would be nice to have a woman in my bed again.
The SUV was sliding backward now. I let out a string of profanities as I watched, feeling helpless. It was still at an angle
and heading straight toward the solid brick mailbox I’d hand built soon after a buddy and I constructed this log cabin. The box
had reliably collected my mail for five solid years.
My eyes widened as the vehicle not only slammed into the brick but kept going, spinning until it was moving, headfirst,
toward the drop-off that ran along the road next to my house. If that SUV didn’t stop, it would be off the side of the cliff, and
there would be nothing I could do to save it or its driver.
I took off at a fast walk, like I could do anything to stop what was sure to be a fatal accident. Just before the SUV drifted
out of sight, it spun again. And then I heard a thunderous crash that seemed almost deafening in the silence around me.
And then…nothing.
I was running by the time I reached my driveway, but I had to slow down to avoid sliding and ending up on my ass. My
rubber-soled boots helped me stay upright, though. Thank God I’d been hauling in wood just before grabbing my coffee.
Otherwise, I might have still been in my house shoes.
This was the worst place for something like this to happen. I didn’t have a phone, and cell service was spotty up here,
anyway. I figured the gigantic cabin at the top of this mountain had it, but it was at least a mile up the road. All I could do was
hop in my truck and make a run for help, and in this weather, that was…an iffy idea.
A hissing sound pierced the silence as I drew closer to where I’d last seen the vehicle. I breathed a sigh of relief. A hissing
sound was good, especially since it was close enough to tell me the vehicle hadn’t gone down the mountain. Guardrails ran
along the road on either side—something I’d forgotten about in my panic. Yes, everything was probably okay.
But the panic returned as I neared the SUV. Not a sign of movement. It was smashed up against a gigantic tree, its front end
crumbled like a tin can. Steam poured from the hood.
Instinct told me I should probably get the person out. Everything was probably fine, but better safe than sorry. I didn’t want
anyone inside if the engine caught fire.
The guardrail had done its job, although the tree helped stop it too. Still, I wasn’t sure how stable the scene was.
 “Hello?” I called out as I approached the driver’s side of the vehicle.
No response. I saw long, red hair and a figure inside. Instinct told me it was a woman, which notched my adrenaline up a
little. I would have jumped in to help no matter what, but there was an extra sense of urgency knowing a woman needed my
help.
When I knocked on the driver’s window, I half-expected no movement whatsoever. The airbags obviously hadn’t gone off,
and the person was slumped over the steering wheel, but she sat up and looked around as though she’d suddenly realized where
she was.
“Can you unfasten your seat belt?” I asked.
Maybe that was a bad idea. But before I could say anything else, she turned to the right and then the left. It took me a second
to realize the movement was her unfastening the seatbelt and moving it back into its holder. Then, suddenly, the door started to
open.
“Wait, wait, wait!” I said, reaching up to stop the door from moving. “Let’s go slowly.”
The vehicle seemed stable. All four wheels were on the ground. I honestly didn’t see a way opening the door would throw
the vehicle off balance, but I’d never forgive myself if something happened to this woman.
Together, we opened the door, watching with each inch. Nothing budged. Then I stepped back and gestured for her to get
out. I didn’t breathe again until we were both standing on the road, staring at her vehicle.
“Do you think it’s safe to open the trunk?” she asked.
I started to say no, absolutely not, but it seemed pretty safe to me. Still, I wasn’t going to take any chances.
“Let me get it,” I said. “You stay here. What is it you need?”
“All of it. My suitcase. The gifts.”
I stared at her, and that was when I really got a good look at her. Damn, she was beautiful. Most beautiful sight I’d ever
seen. She had mesmerizing green eyes, and her auburn hair made them stand out against her porcelain skin.
Despite the stress of the moment, I felt something. A spark. And a thought that rocked me to the core. This was the very type
of woman I’d looked for in my younger years.
“Gifts?” I asked.
Christmas was two months ago. But it was Valentine’s Day weekend. Oh, that made sense. She was meeting her lover for
Valentine’s Day.
But the only thing past my house was Jasper Phillips’ cabin. Maybe she’d taken a wrong turn, and she was headed for
Gage’s or Brody’s house. Whoever he was, he was a lucky son of a bitch to be sleeping with this gorgeous woman this
weekend. What I wouldn’t do to wrap my arms around this beautiful redhead, maybe kissing her from head to toe. Sliding my
cock deep into her wet folds. Stroking her clit as she cried out my name and begged me not to stop.
Yeah, it’d been way too long without a woman. I’d have to do something about that. In the meantime, I needed to make sure
this woman and her vehicle were taken care of.
And I needed to keep my hands to myself.
 2
PHOEBE

oly hell on wheels. This guy was hot.

H I registered that in the back of my mind as I tried to take in what had happened. I’d just wrecked my SUV—my most
valuable possession. That meant I was stranded at the top of this mountain with no way to get home.
Was I seriously letting my hormones take over? Now? Maybe it was my mind’s weird way of coping. No, this guy’s hotness
was impossible to ignore.
I tried not to stare as he unloaded my suitcase and the two wrapped gifts I’d brought for my cousin, who was the bride in
this wedding. One of the gifts was from me and one was from my brother. Yeah, we could have shipped the gifts, but both of us
were procrastinators. I didn’t want to show up at the wedding giftless with a bunch of excuses about how my present would
arrive later.
“We should call the police,” I said.
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my phone, frowning at the screen. No bars. I’d noticed that as I climbed the
mountain just before the accident. My destination was just over the hill, though, so I didn’t need GPS at that point. I’d been so
close. So close…yet it may as well have been a thousand miles.
“You won’t get any police up here,” he said. “Not in this weather. And even then…”
I stared at him. It was weird, but there was something very unexpected about this man. He reminded me of the tech guys I
worked with, but he was muscular and gruff. The perfect combination of street smarts and book smarts. That was a bold
assessment to make after a few words, but my mind was trying to grab onto something that made sense right now.
“We only have a sheriff in this town,” the guy said. “It’s a one-man operation. I say we carry all this to my house and figure
it out from there.”
