Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
Elias is all grit and growl, with hands built for work and a body made for sin. He lives by the land, trusts no one, and sure as hell doesn’t know what to do with a naked woman who just fell into his life—swearing, shivering, and too soft for this world.
She’s modern. He’s original.
And when survival forces them to share a cabin—and a bed—their connection burns hot and fast, all instinct and no apologies.
But this isn’t just a fling in the forest.
Because the past has teeth.
And love like this carves its mark deep.
💥 Time-travel with no way back
🔥 “Only one bed” survival heat
🥵 Grumpy, guarded mountain man who worships her body
🪓 Cabin-core + prairie-core + portal fantasy smut
💘 A heroine who finds more than love—she finds where she truly belongs
Welcome to the Colorado frontier, where fate is feral, love is lawless, and the original mountain man is ready to claim what's his
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
June
The sun beats down on my face, sweat beading on my brow, my hair clinging to my cheeks.
God, I really need to cool down.
I pause, pulling a canteen from my bag and taking a long swig. The water hits the spot. I sigh. Hydrate or die, right? I’m always reminding my blog readers to bring more water than they think they’ll need—but I might’ve underestimated it myself today.
Planting a foot on a rock near the river, I stare down at the water.
Could I get away with a quick dip?
It’s not like many people hike this trail—especially not mid-summer. The Colorado Rockies aren’t exactly known for being tourist-friendly, and this far out? It’s just me, the trees, and the buzz of dragonflies.
A swim would be heaven. Just a quick dunk. In and out before midday.
Decision made, I scramble down the rocky hillside toward the river. Birds tweet their commentary from the trees, but I ignore them. I pull out my phone to snap a few pics—sunlight glittering on the water, the wild edges of this forgotten place. I need something stunning for my next post.
But the real magic of a trail like this?
Putting the damn phone down and disappearing.
I toss my pack aside, along with my phone. This part? It’s not for the blog. This is just for me. My followers know everything—my van, my fire-cooking tips, my favorite ways to stay safe on solo hikes—but this little rebellion? Skinny-dipping in a remote mountain river?
This part stays mine.
One last glance toward the trail. No one’s coming.
I unzip my jacket, kick off my shoes, and strip fast—before I can lose my nerve. A wicked buzz shivers through me. I’ve always had a defiant streak, the kind that refuses to stay quiet or behave. It’s what drove me to the road in the first place. And yeah—skinny-dipping in the Rockies? Sounds exactly like the kind of dumb, free thing I’d do.
The cool air kisses my bare skin. Goosebumps rise.
I dip a toe in the water and squeal—it’s freezing.
Still, I slide to the edge of a flat rock, close my eyes as sunlight dances over the surface, and slip under.
The shock of the cold nearly steals my breath—in the best way.
Every bit of road dust, regret, and burnout washes off my skin. I dunk my head under, resurfacing with a gasp, blinking at the sky. No one around. No sound but birdsong and rushing water.
I’m not done yet.
I swim into a still pocket of the river, a quiet little cove where the water eddies gently. The cold seeps through me, bone-deep and cleansing. It feels like a baptism I didn’t ask for but desperately needed.
Sunlight filters through the trees. Shadows dance across the rocks.
And for one suspended moment… everything stops.
Like the earth took a snapshot.
Just for me.
I smile, dunk again, and swim farther out—
And when I come up, something’s wrong.
It takes a moment to click. Everything looks the same—same rocks, same trees, same birdsong. But there’s something off. The air feels heavier. The silence feels different.
I run my hands through my hair, slick it back, blink the water from my lashes—
And freeze.
My backpack is gone.
My heart slams against my ribs.
I scan the riverbank, panic rising. Maybe I left it somewhere else? Maybe I’m disoriented?
But no. It’s gone. The spot where I left it is empty. My pulse spikes.
Shit.
Someone must have taken it. But how? Who could’ve snuck in and out while I was swimming?
"Hello?" I call out, voice bouncing off the rocks.
Nothing.
I glance toward the rock where I left my clothes—also empty.
Okay. Now I’m really screwed.
My breath catches. I part my lips to shout again—but stop myself.