Page 6 of Broken Mountain Man

I watched her disappear down the hallway, hips swaying in a way that made my hands itch to touch. When I heard the door close, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

This was a mistake. She was a mistake. But as I settled onto the couch with a blanket that smelled like her now, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

For the first time in a very long time, I wasn’t alone.

And for the first time since I’d almost lost my partner, I wanted someone to stay.

CHAPTER THREE

Brittany

He’d made oatmeal. Real oatmeal. Not the cinnamon swirl packets I kept in my desk drawer at work. Nope, this was the kind your grandma made on a cold winter morning. I was calling it the mountain man version. No sugar. No fruit. Just oats, water, and a sprinkle of healthy eating. Just what you’d expect from a mountain man.

I watched him stir it like he was crafting a spell, and maybe he was. On me.

His arms flexed under his t-shirt—I guess it was too hot for flannel, which was a huge disappointment. Didn’t mountain men and flannel just seem to go together in every fantasy?

I studied him as I would an actuary table. His jaw was clenched as if talking might actually kill him. Which made sense—I got the feeling conversation wasn’t this man’s love language.

Unfortunately for both of us, rambling while nervous was apparently mine.

“So...” I started, adjusting my seat on the one stool at his kitchen counter. “Do you live out here full-time? Like, is this seasonal, or do you just really hate neighbors?”

He spared me a glance. “Full-time.”

Two words. That was it. I figured I might need to change his name to Mr. Chatty.

“Interesting. So... why Lone Mountain? Was there a flyer? A recommendation? Did you see a ‘Brooding Men Wanted’ ad and think this was your moment?”

“I was born here.” He didn’t look up from the pot.

“Oh. That’s way less dramatic than I was hoping for.”

That earned me a full glance—and a look that said you’re exhausting, followed by the faintest twitch of his mouth that said but I don’t actually mind it.

“Coffee or milk?” He dished up the oatmeal, handing me a bowl and spoon. And a jar of brown sugar, which felt like a peace offering.

“Could I have both? I think I’ll need caffeine to survive whatever this day brings.” He handed them to me, and I stirred the milk and sugar into my oatmeal, watching the steam curl up like I could read my future in it. I felt like I’d entered a parallel dimension and didn’t know if I wanted to return to mine or not. Today felt like a step out of time, something to savor and enjoy.

Heck, who was I trying to fool? Myself? Him? I wanted very badly to simply stay here in his cabin. Stay with him.

Why? Well, for the obvious reason—he was hot as hell and I would not mind giving him something to remember me by.

I’d never felt this instant attraction to a man. He made me all tingly and aware at the same time. And somehow I knew he wouldn’t disappoint me. But then reality intruded—I would most certainly disappoint him. I was too curvy, too outspoken, too ordinary. Definitely not the type of women I’m sure he carried to his bed.

I took a bite of oatmeal, surprised it actually tasted good. Breakfast for me was usually a handful of nuts or whatever pastry was left in the office break room.

“So what’s your plan?” His voice cut through my thoughts. He was standing by the counter eating standing up since there was only one bar stool and no kitchen table. I had the distinctimpression he did that most days, with or without an unexpected houseguest.

“My plan?”

“For today.”

Right. Reality. “I guess I should try to find the camp site. Let them know I’m not bear food.”

He grunted. Not exactly encouraging.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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