Taming the Wild Mountain Man (Mountainmances #2)

Chapter 6

6

Hume

It's funny. My buddies and I soundproofed my shed last week, and here I am, no longer banging away. The noisy part of the bed construction is done. All that's left is to apply a protective, clear coat to the bed frames. After that, I'll do a final inspection of all ten frames, then call Joanne to arrange delivery to the shelter.

As always, Chewy is snoring away by my feet as I work. I finish one frame, pick it up over my head, move it over to the corner to dry, grab another frame, and place it in the center of my tarpaulin-covered workspace.

As I paint, my thoughts drift to Tenley. No surprise there. Since we kissed last week, she's been the only thing I can think about. Even more than before. It's bordering on obsessive. I don't recognize myself. I've liked women in the past, but what's going on inside me feels way more serious than just liking her. The kiss confirmed that my feelings are more than just a silly crush or an infatuation. They're real. I'm hooked on her, and that's a problem.

A big problem.

Because anyone can see I have a snowball's chance of anything more developing between Tenley and me, other than our current neighborly truce. Even wishing for a friendship with her feels like I'd be pushing my luck.

I'm sure she has plenty of guys her own age who are interested in her. Guys who share similar interests and reference points. Guys who can give her a family, if that's what she wants.

Turning the big five-oh two years ago woke me up to the fact that while I may be in pretty decent shape for a guy my age, it's something I'll have to focus a lot more on if I want to stay in shape. A lifetime in the military and pushing my body to the limits as a stuntman has taken its toll. How could I possibly be chasing after toddlers if I’m worried my hip might give out? Or even keep up with a child's endless energy? Would I have the patience needed to handle tantrums and sleepless nights at my age?

I've left it too late. That ship has sailed for me.

But not for Tenley. And as much as I'd love for something to develop between us, I'm not going to pursue her if it comes at the cost of her having to sacrifice something as important as starting a family.

Chewy lets out a growl before her eyes even open, and then a split second later, she's on her feet, barking as she races toward the closed shed door.

"There's no one there," I say to her.

She sometimes hears rustling at night, and it's usually only raccoons or squirrels. But she keeps barking, so I plonk my brush down in the paint tray and make my way over to the door and open it to prove my point to her.

Except…

"Holy smokes!" I cry out, not expecting to see anyone, much less her .

Chewy launches into Tenley, jumping up and down like she's over the moon. Lucky dog. She gets to show her emotions, I need to keep my response much more restrained.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you," Tenley says once she gets Chewy under control. Her blue eyes meander down my bare chest before lifting back to my face. "I couldn't sleep."

I brace myself on the doorframe. "You miss all the noise, sweetheart?"

"I could tell you to shove off, but we're still in a truce." She chews into her bottom lip, and if anyone thinks it's impossible for a grown man to be jealous of a tooth, mark me down as Exhibit A. Kissing Tenley once is a sweet kind of torture. Yes, I'll always have the memory, but now that I've had a taste, it's made me greedy for more. "Aren't we?"

This is the first time we've seen each other since we kissed, but she's here now, standing in front of me, looking like a goddess from a galaxy far, far away in a gray Darth Vader tank top and green-and-cream pajama shorts that have tiny Grogu faces all over them. Her shorts are short , the fabric stopping just above her upper thighs, displaying her long, shapely legs exquisitely, and yep, it's time to draw my gaze back to her face and subtly check to make sure I haven't started drooling.

"Yeah. Truce is still on," I confirm, opening the door some more. "Would you like to come in?"

She lifts on her toes to peer over my shoulder. "Into your murder den?"

"The murder den was only a pop-up. It's back to being a plain ol' shed now."

"I see."

She locks her sparkling eyes onto mine, setting off a series of explosions in my chest. Wait. Or am I having a heart attack? I paw at my chest. Nope. Still alive. They were Tenley-inspired explosions. Phew.

She saunters past me, and I inhale her sweet scent. "What's all this?" she asks, pointing to the bed frames I've spread out across the length of the shed, some leaning against wooden posts while others are propped up on sawhorses.

"I make furniture."

"For who?"

"Oh, er…" I scrub a hand down the side of my face. I obviously wasn't expecting her to see this, and I don't go around town telling everyone my personal business. Only my closest buddies know I do this. "For a friend."

She spins on her heel to face me. "Why are you lying?"

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

"For starters, you're a guy. So there's already a high built-in probability of that. But, hello, what sort of friend needs ten beds?"

