DAX: A Mountain Man and BBW Romance (Big Hot Alphas Book 1) Read online

  DAX

  Big Hot Alphas Book 1

  Kate Hunt

  Copyright © 2020 by Kate Hunt

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  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Bailey

  2. Dax

  3. Bailey

  4. Dax

  5. Bailey

  6. Dax

  7. Bailey

  8. Epilogue – Dax

  9. Epilogue – Bailey

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Bailey

  My hands instantly tighten on the steering wheel and my heart skips a beat when I see the sign on the side of the highway announcing how many miles are left until my exit.

  Shit. I thought I was going to be able to not think about him.

  But I guess I should have known there’s no avoiding it.

  I’ve been driving on the highway for the last three hours, and I only have about ten miles left to get to my parents’ house. It’s the second time I’ve driven up to see them since they moved into their new place.

  A few months back, they sold the apartment building they’d owned for decades and bought a beautiful piece of property up on the mountain. They’ve always been such hard workers, and I’m so proud of them for being able to retire early and just focus on enjoying their lives now.

  And don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to see them. I can’t wait for the big hug I know I’ll get from my dad and I can’t wait to eat my mom’s amazing home cooking.

  No, what’s making me nervous is…

  …well, it’s Dax.

  He’s my parents’ closest neighbor.

  He’s also their new friend.

  And he’s the man I have a huge crush on.

  All of this started four weeks ago—the first time I visited my parents’ new place. We’d just finished eating dinner and were sitting out on the back patio around the fire pit. It was a beautiful night—the stars were out, and it wasn’t too cold. My mom and I had brought our wine glasses outside with us, and my dad had brought his glass of whiskey.

  We were in the middle of talking about the sale of my parents’ old house when I heard someone call out in the distance.

  “Bear!” the voice boomed.

  My eyes snapped over to my dad. “Um…should we go inside?”

  But my dad just chuckled and shook his head. “Bear is our neighbor’s dog.”

  Sure enough, a second later, a big scruffy dog burst out from the woods behind my parents’ house. He came right over to the patio and panted happily as he greeted us. I laughed at how ridiculously sweet the big guy was and gave him a good scratch behind his ears when he came up to me.

  “Bear!” the voice called out again.

  “He’s over here, Dax!” my dad called back.

  Heavy footsteps grew louder from the woods. Then a figure emerged, striding from the darkness into the soft glow of the light cast from the house. As he came closer, I found myself drawing in a deep breath.

  I’d always thought my dad would be the most burly guy I’d ever know. But this man—holy shit. He was the biggest, most built man I’d ever seen in my life. He looked like a freakin’ Greek god.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” he said as he approached us. He looked at his dog, who was now getting his head scratched by my mom, and shook his head. “Bear. Come on, man.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” my mom said, smiling as she continued to pet the dog. “We love Bear. Oh, Dax, this is our daughter, Bailey. Bailey, this is our neighbor, Dax.”

  Dax’s eyes were already focused on me before my mom even started to introduce us. As my eyes met his, butterflies burst into flight in my stomach.

  “Dax is our woodworking neighbor,” my mom explained.

  “Oh,” I said, my voice sounding tiny and high.

  My parents had mentioned their neighbors over dinner, telling me how an older couple lived on one side of them, and on the other lived a single guy in his late thirties. They’d told me he was a woodworker and that they’d already become friendly with him, but they hadn’t described Dax enough for me to picture him.

  “Join us, Dax,” my mom said, gesturing toward an empty patio chair on the other side of me.

  Dax rubbed his chin. His eyes were still locked on me. The butterflies were still going crazy in my stomach.

  How could a man like this even exist?

  Don’t go, I found myself thinking. Stay.

  As Dax walked around the fire pit and sat down in the chair a few feet away from me, I had to focus on keeping my breathing even. No man had ever had that kind of effect on me before, and it was overwhelming.

  “Can I get you something to drink, Dax?” my mom asked.

  “I’m good,” he said. “Thanks, Alice.”

  During the next hour of conversation, Dax didn’t say a whole lot. But when he did speak, his words always felt meaningful and carefully chosen. And every time I said something, I could feel Dax’s gaze on me—I could feel his interest, his desire.

  I could feel his claim on me already.

  After another little while, my dad let out a deep yawn. As he pulled himself up from his chair, he said, “Think I’m going to hit the hay. Good seeing you, Dax.”

  “You too, Ian.”

  “Night, Dad,” I said, standing up to give him a peck on the cheek.

  “Don’t stay up too late,” he said, giving me a smile.

  “I won’t.”

  As my dad left and I sat back down, I wondered how much longer the night would last. I didn’t want it to ever end.

  Twenty minutes later, though, my mom started fighting back yawns herself.

