Property Of The Mountain Man (Montana Mountain Men Book 1)
Property Of The Mountain Man: Chapter 1

“Welcome to Wake Up and Go Go, what can I get you?” I ask, trying to hide the weariness from my voice.

“Cappuccino to go, extra shot, extra foam,” the guy says absentmindedly as he taps at the screen of his cell.

I busy myself making his drink, blinking hard and forcing my eyes open wider as I try to keep myself awake. My shift should have ended at three today, but my asshole boss didn’t bother to turn up, so here I am still serving coffee nearly fourteen hours after I got here.

I wouldn’t mind if this was the first time I’d ever had to work more hours than what was on my schedule, but it’s not. In fact, it’s not even the first time this week, and it’s only Wednesday. Owen, my boss and the owner’s son, always puts me on the early shift so he doesn’t have to get up and open the shop at six am, but then he conveniently forgets that he’s supposed to be here to take over from me in the afternoons too.

“Two fifty please,” I say, yawning as I hand the coffee over the counter to the customer and take the five-dollar bill he’s holding out for me.

“Keep the change,” he says not bothering to look at me as he turns to leave, his cup to his lips before he even gets out the door.

“Thank you,” I call after him as the door swings shut.

Sighing, I grab a cloth and make my way over to a newly vacated table, grabbing the empty cups and wiping the table clean. I make my way back behind the counter, drop the cloth into the small sink beneath it, and carry the cups to the huge dishwasher in the back. Stacking the mugs in the plastic tray, I pull the clean load from the steamy dishwasher and swap it for the tray of dirty, sliding the clean tray into the rack to dry.

The bell on the front door dings. “I’ll be right with you,” I call, quickly washing my hands and drying them on a towel as I rush back to the front of the store. “Welcome to Wake Up and Go Go, what can I get you?” I ask without looking up.

“Large black coffee, please, and a bear claw if you have one,” a gruff, familiar voice says.

Snapping my head up, I’m met with the sight of Beau Barnett. There’s perfect and then there’s Beau; at well over six-feet tall, he towers over my diminutive five-feet one inches. His hair and beard are dark brown, his skin tan from working outside all day. His arms are muscled and huge, and I have to hold in the desperate sigh that always fights to escape whenever I’m near him. I can imagine myself in his arms, held in his warm, sexy embrace. I can picture what it feels like to be beneath him, surrounded by his massive body, pinned down, completely at his mercy. In fact, that’s one of my recurring dreams.

Only he has no idea who I am, none at all, which is kind of ridiculous given how small the town we live in is and the fact that I’ve lived in the house next door to his family home my entire life.

He clears his throat and I jump into action. Spinning away from him, I place a mug under the expresso machine, twisting the grinds valve free and emptying it before refilling it and setting the machine to brew.

While it hisses and whistles, I place the last bear claw, the one I’ve hidden all day just in case he came in, onto a plate and slide it onto the counter, then I switch off the machine and place the mug of freshly brewed coffee next to the pastry.

“That’s five fifty, please,” I tell him, bracing myself as I lift my eyes and look up into his glorious face. Beau has the face of an angel and the personality of a caveman. His cheekbones are high, his jaw square and always tensed, his hazel eyes intense and full of annoyance.

Just like always, he grunts his thanks, handing me a ten and waiting while I open the till. “Here you go,” I say, placing his change in his hand and trying not to sigh at the calluses and lines that are etched into his skin.

Beau is a real man, with a real job. He works hard up in the mountains for the logging company he started after he got back from college years ago. I always think a man’s hands say a lot about him, and Beau’s say he’s not afraid to get them dirty and pitch in, even though he employs a huge crew of guys to work for him.

My mom used to say that lips could lie, but hands always told the truth. She said Dad’s hands were one of the things she loved most about him, that every line and groove showed how hard he worked to provide for us. Beau could wear a suit, he could sit in a warm office all day down in town, but instead he’s here most days in muddy jeans, flannel shirts, and worn work boots.

Grunting his thanks, he drops his change into the tip jar, picks up his coffee and pastry, and heads for the same table he always sits at by the window.

Trying not to stare at him, I busy myself, dragging my exhausted body around the counter to where all the creamer and sugars are laid out in tubs. I tidy the mess, throwing all the empty sachets into the trash, then fill all the tubs back up from the spare stock that’s stored in the cupboard below.