She's right. It's an obvious, stupid lie. "Fine. It's not a friend. I'm making these beds for a women's shelter in LA."

She was clearly not expecting that, because her expression vacillates between shock and disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"I am." I return to where I was painting, pick up the brush, and continue where I left off.

I need to keep my hands busy, need the distraction. I never realized how much of a private space this shed was for me until someone entered it. And while I'll always jump at the chance to spend time with Tenley, it's a collision of worlds I wasn't expecting.

As if picking up on the change in energy, Tenley makes her way around the shed, not saying a word, like she's giving me some time to adjust to her presence. She eventually ends up standing beside me. Close enough her scent infiltrates my senses, but giving me some space, too.

"Can I ask why you're doing this?"

My chest tightens, and my breathing becomes shallow. No one, apart from my older brother, knows the horror our father put our mother through. All the horrible things we witnessed that no kids should ever see. I've kept my father's abuse a secret for fifty-two years. I can't believe I'm considering opening up to anyone about this. Much less Tenley. But for some reason, it feels right to.

With my gaze pinned to the bed frame right in front of me, I start talking. "My father was a nasty man. An alcoholic. A chronic gambler. And…" I force out a shallow breath. "An abuser." Tenley doesn't say anything, but she inches slightly closer, the warmth of her body radiating off her and seeping into me.

"He'd get drunk and lay into Mom. Physically, I mean. My older brother and I tried to stop him, but we were no match for a grown man. Besides, it only seemed to make things worse for Mom. What could we do?"

"You were just kids," Tenley whispers.

"I know." The familiar shame of being so powerless to protect my own mother sweeps over me. It doesn't matter how many times I've told myself we were kids, there's always going to be a part of me that feels like we, like I , let my mom down. And then one night…"

My throat clogs, and my stomach twists in revulsion. No, I can't. I can't tell Tenley how my brother and I watched in horror as our father set our house alight. What we didn't know at the time, and only found out later, was that he'd beaten our mother up and left her in the house to burn.

"Where is your Mom now?"

I blow out a long breath. "She's dead."

"Oh." Her face registers the shock, then her eyes widen. "And your father?" There's a note of dread in her voice, as if she already suspects the answer.

"Rotting in jail for her death."

A gasp escapes out of her, and she curls her fingers around my forearm and gives me a tight squeeze. She holds me like that, in silence, for a solid few minutes.

I've carried the burden of guilt and shame my whole life. In a strange way, it feels good to finally share this with someone. "After it happened, our aunt and uncle adopted my brother and me. He coped by putting his head down and studying like crazy. He works for NASA now as a Thermal Operations and Resources Engineer. Don't ask me what that means."

She smiles and slides her fingers down to my hand, nestling perfectly into my palm. I wrap my hand around hers. "I dealt with it by developing a death wish. I enlisted in the military where I got a very rude awakening. I thought I knew what pain was until BUD/S. That's the?—"

"Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, one of the toughest military training programs in the world. I know. I'm a military brat."

"Oh. Okay." I tighten my hold on her hand. "It gave me the grit I needed to become a SEAL. And I was a damn good one. Over twenty-two years, I rose through the ranks to lead black ops missions."

"And then you went from the SEALs to Hollywood stuntman?"

I glance at her sideways. "How did you know about that?"

"My sources, remember?" She nudges her hip against me.

I tell her about my Hollywood career, how it was basically a way to fuel my need for adrenaline during my forties after having achieved everything I wanted to in the Navy. She asks about some of the big-name movies I performed in. I list a few of them off, deliberately leaving one certain franchise for last. "My last ever stunt job was for a small series. You might know it. Star…Something."

She yanks her hand out of mine and shoves my chest with both hands. "No way!"

"Way." I enjoy telling her about it and answering all her questions, though I do miss having her hand in mine. When I'm done, she glances around my shed. "What can I do to help?"

"With what?"

She waves her hand around. "With this. I'm great with a brush."

"Oh. Okay." It takes me a second to recalibrate my brain from recounting the high and low points of my entire life in under ten minutes, to this. I find her a brush and set up a bed frame for her to coat, and she starts applying it in long, broad, even strokes. She is good with a brush.

"Have you given any thought to the repairs your place needs?" I ask after working silently for a few minutes.

"I have. And I've been meaning to speak to you about it, but we seem to keep missing each other."

"I'm here most nights," I say, smiling.