  “Oh, gosh,” my mom said. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open any longer. Would it be horribly rude of me to turn in for the night, too?”

  “Of course not, Mom,” I said, my heart rate picking up at the thought of being left alone with Dax. “I’ll make sure the fire’s out before I come in.”

  My mom nodded, said goodnight, and went into the house.

  And then it was just the two of us. Or three of us, I guess, if you count Bear.

  “Want me to add another log?” Dax asked, gesturing toward the dying fire.

  I looked over at him and smiled. “Sure.”

  How do I describe the conversation we had that night? It felt like a million conversations rolled into one. Though Dax hadn’t said much when we’d all been sitting there, once it was just the two of us, words started to flow more easily from his lips.

  I can’t even say how long we sat out there; it was like time didn’t even matter anymore.

  While we talked, Bear slept soundly on his side by the fire pit. The stars above us shone. And somehow our chairs felt like they’d moved closer together; Dax was so close that I could’ve reached out and touch his incredibly chiseled, strong body if I wanted to.

  And did I ever want to.

  He was the one who made the first move, though. He was the one who leaned across the small space between us and pulled me toward him for a kiss.

  When his lips claimed mine,
I felt it through my entire body—every inch of me turned weak. And then my whole body flushed as his tongue urged my mouth open and our kiss deepened.

  It was a long kiss. And yet not long enough. Because when it ended, I immediately wanted more. A whimper escaped my lips.

  “Do that again,” I murmured.

  But Dax shook his head. “It’s time for us to say goodnight.”

  He stood up from his chair, his incredible size unfolding. I gaped at him, speechless, the sensation of his kiss lingering on my lips.

  “You’re leaving?” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “And you’re going to go inside.”

  I smirked. “What if I don’t want to go inside yet?”

  Dax’s jaw tightened. “We can’t do this, Bailey.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I kiss you again, I won’t be able to stop.”

  And then he clicked his tongue to rouse Bear from his slumber, and that was that. Dax glanced over at me just once more to say goodnight, and then he and Bear were disappearing into the darkness.

  I didn’t see Dax again that weekend. And I didn’t breathe a word to my parents about what had happened. But the memory of Dax’s kiss stayed with me; even as I drove home that Sunday night, I could still feel his kiss on my lips, as if it had just happened.

  I’d never had a kiss like that in my life.

  It was the stuff fairy tales were made of.

  When I got home, I had to tell someone about it, and naturally, I turned to Madison. Madison and I met four years ago when we both started waitressing at the café; we’d been best friends ever since.

  “That’s amazing, babe,” said Madison, grinning from ear to ear. “You totally just met your soulmate.”

  I scoffed. Told her she was crazy. But deep down, I had to admit—I’d been thinking the same thing. And not just because of the kiss. My conversation with Dax had been incredible. I’d felt so deeply connected to him.

  There was no way that Dax was actually my soulmate, though. He was too old for me. He was my parents’ friend. And he lived on a freakin’ mountain over three hours away—how was that going to work?

  Nah. Our connection didn’t mean we were meant to end up together or anything.

  It was just one of those crazy one-time things.

  My mom is kneeling in front of a patch of bare soil planting flowers when I pull up to the house. As I get out of the car, she stands up and calls out hello. She looks so cute in her gardening hat and floral-print gloves. When I give her a hug, she smells like sunshine and earth.

  “So good to see you, honey,” she says.

  “You, too, Mom,” I say. I draw in a deep breath of fresh air and look around at my surroundings. “This place really suits you, you know?”

  She smiles. “I agree. I’m really happy we found this place.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Cleaning out the gutters around back.”

  I nod. “Okay. I’ll wait until he’s done to say hi, then. Can I help you plant the rest of these flowers?”

  “I’d love that,” says my mom.

  I roll up my sleeves and use a trowel to dig out more holes in the soil; once my mom and I plant the rest of the flowers, we pack the dirt back in and give the area a good watering. Then I help her tidy up and we head into the house. My dad comes in soon after, and he gives me a big hug hello.

  After talking for a little bit about how the drive up was, they show me the changes they’ve made around the house in the weeks since I first visited. They’ve repainted a few of the rooms, hung up some art, and they have a new, huge, gorgeous table in the dining room.

  Before the words come out of my mom’s mouth, I already know what she’s going to tell me.

  “It’s one of Dax’s pieces,” my mom says.

  “Oh, yeah?” I say, trying my hardest to sound unaffected. “Huh. Looks great.”

  When Dax and I talked that night out by the fire, he told me a lot about his woodworking. I could hear the passion in his voice as he talked about his process, and when he described his tables to me, I was easily able to imagine his beautiful creations.

  But now, seeing one of his tables in real life…my God. It’s so much more stunning than I expected. The wood has a beautiful dark grain, and the craftsmanship of the table is impeccable.