Stifling another yawn, I glance up at the clock. Only thirty minutes till closing, then I’ll finally be able to go home and fall into bed before I have to get back up at five am tomorrow.

“That useless waste of space didn’t bother to turn up again then?” Fred, one of the regulars, asks as he places his empty mug onto the counter.

“Nope, he should have been here at three, but he sent me a text saying he was sick,” I tell him quietly. Owen is a pain in my ass, but I don’t like to bitch about him, especially where the customers can hear. The only reason I’m saying anything to Fred is because I’ve known him for years.

“That boy needs a kick in the nuts. You need to quit, Bonnie, you’re too good for this place, I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Smiling, I reach out and pat Fred’s arm. “I don’t mind working here, plus it’s not like there’s hundreds of opportunities for a twenty-one-year-old with nothing but a high school diploma,” I tell him.

“You should have gone away to that fancy college, like you planned,” he scolds me.

“You know why I didn’t, Fred, Mama got sick and now my daddy needs me.”

“Your daddy is a cantankerous old coot, he’s more than capable of looking after himself, plus your brother’s there,” Fred says with a scowl.

“Caleb has his own family to take care of, and Daddy might be cantankerous, but he needs me,” I say, lifting the mug from the counter and turning to take it into the back.

“You want me to wait till you lock up?” Fred asks.

“No, I’ll be fine, there’s plenty of streetlights and my car’s right out front,” I say, flashing him a grateful smile as the old man grabs his stick and hobbles toward the door.

“See you tomorrow, Bonnie,” he calls.

“Night, Fred,” I call back, smiling to myself as I stack his mug in a fresh tray, ready to go into the dishwasher as soon as the last customer leaves.

When I make my way back out to the front of the store, another table of customers has left, and it’s just me and Beau.

I’ve been working here since my senior year of high school, back then it was only part time, after school and on weekends. I was headed for Utah State, all set to leave home and make my way in the world, then all my plans got derailed when my mama had a stroke. In an instant, all my college plans fell to the wayside and I stayed home to care for her, until a massive heart attack took her from us a little over a year ago.

When Phil, the owner of Wake Up and Go Go, offered me full time hours, I couldn’t see a reason why not to accept the job. So here I am twenty-one, no college degree, living at home with my daddy, and working a job I like for a boss I hate.

Beau lifts his gaze and spots me staring at him like the lovelorn idiot I am. I’ve had a crush on him since I was about thirteen years old. I remember my mom, taking me over to his family’s home to visit with his mom. Beau’s the oldest of seven kids, all boys, and he was the first guy I ever thought was beautiful. But when I was thirteen and forming one serious crush, he was already in his thirties and I was nothing but an annoying kid. His dad died when he was still in high school, so all the brothers stepped up to help pay the bills and look after their mama. One by one they all went away to college, but they all moved back home and either started their own businesses or went into partnership with one of their brothers.

It’s always surprised me that they haven’t moved on and out of town since they lost their mama, but they all still live in the house they grew up in, one big happy family.

Darting my eyes away from him, I busy myself behind the counter, cleaning and organizing ready for the morning. The only good thing about Owen not bothering to show up is I won’t have to spend the first thirty minutes of my shift tomorrow cleaning up all the mess he didn’t bother to tidy up tonight.

Maybe Fred’s right, maybe it is time for me to find another job. Phil is a great guy, but his son is a douche, and honestly, I can’t keep working fourteen-hour days just because Owen can’t be bothered to show up.

When the coffee machines are all cleaned and powered down, the grinds refilled ready for the morning, and the new milks labelled and stocked for tomorrow, I cash up the till, placing the money, plus the daily sales report into the safe. I take the trash bags and dump them in the huge dumpster just outside the back door, grab my coat and purse, and head back to the counter.

Just like every night I work, Beau is waiting at the counter the moment the clock turns eight thirty, I take his plate and cup from him. “Thank you,” I say, rushing them into the back and stacking them in the almost empty tray that’s waiting to be slid into the dishwasher. Closing the door, I turn on the machine, then knock the lights off and close the door to the kitchen behind me. I go to grab my cleaning rag, but Beau is already cleaning the small table he was sitting at, his body bent over as he wipes it vigorously. “Oh, you didn’t need to do that,” I tell him.

