Their Steamy Cabin (The Men of Evergreen Mountain #1) Read Online Frankie Love

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Contemporary, Erotic, Insta-Love Tags Authors: Series: The Men of Evergreen Mountain Series by Frankie Love

Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)

She's pure innocence, he's rugged and wild.It’s about to get steamy in this cabin…

When sweetheart Savannah's car gets stuck in a downpour, she finds more than shelter in the arms of Hunter, a determined mountain man … but will their romance weather the storm?

This is wild, fertile land where the men are ready to whisk their women to bed.
No hook-ups or one-night stands.
Here in the Evergreen Mountains, the men are fiercely loyal.
Here, love lasts a lifetime.
Now … let's turn up the heat in their steamy cabin...

*alpha male
*true love

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



My feet ache, my back aches, and my face aches. I didn’t even know the third one was even possible, but putting in long shifts as a waitress has revealed a whole lot that I wish I didn’t have to learn.

It’s probably all the forced smiling I have to do. Those are muscles, too, and get worn out like any other. It just doesn’t feel right to think that “smile fatigue” could really be a thing though.

I’m glad my shift is over for the day and that I’m finally driving home. Thunder cracks in the sky. A storm is brewing, and I’m glad that I’m dodging the worst of it. As I pull into the parking lot, and shut off the old busted Ford, only one thing is keeping me going, letting me put one foot in front of the other to climb those old steps to my father’s and my old apartment.

That chicken Alfredo.

Yesterday, I found a recipe online. It looked absolutely fantastic, and I followed it perfectly. The result was every bit good as advertised, and having another big bowl of leftovers is getting me through the day. It feels kind of pathetic to have that be the only thing keeping me going, but you have to look forward to what you can sometimes.

I step into my home, a small apartment with one and a half bedrooms. How do you have half a bedroom? I can’t call the place I sleep a full bedroom. It doesn’t deserve such a title.

The entire place smells of depression. The scent of booze, and of other substances, the types that were illegal just a few years ago. All of it is a damn mess. Filthy dishes, dust, crumbs anywhere and everywhere. I haven’t had the energy to clean up with all the extra hours I’ve been putting in at the restaurant, and he certainly wasn’t going to help any.

It was a place to sleep, I remind myself. I get through the day. I hang on. I hope something better can come along, trying to push myself toward them where I can. I wash a bowl and fork, before going to the fridge. It’s a mess, too, but I start to dig around for my chicken Alfredo, figuring Dad must have just pushed it back farther.

It’s not there. A bit of panic hits me as I look over to the sink, and see that the plastic container where I had put my pasta last night is sitting there, empty, not even with soap and water to soak it.

No. I told him that was mine. That I was looking forward to eating out of that for the next few days.

Then he goes and does this. I ask him to not do one thing, and still he goes and does it.

I’m shaking with frustration. Is it too much to ask for the person I live with to respect my wishes?

“Savvy, my little sweetie,” I hear from behind me. It was once a voice that brought me joy, but has now only brought me misery.

My father, Jack. He’s a damn wreck. Wearing a stained T-shirt and sweatpants with the same grubbiness, shambles up to me. “Dad, I told you to leave the chicken Alfredo for me,” I say, trying to keep my cool.

“What? What else was I supposed to eat?”

“I don’t know. The canned soup and frozen pizzas that you usually go for?”

“But that Alfredo was right there. You can’t expect me to resist it when it’s right there.”

“Yes, I can. I can expect you to have the tiniest bit of self-control.”

This is why I can’t have nice things. Why every time I push myself to make something fancier than the ordinary, it all ends in tears.

“Listen, it’s no big deal,” he says. It shouldn’t be a big deal, no. But for me? It feels like the biggest deal. I can’t understand why. “Look, Savvy, I need, like, fifty bucks.”

I’m trembling in place, my body getting hot as I look at him.

He’s been unemployed for God knows how long. Nothing but a few odd jobs here and there to barely keep the rent paid. He said he’s waiting for the right job to come along for his qualifications, but it’s been a year. Take something. Anything. I can’t keep this up alone.