Lost with the Mountain Man

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

BEAU

“ T ell us about you, Malcolm.”

Malcolm chuckles from his chair by the fireplace. His empty soup bowl sits forgotten on the side table, while Jessamy and I rest in a cozy nest of pillows and blankets. She finished eating before me and curled against my shoulder, her warmth seeping through my shirt. I couldn’t resist abandoning my half-eaten stew to pull her closer, her hair tickling my chin as her head settled just right.

“Not much to tell,” Malcolm says, his tone easy, guarded.

“Bullshit,” Jessamy replies, her smile sparkling like firelight on water.

“Yeah,” I agree, drawing lazy circles on her arm with my fingertips. “Where are you from? Where’d you grow up?”

Jessamy laughs, soft and melodic. “What’s your last name?”

Malcolm grins, and I blink, the realization hitting me like a slow wave. We don’t even know this man’s last name.

“You know so much about us,” Jessamy presses, her voice honey-sweet, though her words carry a hint of mischief. “We want to know you, too.”

I kiss her forehead, smiling as she works her magic. She has a way of peeling people open, layer by layer, with that tone and those big, imploring eyes. No man alive could resist her, and Malcolm is no exception.

It takes longer than I expect, though. He holds out for several beats before sighing in surrender. “Mercer,” he says at last. “My last name is Mercer.”

Jessamy beams, triumphant. “Are you from Kiss County, Malcolm Mercer?”

“Grew up in Small Town,” he replies. The name sparks a flicker of memory—driving through its one-lane streets on the way to Tall Mountain, a sleepy place that feels like it belongs to another time. “Went to school in Big City.”

“What did you study?” I ask.

He shrugs, a mountain shifting. “Little bit of everything.”

I think to leave it there. A man’s business is his own, after all. But Jessamy is not the type to let a thread dangle without tugging.

“Oh, come on,” she says, her voice laced with playful impatience. “What do you do, Malcolm? Or what did you do before you became…” She gestures at the cabin, giving the room a loving caress. “This.”

“Became what?” he counters, his tone equally light.

Jessamy props herself on one elbow. “A ruggedly handsome hermit who likes warm, hearty stews and mystery novels.”

His lip twitches, and I can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes me.

“Is that who I am?” he asks.

Jessamy doesn’t answer, just bats those devastating lashes at him and waits.

On the surface, I know they’re flirting. I know this man is coveting my wife, and she’s coveting him right back. I also know I should have a problem with it, but I don’t. In this strange new world on the top of a mountain, I can’t seem to care. I think of her wrapping those sweet lips around his cock and mine and… I don’t care.

Malcolm exhales through his nose, a reluctant surrender. Yeah, buddy. I know that feeling.

“I was a physical therapist,” he says finally.

Jessamy’s eyes light up. “Really? You helped people walk again, build up their strength. Things like that?”

“Not quite. Mostly, I specialized in deep tissue therapies. Physical release. That sort of thing.”

I snort. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“Deep tissue?” Jessamy tilts her head, her curiosity piqued. “In other words, you give incredible massages, right?”

Malcolm smirks, letting her question hang unanswered for several moments before beckoning her toward him with two fingers.

Her head swivels toward me, seeking permission. I press a kiss to the tip of her nose and slide my arm away, chuckling as she all but scrambles across the floor toward him.

“Turn around,” Malcolm instructs. She obeys, settling between his knees with her back to him. He gathers her unruly red hair in one hand, letting it spill like liquid fire over her shoulder before resting his large hands on her petite frame.

From where I sit, I can’t see much—just the slow, deliberate movements of his hands and the unmistakable orgasmic flutter of Jessamy’s lashes.

“Oh, my lord,” she purrs.

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice low and steady. “Push back against my hand. Yeah, like that. Good girl.”

Her body melts into his touch, her hums vibrating through the room.

“Goddamn,” I say, laughing. “You should teach me that one.”

“Sweet baby Jesus, yes,” Jessamy moans.

Malcolm smiles before he pulls his hands away, leaving her limp and boneless in his lap. Jessamy groans her discontent but doesn’t move, her arms hanging at her sides like she’s waiting for him to resume.

Malcolm leans down, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Later,” he promises.

The single word sends a shiver through my body, my cock twitching in my pants in anticipation.

Jessamy flops onto her back like a rag doll between us. With a satisfied sigh, she looks up at me, her hair fanning out like a gentle halo. “You’ve gotta try it, Beau,” she says.

“Maybe I will,” I reply, meeting Malcolm’s gaze. “So, why’d you stop?”

“Good question,” Jessamy hums.

“Working, I mean.” I give her arm a light nudge with my foot, earning a soft, playful chuckle from her. “Unless you still have clients.”

“I didn’t stop,” Malcolm answers hesitantly. “I’m on a sabbatical, of sorts.”

“High-stress work?” I ask, understanding the urge to step back, even if just for a few days.

He gives me a noncommittal nod, one Jessamy doesn’t see. She’s lying still with her eyes closed, humming with each exhale. If she were paying attention, she’d notice the strings dangling off Malcolm and wouldn’t resist swiping at them.

Me, though? I let it go. Even if curiosity itches at me. “I hear that,” I say.

Jessamy snorts.

That, I can’t let go. “What, Jessamy?”

“Nothing.”

“You snorted.”

“I sniffed. Same part, different sound.” Jessamy rolls over onto her stomach. “Do you enjoy living here?” she asks Malcolm. “In Kiss County?”

“It’s home,” he replies.

She points her pinky, her nail glinting in the light. “That didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s a fine place to live.”

“Just fine?”