He didn’t wait for my answer, just grabbed one of the gifts off the ground, picked up my suitcase by the handle, and started
walking.
“That rolls,” I called after him.
But he was well on his way by then, the snow crunching beneath his shoes as he walked. I looked around and picked up the
other gift before running to catch up with him. I’d barely gotten four steps, though, when a snowflake hit my head, then another
one hit my nose.
Great. Just what we needed. More snow.
By the time we reached the steps leading to the front door of the tiny cabin, the snow was coming down harder, making me
grateful he’d taken off when he did. It was like he’d known things were about to get worse. Maybe I was in good hands.
He pushed open the door and stepped back, gesturing for me to enter and shifting the suitcase from his right to his left hand.
I hesitated a second on the top step. All I could think about was the Unabomber. Didn’t he live in a tiny cabin? What if this guy
was some sort of maniac?
“It’s kind of cold out here,” he said.
His words reminded me I didn’t really have a choice. Well, unless you included the choice of standing out here and
freezing to death. Or the choice of staying with my car and waiting for somebody else to come along while starving to death.
I nodded and continued across the porch, breezing past him and into the cabin. Warmth surrounded me the second I stepped
inside.
“Make yourself at home,” he said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
He set my luggage to the right of the door, then closed it behind him. At that point, he busied himself slamming each foot
against the mat to get the snow off.
I looked down at my own snow-covered feet, now messing up his natural wood floors. Did he have some sort of protective
coating on that wood? I sure hoped so.
 “Sorry,” I said. “I can take my shoes off.”
His puzzled expression told me he wasn’t worried one bit about his flooring. But this whole situation made me feel like I’d
gone through a time warp. There was just something so…old-timey about this place.
Frowning, I scanned the room for any sign of modern technology. A TV, digital clock, a lamp…
“Do you have electricity?” I asked, looking back at him.
He narrowed his eyes at me, then set the gift on a table next to the door. That made me realize I still held the other gift. Did
I set it down or continue to hold it? Setting it down was a commitment to stick around here, wasn’t it?
He began shrugging out of his coat while looking around the room. “I live off the grid. My water’s hooked up to a well. A
lot of us up here do that.”
Oh. Was he one of those doomsday-prepping types? Or maybe it was a religious thing. But didn’t people like that live in
communities?
“You have a cell phone, though,” I said.
“Nope. No service. No point.”
“How do you stay in touch with people?”
He hung his coat on a hook and started across the room. “Don’t. Coffee?”
I looked around again, then set the gift on the table next to the other one. I took my coat off and hung it on the hook next to
the door. It was plenty warm in here, which must have everything to do with the roaring fire. Flames shot up from logs in the
biggest fireplace I’d ever seen.
“Sure,” I said. “Extra sugar and⁠—”
I started to say creamer, but what doomsday prepper had creamer? Didn’t it require refrigeration, which would rely on the
grid?
I had a lot to learn about living off the grid. I realized that as I neared the kitchen area, which was the entire back corner of
this one big room. He was standing at a tall table pushed against the wall, pouring some form of white creamy liquid from a jug
into a coffee mug.
When he finished pouring, he leaned down and opened the door to what looked like a mini-fridge, sliding the container
inside. He stood, handed me the cup, and looked at me.
I struggled to form words as I stared at him up close again. How was it possible he got better looking the more I stared at
him? He had dark hair and a beard that contrasted with light gray eyes that seemed to see right into my soul. Just…gorgeous.
“Propane,” he said. “That’s how my refrigerator runs. Only way I could survive this lifestyle. I didn’t always live like this,
and there are some old comforts I miss.”
“Like a microwave?” I asked.
I looked around his kitchen area. No microwave. There wasn’t even a stove or oven that I could see.
He pointed to an area behind me. Against the wall was a short, black, metal-looking contraption.
“Wood-burning stove,” he said.
Oh, wow. People actually lived like this?
As he started talking, he leaned back against the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest and staring straight
ahead. He explained how he hunted and fished for food, and he and his buddies had a communal garden about a half mile down
the mountain.
I barely heard a word of it, though. My mind was on the way those arms bulged under his long-sleeved flannel shirt. And
that wasn’t the only bulge I saw. It was tough to miss the well-defined bulge under his jeans.
Did that mean he was really big? Or that he was turned on? If it was the latter, had I been the one to make that happen?
I shifted uncomfortably and took a sip of my coffee. Or maybe I was too comfortable. All I knew was warmth was
spreading directly to the area between my legs.
It surprised me. It wasn’t that I’d never been turned on before—I certainly had. But the fact that it had hit me so suddenly,
just after eyeing his bulge in my peripheral vision, threw me off a little.
I might be a virgin, but I’d lusted over boys plenty of times in my life. I’d even dated. But my body had never automatically
responded to the sight of a stranger’s bulge before. It all made me suddenly aware of how inexperienced I was, even for a
twenty-one-year-old. And this guy, who had to be in at least his mid-thirties, would see me as nothing more than a college kid
even though I’d never been to college.
“So, what about you?” the man asked.
He was still leaning against the wall, but now he looked at me, his head tilted slightly. I’d swear with the intensity in his
eyes, he knew what was going on with my body. Specifically, he knew looking at him was making me wet.
No, that wasn’t possible, was it?
I lowered my mug to my chest, maybe in a way to subconsciously cover it. But all it did was make his gaze drop to that
area—to the sweatshirt my brother had gotten me at college. I wore it because it was warm and comfortable, but the name of
the school was printed across the chest. I told myself he was trying to read the words, but deep down I was hoping he was
wondering what I would look like naked.
“I don’t know,” I blurted, mostly to shove aside those thoughts. “I started taking some college classes online, but nothing
really appealed to me. So for now, I work in a coffee shop.”
His eyebrows arched. Did he even know what a barista was? Yes, of course he’d know that. He’d mentioned he had a
refrigerator because he missed some things about the old life, so he’d definitely been on the grid at some point.
“I didn’t know I was making coffee for a professional,” he said, adding a wince. “Sorry.”
I looked down at the brownish liquid sloshing around in the mug near my chest. “No, it’s fine.”
