Page 24 of The Mountain Man's Sweet Treat
I could have come right there just from that breathy confession on her lips. I want to be her man and her husband and the father of her children. I want everything with the curvy little witch and her black cat.
But doing that means facing some people. It means owning up to the fact that I’ve basically ignored my family for the past three years. I’ve stayed up on this mountain, thinking that I could hide out here forever.
I told myself it was fine, that it was OK as long as I was still taking care of my family. But that's a lie. The truth is, I chose the coward's way out. I'm done doing that. I’m going to face all of my fears because my girl is worth it.
“Penny for your thoughts, Marine,” Sophie calls.
I lift my head to see her looking delectable in her leather skirt and tight corset shirt. “I was thinking about my girlfriend.”
She chuckles. “Were those thoughts filthy by any chance?”
“Always,” I say, tossing down the axe and stalking across the distance. I pull her into my arms and give her a kiss that quickly turns heated.
“Take me inside and show me what you’re thinking,” she breathes, crushed against my sweaty chest. Even through the layers of her clothes, I can feel her breasts heaving. I love knowing that I’ve made her breathless. I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing that.
“Not yet. Tomorrow night,” I promise her. I already have the perfect idea all planned out.
“Why? What’s special about tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night I’m taking you on our first date. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“And you’re confident you’ll get lucky after that?” Her tone is teasing. Fuck, she’s adorable when she’s sassy.
“No.” I rub my nose against hers. “But I’m confident you will. I’m already looking forward to my dessert.”
She makes a little whimper. It’s the one she makes in my bed she’s looking forward to having me stuff her full of my cock. “I guess I could clear my schedule for that.”
I smirk at her. “Good girl.”
I park at the end of the driveway and stare up at my mom’s house. In the early morning sunlight, it looks like the same as it did all those years ago when I saw it for the first time. Emma May took me in when I was a teenager with nowhere to go.
She gave me more than a warm bed or three square meals a day. She gave me the feeling someone cared about me. She helped me where I’d fallen behind with my schooling, making sure I was able to graduate on time with my peers.
She taught me how to do simple things that no one else ever cared enough about like how to do my own laundry, balance a checkbook, and cook a decent meal. She did it all with endless grace and persistence patience. She changed my life.
Since I came back to Courage County, I’ve looked out for her in little ways. I make sure her gutters are clear during autumn, and her sidewalks are free from snow during the winter. In the spring and summer, I keep her lawn neatly edged and mowed.
But I haven’t let her see me. I’ve kept my distance, too afraid she’d be disappointed in the man I am now. The thought makes my palms feel clammy, and I push back against the bile threatening to rise up.
Gathering my courage, I turn off the ignition for my truck and trudge up the steps to her door. I rap lightly on the door, already knowing that the buzzer is broken. It has been for years. A tabby cat winds its way around my legs, looking up at me with a mischievous smile as if he knows something I don’t.
Emma May flings open the door. She looks different than the last time we talked. Yeah, I’ve caught glimpses of her around town. But now that I’m actually looking at her, I can see the evidence of time on her face. It’s a little more lined than before, and her hair in its familiar braid down her back is now completely silver. She peers up at me from behind bifocals, blinking like an owl that doesn’t quite believe what she’s seeing.
A lump forms in my throat the sight of this amazing woman. Still, I manage to croak out, “Hi, Mama. I’m home.”
She bursts into tears and throws herself at me. She buries her head in my flannel and sobs so hard that her entire frame shakes.
I wish I hadn’t waited so long. Maybe this wouldn’t hurt her so much if I’d just told her when I was in town. “It’s OK. I’m here now. I’m safe.”
When she finally has cried herself out, she pulls back. I see the tear tracks on her face and the smudges on her bifocals. Guilt slices through me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She ushers me inside, reaching for a decorative tea towel to clean her face with.
“For staying away so long,” I manage to squeeze out around the lump. Didn’t realize how hard today would be, how much I’d want to run back to my cabin and disappear inside of it. Life on the mountain is harder in a lot of ways. I don’t have modern conveniences like pumpkin spice lattes and those delicious desserts from Courage Cookies.
But it’s also easier in that there are no people. No messy emotions. Nothing to make me think about how as much as I pretend to be a loner, I’m part of a big family. Everyone in Courage is family, and I haven’t been acting like it.
She puts the electric kettle on, the cheerful teal color has started to fade and chip. I bought it for her for her birthday one year. She’s used it every day since. “I’m just happy you’re back.”
