Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Barron built his life on Copper Mountain, content with his solitude, until Tamlyn bursts into his world—challenging everything he thought he knew about love and life. Their connection is undeniable, but their opposing views ignite more than just arguments. Tamlyn sees the beauty in the land Barron works so hard to tame, and Barron can’t resist the fire in her spirit, even though he knows she’s destined to leave.
As sparks fly between them, Barron battles his own fears of vulnerability, while Tamlyn wrestles with her desire to stay, to finally build something lasting. When passion turns into something deeper, Barron makes the boldest move of his life, willing to risk it all for the woman who’s become his home.
Will Tamlyn trade her nomadic ways for a future with the man who’s stolen her heart, or will she leave Copper Mountain behind forever?
The Men of Copper Mountain is a high-heat, emotional romance series that brings together rugged mountain men and the women strong enough to capture their hearts. Filled with steamy chemistry, heart-stopping tension, and a love as wild as the landscape, this book will sweep you away into a world where passion and desire are as untamed as the mountain itself.
Get ready to fall for Barron, the first of nine fiercely loyal brothers, each destined to meet their match in this captivating small-town romance series.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Barron
The mist clings to the trees like a secret, thick and low, softening the world as I make my way through the woods. My boots crunch over the damp leaves, each step slow and steady. I know these woods like the back of my hand, every curve of the path, every hidden dip and rise. The air is cool this morning, sharp against my skin, but I like it that way. Keeps me alert. Keeps me grounded.
The weight of the axe in my hand feels right. Solid. There’s comfort in its heaviness, the way it swings naturally at my side like an extension of me. Out here, it’s just me and the trees. No noise. No people. Just the rhythmic beat of my steps and the occasional rustle of the forest coming to life around me.
The first rays of sunlight pierce through the canopy, casting long shadows and golden beams across the ground. There’s something sacred about this time of day. Early. Before the world wakes up, before the chaos creeps in. I pause, inhaling the sharp scent of pine, the earth rich beneath it. This is where I belong. Among the trees. It’s simpler out here.
I stop at the tree I marked yesterday, its bark worn and rough beneath my fingers. I let my hand rest there a second longer than necessary, feeling the age of it, the strength. Trees don’t ask for anything, don’t demand more than they give. They’re honest. The world could use more of that.
I grip the axe, raising it high, and let it swing with practiced precision. The sharp thunk reverberates through the stillness, and for a moment, everything is quiet again. Just the echo of the strike fading into the mist. I repeat the motion, the rhythm as familiar as breathing. It’s not just work. It’s a release. A way to keep the thoughts at bay, to push everything down where it belongs.
But today, something’s different. The axe connects with the tree again, and instead of peace, a memory flickers. Her face. The one I try not to think about. Dark hair, soft smile. The way she used to fit against me, like she was made for it. Made for me. I swing the axe harder, the thought burning in my chest.
I told myself I’d stopped thinking about her. It’s been years, and I should’ve let it go by now. Should’ve moved on. But I haven’t. Not really. That laugh of hers, the way it used to fill up the quiet spaces...it’s still there, like an ache I can’t shake.
Another swing. The axe bites deep into the wood, and the tree groans in protest. I grit my teeth, pushing down the rush of frustration, but it keeps bubbling up. I never had a chance to make things right. That’s the worst part. I was too damn stubborn, too wrapped up in my own mess to see what I had. And now? Now it’s too late.
The tree starts to lean, cracking, splintering. I step back, watching as it topples, hitting the ground with a thud that shakes the earth. There’s something final about it. The sound, the impact. Like cutting down pieces of myself. But there’s no time for that kind of thinking. Not now. Not ever.
I stand there for a second, my breathing heavy, watching the fallen tree. The ache in my chest dulls, but it doesn’t disappear. It never does. It just fades enough to get through the day.
The familiar sound of an old engine struggling to survive rumbles through the air, cutting through the quiet of the woods. It’s followed by the inevitable sputter and hiss as the beat-up truck finally gives up and dies, right on cue. I don’t need to look up to know who it is. The brothers are here.
I keep swinging the axe, the sharp thunk of wood splitting beneath my hands grounding me. It’s the sound I live for. The feel of the forest giving way to my strength. I don't need conversation. I don't need noise. The work is all I need, all I can count on to drown out the rest.
But then I hear Knox’s laugh, loud and unapologetic, as it carries through the clearing. "Barron, you gonna pretend you don’t hear us again?"
I grunt in response, focusing on the tree in front of me. I feel their eyes on my back, but I don’t bother to turn around.
The truck doors slam shut, and I hear the scuff of boots on the earth. Knox, Pope, Creed, and Judge—four of my eight brothers arrive in all their loud, testosterone-filled glory and shuffle toward me, tools slung over their shoulders, grinning like they’re about to start trouble. They always do.
Judge gets there first, always eager to be the one to break my silence. "What’s the plan today, Barron?" His voice is rough, but there’s a hint of teasing in it.