Actually, it was rancid, but I liked my coffee on the ridiculously sweet side. At this point, I was thinking of this like taking
medicine. I needed caffeine, and it didn’t matter if it tasted good as long as the drug got into my system.
“Name?” the guy suddenly asked.
I looked up, my mind still on the coffee I was holding. When he spoke, he used so few words, sometimes it was tough to
make out what he was asking. Was he being charged by the kilowatt for words?
“Phoebe.” I thrust my hand out. “Lexington, Kentucky.”
He didn’t budge at first, just blinked at me several times in rapid succession. Maybe he didn’t believe in shaking hands. Or
maybe he’d forgotten the convention altogether.
Finally, he uncrossed his arms, straightening and pushing away from the table. He stepped toward me, reaching out his
hand.
“Dallas,” he said. “Former Navy SEAL.”
I reached out to return his handshake, and his large, strong hand wrapped around mine. His touch sent shockwaves through
my body, warming me, making me want so much more. It made it nearly impossible to concentrate on what he was saying.
Then he released my hand and coherent thought resumed. A Navy SEAL? That fell in the “big deal” range. It also meant
he’d seen things, and those things had probably driven him here, to a small town far away from civilization. Here, he could stay
away from people, not even having to rely on the grocery store.
It was all starting to make sense.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’m going to go dig out my truck, and we’ll pack your stuff and get you up the hill.”
His words froze my hand, which had been lifting the mug to my mouth. I stared at him over the top of it.
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“I’ve fast roped from a helicopter,” he said. “I’ve spent weeks in the jungle and slept on sand in the middle of the desert.
I’m pretty sure I can handle a little snow.”
The guy could handle it. I had no doubt about that. The question was, could I handle it?
Suddenly, the thought of sitting in the passenger seat as we tried to climb icy streets sent panic racing through me. My
stomach turned. How did I tell him I was terrified at the thought of going out there again without making him think I didn’t trust
him to do the job?
“I’ll go check it out,” he said. “We may be able to run the four-wheeler up there.”
Four-wheeler? I mouthed the words. But he’d already brushed around me and out the door, leaving the small cabin
extremely empty.
Was it possible to miss someone you’d only met minutes ago?
 3
DALLAS

h, hell no.
O That was my reaction to what I saw outside. I’d barely gotten the door open when sheets of snow assaulted me. They
blasted in past the door and onto the floor around my feet.
The weird thing was, it didn’t seem to bother Phoebe at all. She actually looked relieved as she sat in front of the log fire—
literally in front of it on the floor, legs crossed, blanket covering her lap. She was cold, and I wanted to keep her warm.
That was at the heart of why the sheets of snow were a problem. I could carry her to the truck and deposit her on the
passenger seat if needed. But I didn’t want to leave her at the top of that mountain.
No, I wanted to keep this angel all to myself.
“It’s coming down hard out there,” I said, shrugging out of my coat and hanging it on the hook.
“Do you think it’ll lighten up?” she asked. “I don’t want to miss the wedding.”
“When is it?”
“Tomorrow. We were all supposed to arrive today.”
I looked out the kitchen window as I stood in the center of my living room. “And you think they’ll be able to make it up the
hill in this?”
“Maybe the sun will come out.” She pushed herself to her feet, looking around. “I guess there’s no way to check the
weather forecast.”
I laughed. “I just go with the flow here. Whatever happens with the weather happens.”
That probably made sense to nobody but me, but I prided myself on being completely self-reliant. It was exactly the type of
thing I prepared for throughout the year.
“How do you keep up with what’s going on in the world?” She looked around my cabin. “Politics, war…if the world was
coming to an end, would you know?”
“Probably not.” I shrugged. “I have everything I need here except…”
My mouth got ahead of my brain there. But that one word, “except,” had gotten her attention. She was staring at me now.
“Except a woman,” she said.
Now I was the one staring. No way had I imagined her jumping to that conclusion, even though it was exactly what I meant.
“Except a woman,” I said. “It’s been a while.”
She said nothing, continuing to stare at me as I struggled to find words. I was a man of very few. I’d learned long ago to
keep my mouth shut and my nose in my own business.
“Not many women around these parts,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of that beautiful mouth of hers. “My cousin
told me about that.”
“Your cousin?”
“Emerald. She’s the one getting married tomorrow. To Bo Phillips?”
“The bartender?”
I knew full well who Bo Phillips was. His dad lived just a mile away. But I had no idea the son of the owner of the only
restaurant in town was getting married. And that he was partly to thank for the beautiful woman who’d landed in my life.
“Yeah, not too many women in Blackbear Bluff.” I turned and started toward the kitchen, mostly to put some distance
between me and this woman. “I don’t know where guys like Bo are getting them.”
“So, you don’t date?”
Her question froze me in my tracks. I turned and looked at her, just steps from the fridge that held my beer.
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
Phoebe tossed her blanket on the couch and started toward me. So much for putting distance between us.
 “Think what?” she asked.
I was truly clueless. My mind was scrambled at the sight of her approaching me. Those curves had my hands itching to
touch. I’d spent almost every second of the last couple of hours or so wondering what she looked like beneath those clothes.
“What makes you think I don’t date?” I asked.
“You said there weren’t too many women here.” She stopped at the countertop where she’d set her coffee mug that morning
and stared me down. “I assumed that meant you’re single.”
Damn, I wanted this woman. That face, those hips…everything about her.
“I haven’t been with a woman since I moved here six years ago.”
I’d just said those words. Out loud. She’d have every right to lose all respect for me. A woman didn’t want a man who was
celibate.
Did I want her to want me?
Yes. The answer was yes. At some point, I’d teetered from mere attraction into conquest mode. I would do whatever it took
to win this woman over and have her moaning beneath me by the end of the day.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I’ve had relationships and…women.”
I was screwing this up, big time. Maybe I’d lost my touch with women. No, sweet talking them had never been my thing.
Mostly, I’d show up somewhere, a woman would start flirting with me, and next thing I knew, we’d be back at my place or
hers.
Problem was, there was no one to flirt with around here. Even when I went to town, it was all ex-military dudes and old-
timers. The number of women in town had gradually been growing lately, but they were all attached to the men here.
