Mountain Man’s Wildflower Girl (Wildwood Valley Bloom #1)

Chapter 1 Riley

RILEY

The Pancake House smelled like maple syrup and fresh coffee, and for one glorious second, standing in the doorway, I forgot to be terrified.

Then I remembered my bank account balance, and the terror came roaring back.

An hour ago, I’d been hunched over my phone in the parking lot of a gas station outside Knoxville, everything I owned stuffed into the back of my eleven-year-old Kia. That’s when I saw the listing.

Server Needed—Wildwood Valley Pancake House. Seasonal. Housing available. Start immediately.

I’d looked up the town, seen the mountains, and started driving.

It wasn’t exactly a plan. More like…a direction. And right now, a direction was the best I had.

My father’s voice had followed me the whole way up the mountain.

“A wildflower?”

You would’ve thought I’d carved something obscene into my skin instead of getting a tiny bloom barely bigger than a quarter, tucked low on my hip where no one would ever see it unless I showed them.

I got it the spring of my junior year of college. I wanted one thing in my life that was mine. Just mine. No committee vote, no scripture attached.

I told my parents when I came home that summer because I don’t lie. Not even when lying would’ve been the smarter life choice.

My mother had gone pale. My father had gone somewhere colder than pale—somewhere quiet and final. He’d stayed there. And that was the moment I realized something important.

I wasn’t going back.

I checked my reflection in the glass door before pushing inside the restaurant. Hair neat. Blouse tucked in. The closest thing to professional I could manage after two nights in a roadside motel and a gas-station breakfast that may or may not have been legally considered food.

I could do this.

I’d waitressed summers through high school before my father decided it wasn’t appropriate for a pastor’s daughter to be serving food to men at night. Which was funny, because men still managed to eat dinner whether I served it or not.

I knew how to carry plates. I knew how to smile. I knew how to make people feel taken care of.

And I really, really needed this job.

The dining room was empty—too early for the breakfast crowd—and at first I thought the whole place was empty too. Then I heard the scrape of metal on wood and noticed the pair of boots sticking out from behind the counter.

Someone was crouched down on the far side, half hidden, doing something to the cabinet under the register. I could see forearms resting on the floor, the hem of a flannel shirt, the kind of broad shoulders that took up space without apologizing for it.

I assumed it was the owner.

I have no idea why I assumed that. Maybe it was the calm way he worked. The quiet confidence of someone who clearly belonged here.

I squared my shoulders and walked up to the counter. “Good morning,” I said brightly. “I’m Riley Callahan. I’m here about the server position.”

The boots stopped moving.

Encouraged, I kept going.

“I know I’m a little early, but I wanted to make a good impression.

And I have to say, this is exactly the kind of place I’ve been looking for.

I’m a hard worker, I’m good with people, and I learn fast. I waitressed for two summers before college, so I know how to handle a rush and keep tables turning without making guests feel rushed.

I’ve got references from both places if you need them. ”

The man under the counter went very still.

At that point, I probably should have stopped talking. Instead, I continued because stopping felt more awkward.

“I also saw the listing mentioned housing through the inn next door, and I just want to be upfront that I would need to take advantage of that if it’s still available. It won’t affect my performance—if anything, being five steps from work means I’ll never be late.”

I paused, took a breath, then added honestly,

“I really want this job.”

Silence.

Then slowly—very slowly—the man unfolded himself from behind the counter and stood up. And that’s when I saw his face.

He was tall with dark hair that needed a cut and a jaw that hadn’t seen a razor in a couple of days.

Warm brown eyes. And he was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

Not annoyed. Not bored. More like…quietly entertained.

Like my nervous speech had turned out to be the unexpected highlight of his morning.

“That’s quite an introduction,” he said.

His voice was low and calm, like everything else about him.

“Thank you,” I said quickly, holding his gaze even though it was suddenly harder than expected. “I mean every word.”

He opened his mouth—

And the kitchen door swung open.

A small, sharp-eyed woman strode out, wiping her hands on a dish towel tucked into her apron. She looked at me, then at the man behind the counter, then back at me with an expression that could only be described as delighted.

“You must be Riley,” she said. “I’m Bobbi Ludington. I own this place.”

The room seemed to shift a little.

I turned slowly toward the man behind the counter. He’d crossed his arms and was now definitely smiling. Not a big grin—just a small, settled smile that suggested he’d been holding it in for a while.

“Harlan,” he said casually. “I was fixing the drawer.”

My entire speech replayed in my head at double speed.

I’m a hard worker. I learn fast. I really want this job.

All delivered enthusiastically to a man who’d been lying on the floor with a screwdriver.

I turned back to Bobbi. “I’m so sorry,” I began. “I thought—”

She waved a hand. “Don’t apologize, honey. That was the best interview I’ve heard in ten years, and I wasn’t even in the room for half of it.”

She studied me for about two seconds with the laser-focused attention of someone who had been reading people across a counter her entire life.

“You’ve got waitressing experience?”

“Two summers. I can bring references—”

“You start tomorrow. Six a.m.”

I blinked.

“Lauralie will show you the ropes. She’s been here long enough to know where the bodies are buried.”

She quoted an hourly rate, explained the room at the inn next door, told me to come back after nine for paperwork, and then disappeared into the kitchen like she’d just checked another item off her to-do list. The whole thing took maybe ninety seconds.

I stood there, slightly stunned.

“Congratulations,” Harlan said.

I turned around. He was leaning against the back counter with his arms crossed, a mug of coffee in one hand.

Up close, without interview panic fogging my brain, I realized he was younger than I’d first thought. Not young, but not old either. There was just something steady about him. The kind of quiet stillness people usually get after they’ve been through something and come out the other side.

“Thank you,” I said. “And I’m sorry about the—I really did think you were—”

“I know what you thought.”

He wasn’t laughing at me. If anything, he looked…pleased.

“You did great.”

I didn’t know what to do with that. So I grabbed my bag from the stool and headed for the door before I could somehow embarrass myself a second time before breakfast.

“Riley.”

The way he said my name made me stop. Like he’d tested it out and decided he liked the sound of it.

I turned.

“The hiking trails around here are worth seeing,” he said. “If you get a free afternoon. Wildflowers are out right now.”

He took a sip of coffee, watching me over the rim of the mug.

“This is the best week of the year for them.”

For a moment, I just looked at him. Then I nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I stepped out into the cool mountain morning, the smell of coffee still clinging to my clothes. And I told myself very firmly that the flutter in my chest was just relief about the job, not anything to do with the man who’d been watching me since the moment I walked in.

I almost believed it.