“Hot summers. Cold winters. Fair cost of living—outside of Big City, anyway. It’s fine.”

Jessamy considers his words, her brow furrowing before she turns her head toward me. “Maybe we can come back after New Year’s,” she says, casual but pointed.

“What for?” I ask.

“To look at houses,” she says, like it’s the most obvious conclusion.

“You want to move here?”

“Why not?” She lifts her hands, palms up. “It’s perfect for us.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You don’t?”

“I mean…” My gaze flickers to Malcolm. “It’s nice, I agree. But I don’t know about moving here.”

“Why not? We like what we’ve seen so far, don’t we?”

“It’s not about what we like, Jess. It’s about what’s practical.”

She scoffs. “What is impractical about us moving to Kiss County?”

Sensing the start of what could turn into a much longer conversation, I glance at Malcolm. He sits stiff-backed in his chair, his expression neutral but his attention sharp.

“You know what?” I say, leaning back with a forced calm. “How about we break out that deck of cards again?”

“No,” Jessamy says, digging her heels in. “I want you to answer my question.”

“Nothing,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “There’s nothing impractical about it.”

“Then, what’s wrong? Why don’t you want to move here?”

“It’s…” I hesitate, feeling the tension coil tighter. I already know where she’s going with this. “It’s too far.”

“Too far?”

“Yes. It’s too far from home. From our friends. Our jobs. The café!” I lift a hand for emphasis. “What would happen to that place if you up and left, huh?”

“I don’t give a fuck about the café, Beau,” she says, her frown deepening. “I kept that job for as long as I have so your parents wouldn’t think I’m some gold-digger. Your parents, by the way, are the real reason you don’t want to move too far away.”

I hold back a sigh, the weight of frustration pressing against my ribs. “No one thinks you’re a gold-digger, Jess. And my reasons for not wanting to move are my own. It has nothing to do with them. I like where we are!”

“I don’t.”

My teeth clench as I exhale through my nose. “Can we table this for now?” I ask, a plea hanging in my voice. “Please?”

For a moment, I think she might agree, but then Jessamy shakes her head. Her eyes lock onto mine, cutting through me with their unrelenting intensity. “Table it,” she repeats, spitting the words out like venom. “We always just… table it.”

“Jess,” I warn. “I just don’t want to talk about this right now, all right?”

“When, Beau?” Her voice sharpens, slicing through the air between us. “When would be a good time for you to deal with our problems?”

“Jess.”

“I mean, you wasted no time diving face-first into your repressed sexuality out here. It’s all fine and dandy if it brings you pleasure, but solving our issues is just a touch too uncomfortable for you?”

I recoil, her words striking like a slap. “That’s not fair,” I say, heat rising in my chest. “I don’t want to commit to a move right now. Is that so bad?”

“Well, would you commit to something?”

I meet her glare with one of my own, sharp and unyielding. “I’m committed to you, Jessamy. And I don’t like the implication that I’m not.”

“And I don’t like being pushed aside in favor of what your parents want instead,” she says, her tone laced with fire.

“This isn’t about them.”

“Shocker. Everything else is.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name one thing you’ve ever done against their wishes.”

“I married you.”

Her breath hitches.

I hesitate, my gut screaming at me to back off. But she’s right—if not now, when? If not here, where?

“I married you,” I repeat, my voice quieter now, each word landing with weight. “They didn’t approve, but I did it anyway. Even after my mother offered me money to leave you.”

Jessamy stiffens. “She did what? When?”

“The night before the wedding,” I admit, the truth carving a deep ache in my chest. “She practically handed me a blank check. Told me to do the right thing. So I did. I married you, Jessamy. I chose you, and I will keep choosing you. Now, can you please drop this?”

Jessamy sits up, dragging her knees beneath her as she stares at me. “She paid you to leave me?” she asks, her voice cracking. “The night before our wedding?”

“And… the morning of.”

Her mouth falls open, her expression a mix of hurt and disbelief. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

I look at Malcolm. He stays quiet, his gaze steady.

“Because I knew you would overreact,” I say, my words heavy with regret. “Maybe make things worse. I?—”

“Overreact?!” Jessamy’s voice rises, sharp and wounded. “You thought I would overreact?!”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Her face contorts, her pain spilling out unchecked. “Beau, I am your wife. Overreact. Underreact. I deserved a reaction. You should have told me! God, this… stupid fucking obsession you have with keeping the peace is driving me insane!”

“If I don’t,” I say, struggling to stay calm as she unravels, “they’ll cut me off. When I turned down the money, they told me that if I ever left—if I ever let you take me away from them—they’d cut me off. No support. No inheritance. Where would we be then, Jess? So, yes, I kept it from you. But I was going to tell you. As soon as I had enough to make it on our own, I was going to tell you.” I look at her, willing her to believe me. “Do you believe me?”

Her disappointment cuts through me. “Yeah,” she says, her voice heavy. “I believe you, Beau.”

She rises, her movements sharp as she heads toward the kitchen. I sigh with another look at Malcolm, curious about his thoughts. But he remains quiet.

The front door opens.

I snap forward, spotting Jessamy in her coat by the door. “Jess!” I rise off the floor. “Where are you going?”

“I need some air,” she says over her shoulder.

“Jess! It’s freezing out?—”

The door slams behind her, sending a burst of cold air in my direction.

“Jess!” I exhale hard, my fists clenched at my sides as the biting cold touches my face. “Fuck.”

“Beau.”

Malcolm’s calm voice draws me back. I turn, the firelight casting deep shadows over his face.

“Give her time,” he says. “She’ll come back.”

Of course she will. There’s nowhere else to go.

But coming back doesn’t mean staying.