“I haven’t,” she said.
I’d already moved over to the fridge, and now I squatted in front of it, door open, staring blankly inside. “Haven’t what?”
“Had a lot of relationships,” she said. “Or men. None, actually.”
Now I looked over at her, straightening. What was she saying? I didn’t get it.
“I’ve dated.” She shrugged. “And I guess I had a couple of those high school relationship situations. Holding hands, going
on dates, making out…but no sex. And nothing serious.”
I was just flat-out staring at her at this point. She had to be joking.
“Exactly how old are you?” I asked.
After the words were out, I realized how abrupt they sounded. Foot-in-mouth disease strikes again.
“Twenty-one.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not my age. It’s...”
Silence. I waited her out for a few seconds, then remembered the fridge door was open. Propane didn’t grow on trees. I
squatted and grabbed one beer, then paused again.
I looked over at her. “Want a beer?”
She was legal, right? Twenty-one. Yes, legal. Last thing I wanted to do was run afoul of the law. But I was thirty-six. A
thirty-six-year-old had no business sleeping with a twenty-one-year-old, even if she was as fine as a deer on a crisp fall
morning.
Yeah, I needed to work on my sweet talk if that was the best I could come up with.
“Sure,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger.”
I looked at her again. “I have some vodka, but⁠—”
“I’ll take it. Got anything to mix it with?”
“Water?”
She made a face. “Anything with…flavor?”
I glanced back in the fridge and spotted a couple of cans of pineapple juice. Lord knew when or why I’d bought them. I
grabbed one, kicked the fridge door shut, and got to work making her a vodka-pineapple juice drink.
A few minutes later, my mind was still struggling to catch up with everything that had happened as I settled in next to her on
the sofa. We stared at the fire, each seated on opposite ends with a cushion between us.
“My dad left when I was fourteen,” she said. “Right as I was starting to get interested in boys. Turned out, he’d been
cheating on my mom with another woman. He got her pregnant and now he’s married to her and living in Maryland.”
Whoa. That was…a lot.
“So, you didn’t want to date?” I asked.
“I did, but I could never quite trust anyone.” She shrugged. “If the only man you’ve ever loved lied to you your whole
life…”
“Yep.” I nodded, taking another sip of my beer. “Makes sense.”
I wasn’t good with stuff like this. I was probably supposed to say I was sorry to hear that or something. But there was a
reason I was better off living alone.
“But with you, it doesn’t matter,” she said.
“Huh?” I turned to look at her, feeling like I must have missed an important piece of the discussion.
 “I’m leaving town Monday morning anyway,” Phoebe said. “And once this snow clears up, I’ll be heading up to the
wedding. So there’s no need to worry about whether you’ll call me after we’ve…”
Her voice drifted off at the most important part of the sentence. I had to know exactly what she was thinking about doing
with me.
Before I could work up a question, she laughed. “You don’t even have a phone. When I leave here tomorrow, that’s
definitely it. So…let’s do this.”
She took a long sip of her drink, tipping it up until she drained it. I watched, not speaking, waiting for her to clarify. When
she set the now-empty glass on the coffee table beside her, I had to figure out exactly what she meant by “do this.”
But when she stood and asked, “Where’s your bedroom?” there was no doubt about what she meant. She reached out a
hand, like she could actually help lift me off the couch.
“I—”
My words cut off as her hand slid into mine and she gave a little tug. What was I going to say? No?
Like hell I was. I had to see where this was going.
 4
PHOEBE

oday, I would lose my virginity. Once I made up my mind to do it, there was no turning back.
T I followed Dallas to the only room inside this cabin with a door—a door I’d assumed led to the bathroom. But no, it
was a bedroom. Not a huge one, but something that was at least separate from the rest of the cabin.
“It’s dark in here,” I commented as he stopped in the center of the room, steps from a large bed with a wooden frame.
“Do you want me to open the blinds?” he asked.
I shook my head. The dim lighting was perfect. No man had ever seen me naked, and I was nervous about it. If I believed he
couldn’t see my flaws, this would be so much easier.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
I stepped closer, moving his free hand to the small of my back. That seemed to send the message.
He released my hand and moved that hand to my back as well. My entire body seemed to tremble as I rose on tiptoe and
pressed my body to his.
Had I ever been this bold? The answer was a resounding no.
He didn’t move at first, and for a long moment, I worried I would have to do all the work. But his stare was so intense, he
had to be feeling this too.
I settled my hand on his nape and brushed my breasts against his chest. Gradually, I moved my mouth closer to his. And
closer. And closer. And closer.
Suddenly, the dam seemed to break. Whatever had been holding him back melted away and his mouth crushed mine. Our
lips and tongues meshed with a passion that was startling. How did this work? Did he undress me? Or was I responsible for
disrobing?
My hands started roaming, answering for me. I slid them down the center of his chest, my fingers fumbling with his top
button. Meanwhile, his hands moved beneath the bottom band of my sweatshirt, making contact with my bare skin.
I wasn’t prepared for just how good it would feel to have his strong, work-roughened hands on my bare skin. I’d spent
years avoiding making out with boys, knowing one thing would lead to another. But Dallas wasn’t a boy. Dallas was a man.
“Let’s get some of these clothes off,” I said when we finally broke the kiss.
With a nod, he stepped back and began stripping. There was something so matter-of-fact about it, like he was simply
following orders.
I didn’t want him to see it that way. I decided to do something about it.
Without taking my eyes off him, I lifted my sweatshirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. Then I reached for the fastening
of my jeans. I was no pinup model, but I was proud of my body. I had generous curves that got attention everywhere I went.
But today, there was only one person’s attention I sought.
Dallas had stripped to his underwear by then, which made it impossible to ignore his bulge. Again, I wondered if I was the
one who had put it there. And how did I convince him to remove his underwear? I wanted to see what was beneath that blue
cotton.
Once my jeans were off, I reached for the clasp of my bra. I didn’t take my eyes off him as I tossed the bra aside, baring my
breasts to him.
He moved then, walking boldly toward me. He didn’t even stop when I stood, frozen, struggling to process my body’s
reaction to him. Chills spread from head to toe, but heat pooled in one very specific area. Warmth and moisture. My body was
preparing for him.