  “Hey, uh…what do you guys have to drink?” I say, my mouth suddenly feeling dry.

  “A little of everything, as usual,” my mom says with a laugh.

  My stress wanes as we walk out of the dining room and head into the kitchen. My mom opens up the refrigerator door and I grab the first thing I see, a container of juice. I pour myself a glass and practically down it in one go.

  “How’s work been?” my dad asks as he pours a glass for himself.

  I shrug. “Not bad. Same as always.”

  Waitressing at the café certainly isn’t the worst job in the world. It’s not like I dreamed of growing up and becoming a waitress, though. While I work hard, it’s also just a job. I’d really love to do something more creative for work, but I’m not sure what yet.

  A timer beeps and my mom crosses the kitchen to check on her slow cooker, which I’m assuming is working on tonight’s dinner. She grabs a spoon, opens up the lid, and takes a taste.

  “I think it needs a little more salt,” says my mom. She pulls out a fresh spoon and holds it out to me. “What do you think, Bailey?”

  I take the spoon from her and peer into the slow cooker to see a delicious-looking stew.

  A lot of stew.

  “You’re not going to have to cook for a week, Mom,” I say, dipping the spoon in. “It’s practically filled to the top.”

  “Well, when you’re having company over…” she says.

  “You made all of this because of me?” I raise the spoon to my lips. The stew smells divine, and the layered flavors spoil my tastebuds.

  “Not just you, sweetie.” My mom smiles. “We invited Dax over for dinner tonight, too.”

  I almost choke on the stew.

  “Oh, gosh. Are you all right, Bailey?” my mom asks, patting me on the back. I cough and nod and regain my composure.

  “Just went down the wrong pipe,” I squeak out.

  Chapter Two

  Dax

  When I drive by the Cohens’ place and see the second car parked in their driveway, I immediately know it’s Bailey’s.

  “Yeah, I know,” I say to Bear, who’s sitting beside me in the front seat of the truck. “I’m so fucking hopelessly in love with her.”

  Bear nudges my shoulder with his snout, as if telling me it’ll all be okay.

  I breathe out a laugh. “Thanks for the reassurance, boy.”

  I’ve been tortured by thoughts of Bailey for the last month. It’s not just a carnal desire, either. I mean, yeah, of course I fucking want to pin those curves down on my bed and make her come so hard she can’t remember her own name.

  But it’s more than that, too.

  The girl’s got the most incredible soul.

  After our incredible conversation that night, I tried my damn hardest to forget about her. I knew it was no good, falling for a girl I couldn’t have.

  But not thinking about Bailey was impossible.

  No, really. Impossible.

  And when I ran into Alice the other day and she mentioned that Bailey was coming up again for the weekend—and then invited me to join them for dinner on Friday night, saying something about “the more the merrier”—I knew I was done for.

  I understood in that moment that I was helplessly in love with Bailey, and there was no option but to do something about it.

  I park the truck in front of the cabin and get out, holding the door open for Bear. After he hops out, I go around to the back of the truck and unload the supplies I just picked up in town—a couple things from the hardware store, a couple cases of canned dog food, a couple bags of groceries. While I carry stuff into the house, Bear runs a circle around the yard and then flops onto his
back and starts rolling around.

  “Don’t roll in anything nasty, Bear,” I holler at him as I grab the second case of dog food.

  After getting stuff put away in the house, I head over to the shop. It’s where I spend the majority of my time. I’ve been making tables for over a decade now, selectively sourcing the wood from the majesty that is the forest around me.

  I don’t make the kind of tables I do because they’re trendy or some shit like that, but as luck would have it, they sell. There’s a furniture shop in town that I bring my finished pieces to. That was the reason for the trip into town today—another big ol’ table delivered, one so big it almost didn’t fit in the back of the pickup.

  And now that it’s gone, the shop feels too damn empty again.

  I put away the supplies I picked up at the hardware store, then stride outside to the area out back where I’ve got a few different stacks of wood waiting to be put to use. I already know which ones I want to use—slabs from a massive cedar tree I felled over a year ago. They’ve been air-drying out here ever since.

  I grab one of the slabs, haul it into the shop, set it on my worktable, then go back and get a second one. It’s been a while since I’ve made a bookmatched table, but there’s something about the grain in these pieces of wood that’s just begging to be used like this. When the two mirrored slabs are joined to form a single surface, the effect is going to be something special.

  I rip the side of the slabs off with a saw, then feed the slabs across my jointer to clean up the edges. When I get them back on the workbench and push ’em together to check the fit, it’s damn perfect.

  This table’s going to be a beaut.

  As I apply glue and start clamping the slabs together, my thoughts become dominated once again by Bailey. If I stop for a second and shut my eyes, I can recall in vivid detail how arresting she looked in the firelight that night.