“It’s fine,” he grunts, not even looking in my direction as he ambles back over to the counter and drops the rag into the sink that’s already full of cleaning solution. “I’ll wait while you lock up,” he growls.

“Oh, there’s no need,” I tell him, unable to look at him, just in case my eyes confess how much I want him, how many of my dirty dreams star him.

“I’ll wait while you lock up.”

There’s a finality in his voice that I don’t bother to argue with, he waits every day, no matter how much I protest, so I pull on my jacket, hang my purse over my shoulder, and head for the door, flipping off the lights as I walk outside. He follows me, waiting at my side as I turn the key in the lock and then drop it into my purse. “Thank you,” I murmur awkwardly as I sway on my feet, wanting to talk to him, to tell him I think he’s beautiful, to ask him to kiss me, to take me home and make love to me. But of course, I don’t, I just smile a little uncomfortably and head for my car that’s parked just a few feet away from the door.

“You working tomorrow?” he asks, shocking me a little.

“Oh, err, yeah I’ll be here bright and early to open up.”

“You’re opening up after working all day today again?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

“Yep,” I say, trying to hide the confusion from my voice. This is the most Beau has ever said to me in one go. He’s here every morning the moment I open the doors, and every night till we close up. I know he works long hours up on the mountain, so why would he be shocked that I’d be working a full day, then be back again tomorrow?

“You’ve worked more than one fourteen-hour day this week, you should be off tomorrow,” he says lowly.

I laugh. “It’s fine, plus the extra money is always good. Marnie is in tomorrow, so I’ll be finished by three,” I say with a shrug, stepping up to my car and sliding the key into the lock. My old Toyota corolla does in theory have central locking, but it stopped working a few months ago and I haven’t had a chance to take it down to the garage to have them fix it yet.

“You should take that into Bay, he can fix it for you,” Beau says, nodding to my car.

“I will as soon as I get a chance,” I tell him, opening the door and sliding inside. “Good night,” I call.

“Good night,” he says with a gruff nod, waiting as I turn my engine on before turning and heading for his truck.

Rockhead Point is a small town at the bottom of the little base mountain range. It’s a beautiful part of the world, popular with tourists who take a trip to climb the local peaks and trails. My family’s property is about twenty minutes out of town, up the twisting roads that traverse the base of the mountain. I can practically hear my bed calling me the moment the sign for the Williams ranch comes into view. My daddy’s family have owned this land for a hundred years, but my dad was the first to farm it, and now the Williams ranch is known for the best cattle in the entire state of Montana. When my dad’s health meant he couldn’t work out in the fields anymore, my brother Caleb took over the physical day to day running of the herds, while Dad interferes where he can and runs the offices.

Caleb lives on the other side of our property in a house he and my dad built together when Caleb got married to Maggie, my wonderful sister-in-law. Mom and Dad had Caleb when Mom was just eighteen and I didn’t come till twenty-two years later, so my two nephews Noah and Olly are closer to me in age at fifteen and sixteen than my brother is at almost forty-three.

I love my brother, but we’re not close. He was already moved out of the house and married by the time I was born; and to him, I’m an annoyance that for some reason he feels responsibility for. Since our mom died, he’s tried to parent me, even though I’m more than old enough to look after myself, which has left us with a lingering resentment that hangs between any relationship we could have.

At the moment, we’re speaking only because we don’t want Dad to know there’s any animosity between us, but in the rare moments it’s just Celeb and I, we fall back into a stunted silence that I have no idea how to break.

Just like I knew they would be, the lights in the house are bright and calling me home. This house and land is my sanctuary. As a kid I grew up helping around the ranch, grooming the horses and mucking in to help if we were short-handed, just like my mom did. Since she passed, I’ve tried to step into her shoes where I can, baking cakes and treats for the ranch hands that live in the bunkhouse, offering an interested ear to anyone who has any issues, and generally trying to do as much of the things she did for this place as I can.

Parking my car, I turn off the engine and climb out, waving to Derek, one of the ranch hands, as he leads his horse into the barn, before I turn and climb the steps to the house. The smell of the chili I put in the crock pot this morning before I left for work fills the house, and my stomach groans appreciatively as I kick off my shoes and hang my jacket and purse on the hooks by the door.

“Hey Daddy, I’m home,” I call out as I pad toward the kitchen.