“Let me do the rest,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what he meant, but at that point, I was willing to do whatever he wanted. He was the expert. I was here to
learn.
 “Get on the bed,” he said.
His words, coupled with the desire in his eyes, sent a fresh wave of heat to my pussy. I’d never felt anything like this. No
one had ever looked at me the way he was right now.
I knew, in that moment, that I’d never be the same.
 5
DALLAS

wanted this woman. I had to have this woman.

I Was it possible to already be in love with this woman?
All I knew was that I’d never, in all my life, felt this way. Her smile, her body, even the way she moved. It was
all...intoxicating.
As requested, Phoebe lay on the bed, buck naked except for the skimpy pink panties she wore. I stood by the bedside,
staring down at her. Savoring the sight of her.
Finally, I climbed onto the bed next to her, propping myself up on one arm. That left my other hand free to touch, but I
couldn’t decide what to touch first. I wanted to savor every inch of her at once.
I started with a kiss. It was easy to get caught up in the feel of her lips against mine. But my fingers naturally strayed to her
chest. I ran my thumb over her nipple, making her moan.
And then her hand was roaming. She started running her hand over my arm, but then moved downward, sliding over my
waist, then my hips. When her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my underwear, I sucked in a breath.
Six years without a woman’s touch. But this wasn’t just any woman. This was the woman.
Phoebe broke the kiss and looked down as her hand made contact with my cock. That was when I pitched in, tugging down
my underwear to give her full access.
When she continued looking down, it hit me. She’d probably never seen a man naked—not in person, anyway. She wanted
to see, touch, and explore, and I was happy to let her.
“It’s so hard,” she said, looking up at me. “Did I do that?”
I looked her in the eye and said, “Sweetie, you’ve been doing that since the first time I looked at you.”
“And you’ve been doing things to my body since I first saw you,” she said.
Those words made my dick twitch in her hand. That widened her eyes. She hadn’t exaggerated her innocence. How was it
possible no man had ever shown this woman the most pleasure a person could experience?
“Lay on your back for me,” I said.
Smiling, she released my cock and rolled over. I immediately missed her touch. But having her on her back, mostly naked in
front of me, made it well worth it.
I wasted no time taking her nipple in my mouth as I used my hands to tug down her panties. I slid them to her knees and she
took care of the rest, kicking them off, leaving her naked.
But it wasn’t easy for her. She fumbled her movements several times as I distracted her, my finger sliding inside her, testing
her wetness. Yes, she was ready for me, but I still had things to show her.
I rose to look at Phoebe as I massaged her clit, eager to see what I was doing to her. Eyes closed, head back, she was
clearly enjoying this. But she seemed to be keeping quiet on purpose. I’d have to see what I could do to make her noisy.
Her back arched as I once again lowered my head, taking her nipple in my mouth. I ran my tongue over the beaded tip,
experimenting until I found the perfect combination of stimulating her nipple and her clit.
I couldn’t let her come that way. I had to taste her first.
“Open up for me,” I told her as I rose above her, moving between her legs.
She did exactly that, but the way she adjusted told me she expected me to enter her. It wasn’t time for that yet. Soon, but not
yet.
I spread her legs even farther as I lay between them, flat on my belly, and touched my tongue to her now very sensitive clit.
At first touch, she cried out, bringing a smile to my face. Mission accomplished.
That noise was only the beginning. I used my fingers and tongue to drive her to sounds she’d probably never made before.
By the time she arched her back and let out a string of cries, I was so hard, it was almost painful. Now I could enter her.
 I briefly paused, thinking about protection. But she was a virgin, and I was certainly safe. The only worry was pregnancy.
The thought of Phoebe carrying my baby filled me with happiness.
But what about Phoebe? She might not want⁠—
“It’s okay,” she blurted. “I’m on the pill.”
That was all I needed to hear. I grabbed my cock, moving between her legs. There was no need to check to make sure she
was wet. She was so wet, I’d slide right in.
But she was a virgin.
That thought stalled my movements. I paused at her entrance, keeping my eyes on her face. So slowly it was almost painful,
I entered her, inching my way in.
If it hurt, she didn’t show it. In fact, she even urged me forward—not just my member, but the rest of me. She tugged me
toward her until I was hovering above her, my mouth once again fusing with hers. And then we were kissing as our bodies
moved together.
“Mmm,” she said when I finally squeezed through her tight walls.
It took a while for her body to adjust, but now that it had, she was moving against me. She even tightened her legs around
my hips, pushing me deeper inside.
We moved together, kissing at first but finally separating as I struggled to hold out. I wanted her to come again.
I shifted until I found an angle that stroked her clit with each movement. I knew I’d hit the right spot when her deep breaths
became gasps and her grip on my arm tightened. And then she was crying out, basically giving me permission to let go.
My orgasm seemed to go on forever, but even that wasn’t long enough. I knew, as I came back down, that this was
something we’d have to do again. And again. And again.
For the rest of our lives.
 6
PHOEBE

didn’t want to leave. But Dallas seemed to want me to go, so what choice did I have?
I “Ready?” he asked once I was settled in the passenger seat of his truck.
I nodded, trying to hide the fact that my heart was breaking. “Ready.”
It was ridiculous to have this reaction. I’d spent an entire night with Dallas, and now he was taking me to the cabin where
my cousin would be getting married today. He would then head off to find someone who could get my SUV to the town
mechanic.
But after spending the past few hours in this man’s bed, I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Dallas, meanwhile, had
gone stone-faced and silent since Emerald’s fiancé showed up at his door, asking if mine was the wrecked vehicle he’d just
passed.
“You should come to the wedding tomorrow,” I blurted as we started up the road to Bo’s dad’s cabin. “You can be my
date.”
Silence. I held my breath, anxious to hear his answer. Terrified he’d say he never wanted to see me again. Instead, he just
laughed.
“Your fancy friends don’t want me there.”
Fancy friends? What was he talking about?
As though sensing my question, he continued. “The Phillips family practically owns this town. Bo’s a good guy, but the rest
of the family doesn’t really think much of us mountain folk.”
