My Mismatched Valentine: Mountain Men of Caribou Creek: Holidays, #1

By Kali Hart

Two years ago, my prolific matchmaking career came to a screeching halt when my marriage imploded in a very public way. Though my heart was crushed, my passion for helping people find their true loves never died. Which is why I planned a matchmaking comeback event in my hometown. The holiday-themed event went better than I could've anticipated. Except for one small snag.

One of the bachelors didn't show up until the event was over.

When he learned that I'd found his original match someone else in his absence, he was devasted. Which is why I was determined to make things right.

Until I find out he lied about his identity. Dustin Wilde failed to mention that he's a secret billionaire and heir to a massive fortune. He's also in desperate need of a wife by Valentine's Day. Though I'd love nothing more than to feed him to a bear, the publicity he offers in exchange for this impossible task promises to drown out the bad press threatening to tank my comeback.

There's only one problem, and it's a big one: I think I'm falling for my him.

Falling for one of my clients would be the end of my career. It's the one cardinal rule I can't break. But can I live with watching him marry someone else?


Welcome to Caribou Creek, Alaska. Secluded small town living in the heart of the mountains is not for the faint of heart. But to those who call it home, they can't imagine being anywhere else. Love runs a little deeper in these parts. It must be something in the water, because the men who've sworn to live solitary lives are unable to resist the women who upend their best laid plans and capture their hearts.

This is a sweet & steamy instalove romance with a mountain man and curvy woman. NO cliffhangers. NO cheating. Guaranteed HEA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie M. Wallick
• Release date: Jun 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223743125

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Maggie

I ’m going to kill him.

The words are hot on my lips, my fists balled above the keyboard as I glare at the offensive image on the laptop screen. I knew I recognized Dustin. I fucking knew it.

Weeks ago, when I was sorting through matchmaking applications for my Valentine’s themed comeback event, I kept returning to his submitted photo. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint why.

I hold up the paper file I’ve compiled on Bachelor Number Seven, comparing the photos. The picture he submitted seems to suggest a small town, easy-going, rugged, outdoorsy family man. The man staring back at me from the computer screen is polished, clean-cut probably allergic to dirt under his fingernails. He’s obviously a world-traveled, business professional.

But not just any business professional.

He’s the heir to Wilde Luxury Log Cabins.

Dustin Wilde—not Williams as he put on his application—is worth billions.

Unless he has a twin he never mentioned on the extensive questionnaire he submitted—doubtful—he lied.

I press both palms into my cheeks, groaning in frustration.

What a fucking dilemma.

Less than three hours ago, everything was going perfectly for my holiday-themed matchmaking event. Eight out of eight couples in love? That had to be a record in this industry.

Less than two and a half hours ago, Marjorie Collins, head writer for the Ever After Review, was following me around like a doting puppy. She couldn’t get enough of all the romantic details. The woman was eating up all the romance my couples were oozing into the air. Her article, at least the bits she kept muttering as she scribbled, promised to revive my reputation as the best matchmaker on the West Coast. The headline was shimmering like a banner over my future success: Famous Matchmaker, Maggie Parsons, Knocks Valentine’s Day Out of the Park!

There was only one snag.

Dustin Williams didn’t show up for the candlelit dinner on Day One. I thought he might’ve changed his mind and was too chicken to tell me. Why else would my seventeen phone calls and nine emails go completely unanswered? Either that or he was dead, and by the time I made my decision, I really didn’t care which. I was desperate.

So, I begged my brother to fill in as Bachelor Number Seven. The whole event was based around couples meeting as blind dates. In three days, they’d go their separate ways and never see each other again. No one would ever know I made the switch. No harm, no foul. Right?

To my complete surprise, Kash fell madly in love with the woman I’d matched to Dustin. And judging by the stars I saw in Charlotte’s eyes this morning, she feels the same way about my brother. I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for the sly switch-aroo until no-show Bachelor Number Seven unceremoniously arrived at The Caribou Creek Lodge, crashing the private breakfast I’d arranged for the couples’ final morning.

Ms. Collins stood on the outskirts as the drama unfolded, eating up every salacious detail. The reporter’s pen only paused long enough for her to snap a couple pics of Charlotte’s tear-stained face.

And the gnarly feeling in the pit of my stomach hasn’t let up since. I fish a bottle of antacids out of my desk drawer and crunch a couple down with a swallow of tepid coffee.

Okay, in hindsight, maybe I should’ve been honest with Charlotte about the substitute from the beginning. At least it would’ve spared her some trauma when Dustin showed up and surprised us all.

I sigh, kneading my temples as I try to sort through this mess. I need to prioritize. What to do first? Charlotte? Apologize again? No. I think she needs a moment to process. I know she’s upset, but I suspect it won’t take her long to realize that Kash is her forever person. I’m convinced she ended up with the man she was always meant to find: my brother.

That thought alone doesn’t kill the nerves churning in my belly. Right. The article. Should I talk to Marjorie? I have no idea what she’s going to do with her piece now that it’s morphed from cover story to exposé. Her words could be the revival of my dead career. Or the end of it.

But her article isn’t the biggest concern I have.

I actually felt bad for Dustin.

He’d been stranded in another country by a bad storm that took out power and cell towers. He had no way of letting me know why he was delayed. And when he showed up, he ran right into the discovery that I’d given away his perfect match to someone else.

Not perfect. Not with all the lies on his application.

I slam my laptop closed, grab the teal personnel file I’ve compiled on Dustin, and yank my car keys off the small table beside my front door. Karl, my orange tabby, lifts his head from his perch on the back of my couch. He pretends he’s not a sucker for the jingle, but he’s not fooling anyone. I’ll be back, bud. Try to stay out of trouble when I’m gone, mkay? His smug, indifference suggests he couldn’t possibly be bothered to get into trouble. Tell that to the car keys I found under the fridge last week.

I’m due to meet Dustin for a late lunch to discuss how I can make this misunderstanding up to him. I had every intention of finding him a match from the hundreds of submissions I still had in my possession. Hell, I was willing to scour Caribou Creek and convince the single women in this small mountainside town to throw their name in the hat if I had to. His match could be right down the block.

I wanted to make things right.

But a nagging suspicion that something was a little off sent me on a Google search before I could check my database for possible matches. Since the divorce that blindsided me two years, I’ve learned to trust my gut feelings rather than dismiss them out of hand.

Dustin Wilde has some nerve lying to me. How the hell was I supposed to do my job if he wasn’t being honest about who he was? Even if he’d arrived to the event on time, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Those two would’ve been like oil and water.

I pull up to Rose’s Diner and spot Dustin at a window booth, sipping on a drink. I narrow my gaze at him, though he doesn’t appear to notice my arrival. I’ve written half a blog in my head about the importance of being honest with your matchmaker thanks to my prime example of what not to do. If my career is