“Hey sweetie, how was work?” he calls out, his old gravelly voice surrounding me in a warm embrace without him even being in the same room.

“Long. Owen didn’t bother to turn up again, so I worked the whole day on my own,” I tell him, pulling a mixing bowl from the cupboard. Grabbing the ingredients for an easy corn bread from the pantry, I pull my mom’s apron from the back of the door and slide it on over my clothes.

“That kid wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it hit him in the head,” Dad grouses as he joins me in the kitchen, sliding into a seat at the worn wooden table to chat to me while I cook, just like he did every day with my mom.

Working quickly, I turn on the stove, greasing a pan and pushing it to the side while I mix together the bread batter, doing it all with practiced hands, just like Mom taught me to.

“You should quit that good for nothing job and go to college, your mom’s gone and there’s nothing holding you here,” Dad says, scolding me softly.

“Nothing except you and my home,” I say rolling of my eyes.

“I’m an old man, but I’m more than capable of looking after myself,” he growls.

“Well maybe I like looking after you,” I tell him with a wink, setting the bowl to the side as I grab some chicken out of the freezer ready to prep tomorrow’s dinner.

“I could just get take out,” Dad laughs.

“You hate take out,” I laugh.

“I hate you looking after me even more.”

“Oh, close your mouth, old man,” I snap. “I’m not just cooking for you, I have to eat too, and right now I need to get this corn bread in the oven so I can go take a shower while it cooks,” I say, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his weather-worn cheek.

“I love you, Bonbon,” he rasps, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in for a hug.

“Love you too, Daddy.”

Five minutes later the cornbread is cooking, and I’m stepping into my bedroom and closing the door behind me. My room is a strange mix of childish and grown up. My favourite ragdoll is still on the shelves, next to my winner’s trophy for the third-grade talent show I sang in. But alongside it are a selection of very adult romance novels, that I’m sure would make half the rowdy guys in the bunkhouse blush if they read them. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

My tiny twin bed is gone, replaced with a full that’s pushed up against the wall, the comforter a pretty duck-egg blue that clashes with the pink walls my mom and I painted for my twelfth birthday that I haven’t ever got around to changing.

My bathroom is a jack and jill that connects with the room that was Caleb’s before he moved out, but as we’ve never lived in the same house it’s always just been mine, as the bottles of products, hairbrushes, and makeup can attest.

In everyday life I’m organized and tidy, in my personal space I’m a bit of a slob, so the bed’s unmade, the bathroom in need of a clean, my clothes strewn haphazardly where I’ve thrown them toward the hamper and missed.

I add tidying up and doing some laundry to my to do list as I strip out of my jeans and work t-shirt and fling them toward the other clothes. Turning on my shower I step under the warm stream of water, sighing as the heat instantly relieves some of the exhaustion in my muscles. With mechanical movements I wash my body, then shampoo and condition my hair, reluctantly turning off the water and stepping from the shower once I’m finished.

Drying myself quickly, I wrap my hair up in a towel and turn to glance at myself in the mirror. I take a moment to assess. I look like my mom, dark hair, dark eyes, and creamy skin that goes red the moment I’m out in the sun. My friend Cora calls me petite, but I think that’s just a nice way of saying short. I don’t hate the way I look though; I’m fit and reasonably slim with enough curves to look like a girl, but not enough to look like I eat more of the pastries than sell them at work. Pulling on a long-sleeve t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, I pause only long enough to slide my feet into my warm fluffy slippers as I head back toward the kitchen.

Dad’s still at the table and Caleb has joined him, bottles of beer in front of them both as they talk about cows and grazing. Ignoring my brother, I check on the cornbread, pleased to find it perfectly cooked. Grabbing some bowls, I ladle chili into two of them, sliding one in front of Dad and offering the other to Caleb.

“No thanks, I already ate,” he says dismissively, barely glancing at me.

Inhaling patiently, I pull the bowl to my spot on the table, tip the bread out onto a board and cut it into chunks, burning my fingers in my haste to grab a piece and dip it into my chili.

“Sit down, you’ll give yourself indigestion eating like that,” Caleb snips.

“I’m fine, just hungry,” I say quietly, moving to the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of beer for myself before I take my seat at Caleb’s side and start to eat.

“Beer?” Caleb questions derisively.