“Mountain folk?”
“Yep. That’s what I am. To people who don’t get it, anyway. Here we are.”
He’d pulled into the driveway while I was staring at him, trying to make sense of his words. I wasn’t getting out of the car
until we talked this out.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“Doing what?”
“Pushing me away.”
He looked over at me then, and I guessed what he was thinking. What was my plan? To give up my job and move up here to
the mountains, where I couldn’t even get a cell phone signal?
Yes. That was my plan. That was exactly what I wanted. If it meant I got to see him again...and every day for the rest of my
life.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“It was just sex to you,” I said. “And I know it was my first time, but I felt something. I still feel something.”
“I felt a lot of things.” He looked over at me, propping his left arm on the steering wheel. “Things I was hoping to explore
after the wedding when I talk you into waiting at my place for your car to be ready.”
I held back a smile. “That could be days.”
He gave a nod. “Or weeks.”
My heart was soaring. He wanted me in his life after today. But what did that mean?
“My job,” I said, more to myself than him.
My mind was racing as I tried to work through the logistics. It wasn’t like I was married to my job. I had fun as a barista,
but it was basically a temporary gig while I figured out my next steps.
“You don’t need it,” he said. “I have enough to take care of all your needs. There are jobs in town if you want to keep
working. I’m sure the convenience mart could use someone who can make a decent cup of coffee.”
My heart was full. I had no idea what any of this meant, but he wanted me to stick around a little longer. Together, we could
figure out where this was going.
“I think I might have fallen in love with you, Phoebe,” Dallas said. “I know it’s soon and I don’t want to scare you off, but
the last thing I want is for you to think this was just about sex to me. Not at all.”
Love. That was a big word. I wasn’t ready to say it yet, but I certainly wasn’t scared off. Not by a long shot.
“Let’s do this.” I reached for his hand. “Starting with going inside and meeting everyone. You can leave if you want to after
that.”
He hesitated a long moment, then finally gave a nod. “Let’s do this.”
He shut off the engine and we both got out of the truck. But I still felt his trepidation as we walked toward the front door of
the gigantic cabin. This wasn’t in his comfort zone. In fact, this might be the one situation that could intimidate this man.
I’d just lifted my free hand to ring the doorbell when it burst open. A man with a big smile stood there. It was the groom
himself—the man who’d stopped by the cabin to ask about my wrecked SUV.
“Dallas!” Bo said with a big smile. “I was wondering if we’d get the two of you out of that cabin.”
I looked over at the man standing next to me. Bo hadn’t indicated they really knew each other when he stopped by the cabin,
but now he was greeting him like they were friends.
“Hey, everyone!” Bo called out. “Dallas and Phoebe are here.”
Hearing our names together like that warmed my heart. This was right. It was how it should have been all my life.
Dallas and Phoebe.
“Come on in,” Bo said.
I looked over at Dallas, who appeared more uncomfortable than ever. For a long, heart-stopping moment, I was sure he
would make some excuse and bolt, maybe never to return. That was okay, though. I knew where he lived. I’d just have someone
drop me off at his place when the wedding was over.
Instead, I tugged on Dallas’s hand and he budged, following me straight into the house. Progress.
I couldn’t help but smile as he said hi to the dozen or so guests gathered around. Some were visiting relatives, some were
from this area. It made sense that Bo was well known, considering he was the town bartender. That tended to make a person
popular.
Dallas and I eventually settled onto the couch with the rest of the group and waited as the newly arrived catering crew set
up food for the rehearsal dinner. The bride and groom had decided no rehearsal was necessary. We were lucky just to be able
to move forward with the wedding at all, considering the weather.
“I guess this beats steak made on a propane grill,” Dallas commented.
I shook my head. “I can’t wait to try your steak. I’m definitely going to take you up on that dinner offer as soon as this
wedding is over.”
I smiled at him, then snuggled against him. I put my head on his shoulder as we listened to the people around us talk.
I felt at home here—not just with these people, but in Blackbear Bluff in general. I guess I’d never thought of myself as a
small-town girl before. I’d assumed I’d live in the suburbs for the rest of my life. But in just a half a day, my entire worldview
had changed.
This was my future. This was my man, and some of these people would become my friends.
A sigh escaped, and Dallas couldn’t help but hear it. He leaned away a little to look down at me, then moved back toward
me, planting a kiss on my temple.
“I love you,” he whispered.
I looked up at him and mouthed the same words back to him. They were words I’d be saying for the rest of my life.
 EPILOGUE
DALLAS

woke up with a smile on my face.

I Okay, so I did that a lot these days. It happened when you were married to the most amazing woman alive.
But today, I had even more reasons to smile. It was snowing. That meant the new daycare in town would be closed,
which meant Phoebe couldn’t go to work.
Still smiling, I left my wife sleeping in bed and headed to the kitchen. I fired up the solar-powered stove Bo Phillips had
convinced me to buy and opened the full-size fridge. Now that Phoebe and I were talking about starting a family, I looked at my
lifestyle a little differently.
It was no longer about me. It was about making a home for my family.
“You’re up.”
At the sound of Phoebe’s voice, I spun to face her. It wasn’t like she’d busted me prepping a huge surprise. I’d just hoped to
wake her with her favorite meal.
“I thought I’d make some scrambled eggs,” I said. “Maybe bring you breakfast in bed.”
“I’m ovulating.”
Those two words immediately stiffened my cock. I was always up for sex but trying for a baby meant little surprises like
early morning sex.
“Well, get your beautiful ass over here,” I said, switching off the stove. “Let’s make a baby.”
Phoebe frowned. “Over there?”
I looked around, searching for a surface that hadn’t yet been used for lovemaking. I’d already ruled out the counters and
table—been there, done that—when she walked over to the window, placing a hand on each side of the dry sink I’d installed.
“Here,” she said. “Fuck me here.”
Phoebe knew what talking dirty did to me. I was so hard by then, I had to shift my stiff cock in my underwear as I
approached.
She wore a thigh-length T-shirt to bed every night, which made for easy access. I’d done this in bed so many times, it was
almost second nature, but doing her from behind while standing was a new one for us.
