Taming the Wild Mountain Man (Mountainmances #2)

Chapter 3

3

Tenley

I let out a startled squeak as the door opens unexpectedly.

"What are you doing?" Hume asks, running a hand through his thick mane of hair. He's shirtless again, but I suppose I can overlook it this time since he is inside his own house.

I peel my eyes off his magnificent torso and lift the handwritten sign I was about to pin on his front door. "Here. This is for you."

He takes the paper from me, his thick fingers momentarily brushing against my hand, sending an unwanted shiver skating up my spine. His gaze drops to the note I wrote in response to enduring yet another night of him banging away in his shed. Admittedly, the noise seemed a little duller last night than previously, but still, who bangs away like that after midnight? What is he doing in that darn shed?

"Game on, Hume?" He reads my note as if it's a question, even though I clearly printed out every single letter in big bold caps. "Wait." He swings those silver-blue eyes my way, and Yoda, help me, because they are sublime, an intriguing mix of winter frost and summer sky. "How do you know my name?"

A wave of heat rushes to my face as I struggle to come up with something better than, It's a small town. "It's a small town," I eventually say when I'm unable to come up with anything better.

"That makes sense… Tenley ."

My eyes widen in surprise, the heat from my face fanning down across my body. Do I…do I like that he knows my name? No. Of course not. Why would I even care that he's gone to the trouble of speaking to someone about me? Hmm. I wonder who. On second thought, no I don't. I couldn't care less. I'm mad at the guy.

I remind myself why I stomped over here to pin that note on his door in the first place and recalibrate accordingly. "If you insist on being a rude and inconsiderate neighbor, I have no choice but to retaliate in an equally rude and inconsiderate manner."

His gaze skates up and down my body, and I suddenly wish I was wearing something other than an oversized promotional T-shirt from a hotel safety summit I attended a few years ago with "Staying Safe is Staying Awesome" printed across the front and my favorite, albeit threadbare, comfy print pajama pants. I wasn't expecting him to be at home. He's usually gone by the time I wake up in the morning, and his work truck isn't parked in its usual spot in the driveway.

"So, you like Star Wars , huh?"

He's looking at the colorful mash-up of Luke, Leia, Darth Vader, and Yoda running up and down both my legs, a grin on that stupid sexy face of his.

"Yes, I'm a Warsie," I reply indignantly, squaring my shoulders.

"A Warsie?"

"It's like a Trekkie, but—you know what? It's not important. Stop distracting me." I point at my note he's holding. "I'm here to declare war."

He rests his forearm on the door frame, leaning in such a way that his entire torso is a display of taut lines and hard muscles. How is a guy in his forties this ripped? Men half his age would kill for abs like that.

He tips his chin up. "That so?"

I prime my hands on my hips and give my best, firmest, most I'm not embarrassed in the least by my outfit choice nod I can. "It is. So don't say you haven't been warned."

I top that off with an indignant huff before turning around and marching back home.

"Chewy, no!" I hear Hume call out behind me.

I spin around. Rey is bounding toward me. "Oh, hey, you." I kneel down and pat her as she douses me in wet, sloppy licks.

"No, Chewy." Hume peels his dog off me. "We're in a war with this one." His voice drops into James Earl Jones territory as he declares, "She's the enemy."

I straighten. "Actually, I'm only at war with you . I have no beef with Rey."

"Who's Rey?"

I point at his dog. "I didn't know what her name was, so I named her Rey Skywalker."

"The Jedi from Star Wars ?"

"That's right."

He thinks about it for a moment before that annoying smirk of his returns. "That's…not bad."

"Oh, I'm so glad, because your approval means the world to me," I respond so drily my youngest sister Beth, the queen of snark herself, would be proud. Then, because I can't help myself, I ask, "Why Chewy?"

He looks at me for a second, then says, "She'll chew pretty much anything. Especially paper. She's addicted to it."

"Tell me about it." When he frowns in confusion, I add, "She came over and started eating bits of the tossed newspaper I had in my moving boxes."

His eyes widen. "Chewy has been in your house?"

"Only a few times."