“Yep, I’m twenty-one and having a beer with my dinner,” I tell him, not even glancing in his direction.

“You let her drink beer?” Caleb asks my dad, as if I’m a ten-year-old who’s stolen a bottle and drinking it out the back.

“She’s an adult, she can handle a couple of beers if she wants them,” Dad tells him, pulling his bowl of chili towards himself and spooning some into his mouth. “Bonbon, I think your chili might actually be better than your mama’s was,” he praises.

“Thank you, but we both know it pales in comparison with hers,” I say, dipping my bread into the thick, spicy sauce.

“I need to get going, I promised Olly I’d take him out for a drive tonight, he’s got his driver’s ed test tomorrow,” Caleb says, pushing back from the table.

“Night,” I mutter, lifting my gaze and finding his disapproving eyes looking between me and the solitary bottle of beer in front of me.

“Make sure you don’t have more than one if you’ve got to work in the morning,” he chides, patting Dad on the shoulder as he passes him and leaves.

Biting my lip to hold in the scathing obscenities I’m desperate to shout at my stupid judgmental brother, I inhale sharply.

“He means well,” Dad says quietly.

“Sure he does,” I reply as calmly as I can muster.

“He just forgets you’re not a child.”

“He forgets he’s my brother,” I say sharply, lifting my beer to my lips and taking a pull of the cold, crisp liquid.

Dad makes a sound of agreement, although the words never actually cross his lips. Then we fall into our normal, comfortable silence as we both finish our dinner. “I need to get to bed, I’m opening up again tomorrow,” I say, taking our empty bowls and loading them into the dishwasher I insisted we had installed in the kitchen back when Mom first got sick.

“You work too hard,” he says.

“You can never work too hard,” I tell him, parroting the expression I’ve heard him say a thousand times in my lifetime, as I turn and smile to him over my shoulder.

“Good night, Bonbon.”

“Night Dad,” I say, blowing him a kiss as I make my way back toward my bedroom where I fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

It feels like a minute later that my alarm is buzzing and chirruping next to my head. Reaching over, I grab my cell and silence it, only to be woke again by the second alarm that I have set for five minutes after the first. Blinking my eyes open I glance to the window, hating that it’s still dark as I drag my tired body from beneath my warm sheets and pad into the bathroom.

The bathroom light seems to amplify the dark circles beneath my eyes, and I look away as I wash my face and brush my teeth. Grabbing my hairbrush, I tease out all the knots and then twist my hair back into two braids. It’s not exactly my most sophisticated look, but it’ll keep my hair out of my face all day while I’m working.

I don’t bother with makeup, just rubbing a little lip balm over my lips as I head back into my bedroom and toward my closet. I yawn as I pull out a pair of ripped skinny jeans and a Wake Up and Go Go t-shirt. The black t-shirt is a men’s small, shapeless, and extremely unflattering, especially due to the fact that the words Go and Go seem to rest conspicuously on my tits, making it seem like my nipples are poking out of the circle in the letter O.

Pulling on fresh underwear, I dress, grab my cell, and make my way out into the quiet house. The clock in the kitchen says four forty-five am, and in the next half an hour the ranch will be alive with everyone starting work for the day, but for the minute, it’s just me and few moments of silence.

Just like I knew he would, my dad took what was left of the chili over to the bunkhouse and then washed the pot and left it ready to use, so I make quick work of throwing the raw ingredients in for a batch of creamy chicken casserole that will be cooked and ready to eat for dinner tonight.

Turning on the oven to preheat, I unload the clean dishes from the dishwasher, throw together a couple of batches of banana muffins, and slide them in to cook as I fill the coffee pot and set it to brew. The guys who live in the bunkhouse have a full kitchen, but the foreman and head ranch hands usually come in to meet with Caleb and Dad most mornings, so I always make sure there’s something Dad can offer them to eat when I’m at work.

Living on a ranch my entire life, getting up early is the norm and even if my alarm hadn’t jolted me awake, I’d still have woken up at this time, always having gotten up with the birds. The moment the coffee pot is half full, I lift it out the way and quickly slide my mug under the stream of hot, black coffee, swapping it back for the jug when it’s full.

Grabbing the creamer from the refrigerator, I splash some into my coffee then slide it back into the door shelf. Picking up the Greek yoghurt, I close the refrigerator as I spin around taking down a bowl and the packet of granola from the shelf.