She looked back over her shoulder as I approached, already shoving my pajama bottoms and underwear down. I gripped
my rock-hard cock in my right hand, keeping my left free to pull down her panties.
There was no need. When I slipped my hand beneath the hem of her nightshirt, I felt her bare hip. She wore no panties.
That information brought an instant smile. Sighing, Phoebe straightened, moving her hand from the surface in front of her to
my hand. She slid my left hand toward her pussy, but I was right-handed. That was the hand I moved around her, pulling her
gown up with my left hand and covering her breast, running a thumb over her nipple.
I stared out the window at the scene in front of us as I warmed her body up. The big, open pond behind our cabin was
surrounded by a blanket of snow. My buddy Gage lived in the cabin across that pond. He wouldn’t be out this early, but even if
he was, he wouldn’t be able to see us from there. Still, knowing people were up and moving about their day while we made
love in front of this window turned me on more than my wife’s wet pussy. And that was saying a lot.
“That feels so good,” Phoebe said, slipping her hand beneath my arm and around to cup my ass.
She jerked me toward her, my cock sliding between her spread legs. Then she slid her hand back around, gently nudging my
fingers out of her as she moved her fingers between her legs and slid them along my shaft.
I moaned at the feel of her juices on one side of my cock and her fingers on the other. I sucked in a deep breath as I pulled
back, then moved forward again. There was only one thing that felt better than this. Well, maybe two, if you counted the
sensation of her mouth around me, her tongue sliding along my shaft. We’d save that for later, though.
And then she leaned forward, spreading her legs even farther. I knew exactly what she wanted. I was all too eager to give
it.
“Ohhhhh,” I moaned as I slid inside her a few seconds later, her body welcoming me, bringing me home. “That feels good.
You’re so wet.”
Phoebe liked it when I talked to her during sex. I’d learned that about her…and so much more.
We’d merged our lives perfectly. Her job at the daycare gave her the socialization she needed while bringing in just enough
money for us to fill our refrigerator with a few manufactured items we couldn’t do without. I still hunted and fished, and she’d
grown to love the meals I made from that.
We’d raise our kids like that too—living off the land. We just needed to expand this cabin to add on a couple of extra
bedrooms eventually, but for now, everything was perfect.
I reached around her and returned my hands to their original spots. Left hand on her left breast, right hand stroking her clit.
The combination of the angle and my stimulation would bring her to orgasm faster. I just needed to hold out until she came.
“You’re so tight, baby,” I said as her gasps increased in frequency. “You feel so good. I could fuck you like this all day.”
That did it. She cried out, her right hand gripping the edge of the sink as she lowered her head, then lifted it. Her pussy
began throbbing around me, tightening and releasing, tightening and releasing. That was all it took to send me over the edge.
When I came, I cried her name, emptying my seed inside her, hopefully giving her body what it needed to create new life.
When it was over, I pulled out and repositioned to lift her in my arms. I scooped her up and carried her to the bed,
depositing her on it with a big smile. She assumed the position, slipping a pillow under her legs to keep her pelvis elevated.
“I’m going to bring you breakfast in bed,” I said with a smile. “I was planning that as a surprise for you, but now I’ll have
an even bigger smile on my face as I make it.”
Phoebe smiled back at me. “Sounds like a plan. And after breakfast, maybe we can try again.”
I nodded. “And again and again.”
Multiple times didn’t increase the odds of getting pregnant. We just liked any excuse to make love, especially since we
usually went a few days without. Holding out ensured my sperm would be extra potent when she began ovulating.
“Maybe later, we’ll get a couple of the neighbors together and have a snowball fight,” I said, backing toward the doorway.
She’d changed me for the better. I was actually starting to enjoy our group gatherings. But nothing beat spending time alone
together. I’d take all the alone time I could get.
“I’ll be right back with your breakfast,” I said.
She gave me a thumbs up, then grabbed her phone from next to the bed. We had Wi-Fi now too—a shared connection with
some of my other buddies up here. I might not have completely converted Phoebe to living off the grid, but that was okay.
Electricity and Wi-Fi weren’t what I was escaping when I moved here.
And now that I had Phoebe, I didn’t need to escape anymore. I had everything I’d ever wanted right here in this cabin.

DALLAS ’ S NEIGHBOR Gage gets a sexy massage from Bo’s new employee in Book 4, Touching the Mountain Man. Get your
copy now!
And have you read Dax and Erika’s story? Resisting the Mountain Man is free with newsletter signup.
For a full list of Lilah’s books, visit her website.
Another random document with
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 The two set about it.
“Where’s that damn ol’ reprobate?” inquired Billy, truculently,
looking about for Charley.
The patriarch had quietly slipped away.
“You kin drop them hands,” advised the stranger, lowering the
muzzles of his weapons. The leader started to say something.
“You shut up!” said Billy, selecting his own weapons from the
heap.
The stranger suddenly picked up one of the Colt’s single-action
revolvers which lay on the floor, and, holding the trigger back against
the guard, exploded the six charges by hitting the hammer smartly
with the palm of his hand. In the thrusting motion of this discharge he
evidently had design, for the first six wine-glasses on Billy’s bar were
shivered. It was wonderful work, rattling fire, quicker than a self-
cocker even. He selected another weapon. From a pile of tomato-
cans he took one and tossed it into the air. Before it had fallen he
had perforated it twice, and as it rolled along the floor he helped its
progression by four more bullets which left streams of tomato-juice
where they had hit. The room was full of smoke.
The group watched, fascinated.
Then the men against the wall grew rigid. Out of the film of smoke
long, vivid streams of fire flashed toward them, now right, now left,
like the alternating steam of a locomotive’s pistons. SMASH,
SMASH! SMASH, SMASH! hit the bullets with regular thud. With the
twelfth discharge the din ceased. Midway in the space between the
heads of each pair of men against the wall was a round hole. No one
was touched.
A silence fell. The smoke lightened and blew slowly through the
open door. The horses, long since deserted by their guardians in
favor of the excitement within, whinnied. The stranger dropped the
smoking Colts, and quietly reproduced his own short-barrelled arms
from his side-pockets, where he had thrust them. Billy broke the
silence at last.