She doesn't smile back. In fact, her face tightens. "I'm sorry for making such a big deal about the noise you were making. If I knew the reason?—"

"It's fine," I cut her off, not wanting to revisit any more dark topics tonight. "Whatever the reason, you're still entitled to not being woken up in the middle of the night."

"I…I guess."

We continue painting in silence for a while before I bring up the maintenance work again. "You know, I have an opening in a few weeks. My team and I could make a start on some of the most pressing things."

"Like the crooked walls?" she asks with a half-smile.

"Yeah. Like the crooked walls."

"That would be fantastic. Thank you."

I don't know what her financial situation is, so I hope what I'm about to say comes across as reassuring and isn't overstepping. "I'll charge you a fair price. Just materials and labor. Nothing more."

"Oh, no. I can't have that. I've been responsible with my finances and have some money saved up. Treat me like any other customer."

I suppress a chuckle. How can I treat her like any other customer when she's anything but? It goes to show, though, that any deeper feelings at play here are only occurring on my end. She probably only sees me as nothing but her annoying neighbor, and now her contractor.

Time for me to accept that. And while I may not have a shot at being with her, I can at least make sure her house is properly renovated.

"I'll tell you what," I drop my brush and walk over to her. "I'll give you my special neighbor pricing if you answer one question for me."

Her eyes narrow. "Fine. But if the question is rude or inappropriate or bro-ish in any way, I reserve the right to splash you with this." She dangles her brush in front of my face.

"Deal." I latch onto her wrist, gently steering the brush away from me. I take a breath. "Why do you always pretend like you didn't get my apology note?"

"What apology note?"

"Oh, come on. The one I left on your front porch the day after you moved in. I felt bad about what happened, so I wanted to say sorry before I apologized to you in person. I left it before I went to work."

She rests her paint brush onto the tarpaulin on the floor, which I interpret as a good sign. "I'm not pretending because I didn't get a note."

"You didn't?"

"No."

"Really?"

She raises her right hand to shoulder height, palm facing me. "I swear."

"So what happened to it?"

Before Tenley can respond, her nose wrinkles, and I cover my nose with my hand. "What on earth is that smell?" she asks.

We both turn our heads to Chewy, who's happily snoring—and farting—away to her heart's content a few feet away from us.

"Her sleep farts are the worst," I say, guiding Tenley by her elbow away from the blast zone. Once we're clear, we both burst out laughing.

"I hope it's not my cookies doing that."

"It's not," I assure her, wiping away a tear. "She's been checked out by the vet, and there's nothing wrong. I've just had to get used to it. I believe it's called unconditional love."

Tenley's breath hitches, and I suddenly notice I'm still holding her elbow. I take a small step forward, watching her closely for any signs she may be uncomfortable. Her other hand slides up my torso, slowing down when it reaches my pec, before landing in the same spot she touched last time before we kissed.

My chest rises and falls rapidly. Could I be so lucky to receive the gift of another kiss with Tenley? She curls her fingers around the back of my neck and rises, tilting her face toward me, and yep, looks like I'm one lucky son of a gun.

Our first kiss surprised me, and while this one is also unexpected, I'm better prepared now. Our lips meet, and I want to take my time and really savor every taste, every lick, every sensual moan she makes.

I clamp my hand around her waist and tug her against me. She makes a surprised "oomph" sound, but before I can check to make sure she's okay, her long fingers are in my hair, dragging against my scalp, and she's the one deepening the kiss.

The thought of her being as into this as I am turns me on. My self restraint snaps, replaced by a frenzy of adrenaline I haven't experienced since my stunting days in Hollywood. With our lips fused and tongues tangling, I close any gaps that exist between our clothed bodies. I'm not going to go any further than this, but I need to know what her body feels like against mine. She's so soft, smells so sweet, tastes so good.

I'm wild with lust for her, and despite knowing better, I'm racing ahead and imagining a world where this isn't a one- or two-off occurrence, but that Tenely is mine. Permanently. That I'm bestowed this honor of kissing her every day as much as she lets me. That I'm the one to give her everything she wants and needs. That I'm the one she shares her life, her heart, and her bed with.

When we finally break apart, her lips are swollen and the skin around her mouth is red. But any fantasies I have about a life together are instantly shattered into a million pieces when she looks up at me and says, "So, does this mean I get my neighbor discount?"

My heart caves in on itself as I plummet back to reality. We're neighbors. I'm going to be her contractor. That's it. Nothing more.

I swipe the back of my hand down her cheek for probably the last time and say, "Yeah. You get your discount, sweetheart."