Spooning some yoghurt into my bowl, I sprinkle some granola over the top, then add a handful of fresh blueberries.

“You need a proper breakfast, not that new age hippie crap,” Dad says as he shuffles into the kitchen, lifting a mug from the hooks and filling his cup from the freshly brewed pot.

He always looks old and frail first thing in the morning, when his joints are still stiff and his steps stilted, and it’s times like this that I remember he’s not as young as he was. He was nearly thirty when he and Mom had Caleb, over fifty when they had me, and now in his seventies, the agony of losing my mom shows in every line and wince of pain.

“I have banana muffins in the oven, but there’s bacon and eggs in the refrigerator if you want a hot breakfast,” I tell him sweetly, ignoring his barb about my own food choices.

“What time are you working till today?” he asks me, sliding into his chair at the table across from me.

“Till three, Marnie’s on the rota today,” I tell him, between mouthfuls.

“You should quit, it’s not like you need to work, you do so much around here we could pay you a full-time wage,” he suggests.

“I need a real job, not one you created for me because I’m your daughter,” I tell him.

“It would be a real job, you could work with Caleb, you know as much about this ranch as he does.”

I scoff loudly. “And I’m sure Caleb would be just over the moon with that.” Shoveling my last spoonful of breakfast into my mouth, I swill out the bowl and spoon and slide them into the dishwasher, then grab a cloth and pull the muffins from the oven before I head into the hall.

I can hear my dad muttering in the kitchen, but I ignore him, sliding my feet into my sneakers and pulling on my jacket and purse before heading back into the kitchen. Turning the muffins onto a cooling rack, I press a kiss to my dad’s cheek before I leave the house, climb into my car, and head back down the mountain.

By the time the lights of town come into view, my mug of coffee is empty and I feel almost awake and ready to face the day. This early, Main Street where Wake Up and Go Go is situated, is almost empty, so I easily slide my car into the spot right outside the store.

Just like he does every day, Beau Barnett parks his truck next to my car before I get a chance to open my car door, his silent presence almost overwhelming when he’s so close. Even after eight years, I still turn into the blushing, gawping teenager I was the first time I realized I had a serious crush on the oh-so-perfect Beau. You’d think by now, at twenty-one, I’d be worldly and mature enough to at least talk to him, but no, apart from polite small talk, I freeze whenever he’s near me.

“Good morning,” I tell him, my voice so bright I’m almost shouting at him.

“Morning,” he growls, his brow low, his eyes dark and sultry as he follows me to the door, waiting for me to unlock it, then pushing it open as I step inside and turn on the lights.

“Take a seat, I’ll get the machine turned on to heat up,” I tell him, just like I do every day. Sometimes I wonder if he sits and chats with Phil or Owen, or Marnie if they open up instead of me, but it’d be odd for me to ask them about him without making it obvious that I’m obsessed with the oldest Barnett brother.

As I go about switching on the coffee machine and getting everything else set up for the morning, I covertly watch Beau from the corner of my eye. He’s dressed in work trousers, the kind that have reflective orange patches half way up the leg, and a gray, thermal, long-sleeved shirt that hugs his thick, muscular chest and toned waist. His hair is disheveled and just a little too long, so it hangs sexily in his eyes, and his beard is full and thick. I feel a tiny whine fall from my lips as I just stare at him.

In my mind, if I could just speak to him, he’d instantly see past the age gap, my insignificance, and general awkwardness, and fall head over heels in love with me. I’ve lost count of how many daydreams I’ve had about finding the courage to sexily strut over to him and sit down in his lap. To feel his strong arms band tightly around my waist and hold me to him, while his fingers cup my cheek and he kisses me like I’m the most important thing in the world to him.

Of course, in reality, Beau has the pick of every available woman in town. He is Rockhead Point’s most eligible bachelor, and the town’s women are just lining up to take their shot with him. Last week I heard he took Amber Hammond out for a drink, she’s beautiful, thin with fake boobs that are persistently perky and always playing peek-a-boo from her top.

Apparently, he’s never had a serious girlfriend, or at least not since high school when he was hot and heavy with Mary-Ann Wilkes. She still lives in town and is married to one of Beau’s friends, they have six kids and she teaches fourth grade at the school, so I doubt he’s still pining for her.