“That’s shootin’!” he observed, with a sigh.
“Them fifty thousand is outside,” clicked the stranger. “Do you
want them?”
 There was no reply.
“I aims to pull out on one of these-yere hosses of yours,” said he.
“Billy he’s all straight. He doesn’t know nothin’ about me.”
He collected the six-shooters from the floor.
“I jest takes these with me for a spell,” he continued. “You’ll find
them, if you look hard enough, along on th’ trail—also yore broncs.”
He backed toward the door.
“I’m layin’ fer th’ man that sticks his head out that door,” he
warned.
“Stranger,” said Black Hank as he neared the door.
The little man paused.
“Might I ask yore name?”
“My name is Alfred,” replied the latter.
Black Hank looked chagrined.
“I’ve hearn tell of you,” he acknowledged.
The stranger’s eye ran over the room, and encountered that of the
girl. He shrank into himself and blushed.
“Good-night,” he said, hastily, and disappeared. A moment later
the beat of hoofs became audible as he led the bunch of horses
away.
For a time there was silence. Then Billy, “By God, Hank, I means
to stand in with you, but you let that kid alone, or I plugs you!”
“Kid, huh!” grunted Hank. “Alfred a kid! I’ve hearn tell of him.”
“What’ve you heard?” inquired the girl.
“He’s th’ plumb best scout on th’ southern trail,” replied Black
Hank.
The year following, Billy Knapp, Alfred, and another man named
Jim Buckley took across to the hills the only wagon-train that dared
set out that summer.
 XII
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE

By Oscar Wilde
From “Fairy Tales,” copyright, 1913, by G. P. Putnam’s
Sons. By special permission from the publishers.

“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red
roses,” cried the young Student; “but in all my garden there is no red
rose.”
From her nest in the Holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him,
and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
“No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes
filled with tears. “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend. I
have read all the wise men have written and all the secrets of
philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made
wretched.”
“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “Night after night
have I sung of him, though I knew him not; night after night have I
told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the
hyacinth-blossom, and his lips as red as the rose of his desire; but
passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her
seal upon his brow.”
“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young
Student, “and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red
rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my
shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red
rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She
will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.”
“Here indeed is the true lover,” said the Nightingale. “What I sing
of, he suffers; what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a
wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than
fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth
in the market-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor
can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.”
“The musicians will sit in their gallery,” said the young Student,
“and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to
the sound of the harp and violin. She will dance so lightly that her
feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will
throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red
rose to give her”; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried
his face in his hands, and wept.
“Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past
him with his tail in the air.
“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering after a
sunbeam.
“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, in a soft low
voice.
“He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale.
“For a red rose!” they cried; “how very ridiculous!” and the Lizard,
who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow,
and she sat silent in the Oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of
love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight and soared into
the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a
shadow she sailed across the garden.
In the center of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree,
and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest
song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are white,” it answered; “as white as the foam of the
sea and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my
brother who grows round the sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you
what you want.”
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing
round the old sun-dial.
 “Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest
song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are yellow,” it answered; “as yellow as the hair of the
mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the
daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his
scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s
window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing
beneath the Student’s window.
“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest
song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are red,” it answered, “as red as the feet of the dove,
and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the
ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has
nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall
have no roses at all this year.”
“One red rose is all I want,” cried the Nightingale, “only one red
rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?”
“There is a way,” answered the Tree; “but it is so terrible that I
dare not tell it to you.”
“Tell it to me,” said the Nightingale; “I am not afraid.”
“If you want a red rose,” said the Tree, “you must build it out of
music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s-blood. You
must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you
must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-
blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.”
“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,” cried the Nightingale,
“and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood,
and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her
chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are
the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on
the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird
compared to the heart of a man?”
 So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.
She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she
sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left
him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
“Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “be happy; you shall have your
red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my
own heart’s-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a
true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and
mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-colored are his
wings, and colored like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as
honey, and his breath is like frankincense.”
The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could
not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only
knew the things that are written down in books.
But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of
the little Nightingale, who had built her nest in his branches.
“Sing me one last song,” he whispered; “I shall feel very lonely
when you are gone.”
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like
water bubbling from a silver jar.
When she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled a
note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
“She has form,” he said to himself, as he walked away through the
grove—“that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am
afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any
sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks
merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still,
it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice.
What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical
good.” And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-
bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to
the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long
she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal
Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the
thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life blood
ebbed away from her.
She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and girl. And
on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous
rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at
first, as the mist that hangs over the river—pale as the feet of the
morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a
rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so
was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.
But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the
thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will
come before the rose is finished.”
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder
and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the
soul of a man and a maid.
And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like
the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the
bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose’s
heart remained white, for only a Nightingale’s heart-blood can
crimson the heart of a rose.
And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the
thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will
come before the rose is finished.”
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn
touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter,
bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she
sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not
in the tomb.
And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the
eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby
was the heart.
But the Nightingale’s voice grew fainter, and her little wings began
to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her
song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it,
and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose
heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals
to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills,
and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated
through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the
sea.
“Look, look!” cried the Tree, “the rose is finished now”; but the
Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long
grass, with the thorn in her heart.
And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
“Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!” he cried; “here is a red
rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful
that I am sure that it has a long Latin name”; and he leaned down
and plucked it.
Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with
the rose in his hand.
The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding
blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.
“You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red
rose,” cried the Student. “Here is the reddest rose in all the world.
You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it
will tell you how I love you.”
But the girl frowned.
“I am afraid it will not go with my dress,” she answered; “and
besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew sent me some real jewels, and
everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.”
“Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,” said the Student
angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the
gutter, and a cartwheel went over it
“Ungrateful!” said the girl. “I tell you what, you are very rude; and
after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don’t believe you have
even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew
has”; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.
“What a silly thing Love is,” said the Student as he walked away.
“It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it
is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and
making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite
unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go
back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.”
So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and
began to read.

[Transcriber’s Note: The cover image was created by the transcriber

and is in the public domain.]
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