His eyes grow even more. "More than once? Chewy! Naughty girl! I've been wondering where you've been getting to." Chewy drops her head, repentant. "I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."

"It's fine. She's fine," I say, reiterating my point that I have no problem with his dog. Just him.

"Of course. How could I forget?" he mutters. "It's me you hate. Well, if she's ever any trouble, please tell me."

"I will." I should walk away—no, stomp away…So why aren't my legs getting the message? "Actually, I've bought some organic treats from the vet for her."

"You have?"

"Yeah. I figured it was better than her munching on newspaper. Is…is that okay?" I scrunch my nose because I probably should have checked with him before I started giving his dog treats.

"It's fine. That's nice of you, actually."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"Um." He lifts up the piece of paper. "You just declared war on me."

Oh, that's right. I did. "Glad you remember," I say, giving Chewy a quick pat before turning on my heel and marching back to my place. "Prepare to go down, Hume!" I call out over my shoulder. "Prepare to go down!"

"This is thoughtful but also slightly weird," Schapelle says, taking in the chaos playing out in my backyard.

The scent of fresh hay and warm fur fills the air, along with sounds of soft bleats and clucking. A pair of goats trot around playfully, chickens peck in the grass, and one of two miniature horses clip-clops with a child riding it.

I smile at my twin sister as I cradle her newborn in my arms. "What?" I reply innocently. "Why wait until Willow turns one to throw her a petting zoo party? You can never start too early, right?"

Schapelle eyes me wearily. "Are you getting enough sleep, Ten?"

"Actually, I'm not." I look across the fence and smile wickedly. Is throwing a children's party at six o'clock in the morning a polite and considerate neighborly thing to do? Of course it isn't…And that's exactly the point. If Hume wants to wake me up late at night, I'm going to give him a taste of his own medicine by walking him up early on the one day he doesn’t leave for work in the morning. "Hey, Freddy!" I yell out to the DJ I hired to spin some tunes for these tots. "Let's get some music cranking."

"On it!" he calls back, and a few seconds later, "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" filters through the speakers I've set up all around the yard, including allll along the fence line.

"And who are all these kids?" Brock, Schapelle's husband, asks. "You didn't hire them as well as the animals, did you?"

I laugh. "No. I invited everyone who works at the lodge and their families. Thought it'd be a nice way for us to get to know each other outside of work."

"What the heck is going on here?" A deep, angry sounding voice cuts through all the noise.

"Ooh. It's go time." I hand my niece back to Schapelle. "Grab some popcorn," I say to my sister and brother-in-law. "Because you're about to witness an epic smackdown."

I stride over to the fence line confidently. A gust of wind catches my hair, and for a moment, I'm not a thirty-year old woman in the midst of a self-initiated prank war with her smoldering hot mountain man neighbor, I'm freaking Beyoncé at the Superbowl.

"Morning, Hume." I throw my hand back elegantly over my shoulder and smile. "Welcome to my niece's party."

Hume does not look impressed. His hair juts out every which way, and he's bleary-eyed, like he's just been torn out of bed by this racket I'm making. He's also shirtless, and I am giving myself a strict, three-second ceasefire to take in his sculpted muscles and chiseled abs— three, two, one —before reverting back into fighting mode.

"Do you know what time it is?" he grits out.

I glance at my watch and reply sweetly, "It's six fifteen."

"Exactly. On a Sunday ."

"Well done for naming the day correctly. Would you like a prize? I have push-along cars, teething rings, or a cute assortment of sippy cups. You can have first dibs."

His jaw clenches as he lets out a deep, grumbly sound that, in another context, would send pleasurable tingles through me, but in this context, I'll have to settle for tingles of satisfaction.

Round one goes to me.

"This isn't over," he growls, his blue-gray eyes boring into me, as if he's privy to my internal gloating, and it's only making him madder. "I wasn't sure you really wanted a war, but now that I know you do, it's game on, sweetheart ."

"Get your own catchphrase," I reply smugly, rocking on my feet. "And bring it on." Oh, hello, what do we have here? Seems my inner-Bey is back. I snap my fingers and declare, "Let me see what you can do, baby ."