The Barnett brother’s relationship status is a constant source of gossip for the townsfolk of Rockhead Point, and once a week on a Monday morning I hear all about it when Gladys, Sylvie, and Jane Gladstone all congregate in the coffee shop for their weekly catch up. The sisters are all in their sixties, but nothing happens in this town that they don’t know about and they loudly share their gossip titbits over coffee and cake.

“Black coffee?” I call to Beau once the machine is to temperature.

“Please,” he answers, not lifting his gaze from the cell phone in his hands.

Sighing wistfully, I make his drink and deliver it to his table, opening my mouth to speak, then slamming it shut when he doesn’t even lift his head to acknowledge my appearance at his side. Here I am, silently lusting over the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and he can’t even find enough manners to lift his head and thank me for bringing him his coffee.

Without a word, I slide his cup onto his table and silently walk back to the counter. Phil has a fresh order of pastries delivered to the shop each morning, but if it’s quiet I sometimes throw a few batches of muffins into the oven. So, ignoring Beau’s oblivious presence, I head into the kitchen and whip up four batches of muffins, one Blueberry, one corn, one chocolate chip, and one of my famous snickerdoodle muffins that the customers always seem to go mad for. The ding of the bell signals the door being opened, and I rush to the front of the store just in time to watch Beau’s massive form retreating down the street to his truck and spot his ten-dollar bill waiting on the counter.

The rest of my day passes in a blur, a coach load of tourists all arrived desperate for caffeine and snacks at a little after ten, and the rest of the day seemed to be just as hectic. Before I know it, it’s three in the afternoon and I’m ready to get home and maybe take a soak in my tub, but Marnie is mysteriously absent.

Grabbing my cell from my pocket I click into my messages and find one from Owen.

Owen – Marnie is sick, I need you to stay till close.

Muttering profanities beneath my breath I type out a reply.

Me – I stayed till close yesterday and Monday, my shift ends in five minutes, if you want me to stay, I want double time for the rest of the day.

Teeth gritted, I watch as the three dots blink on, then off again as I wait for a reply.

Owen – Time and a half.

Me – Double time or I’m kicking everyone out and closing up for the day.

Owen – Fine double time.

Me – Nice doing business with you.

Smiling wryly, I slide my cell back into my pocket and get back to work.

By the time eight o’clock rolls around I’m regretting my decision to stay till close, no matter how much money I’ve earned. My living expenses are low living with my dad, but my car is old and before the worst of the winter weather hits us, I’d like to be able to buy myself something a little more reliable. My dad would buy me a new car if I’d let him, but it’s important to me to stand on my own two feet wherever I can. Plus, Caleb already treats me like a child, if he finds out Dad’s bought me a car, I’ll never hear the last of it.

With fall in full bloom, the town’s had a steady flow of tourists here to see the picturesque mountain views and glorious sight of the trees all in fall color. In a couple of months’ time, the winter sports tourists will descend upon the town, and every other customer will be carrying brand new ski’s and expensive snow gear that they just bought.

Rockhead Point isn’t as big as some of the other ski resorts, but what it lacks in black runs, it more than makes up for in small town charm.

When the bell over the door chimes, I look up expecting to find Beau Barnett here for his evening coffee and danish, but instead I find an unfamiliar face. The man who just entered the shop is almost as tall as Beau, but instead of dark and brooding, he’s blond, his build lean beneath an expensive looking suit, a crisp white dress shirt and a crimson red tie.

His eyes find me, and instead of dismissing me and immediately moving to the coffee menu behind me, they linger, looking me over for a moment before a wide smile spreads across his full lips. “Hello, love,” he says, striding up to the counter, reaching up to tousle the hair that’s fallen across his forehead.

“Welcome to Wake Up and Go Go, what can I get you?” I ask with a smile.

“A latte and a companion for dinner,” he says, lifting his eyebrows in question as he rests his elbows on the counter and leans in to me, his smile so wide and compelling I feel a little dazed.

“The latte I can help you with, the dinner companion, well I’m sure Fred would be happy to join you,” I laugh, gesturing to where Fred is nursing a cup of coffee, all of his attention focused on the crossword he’s been working on for the last hour.

A burst of laughter comes from the guy, throwing his head back with mirth just as the bell above the door rings again and an angry looking Beau strides in, his expression black and foreboding.

“I’m Dan,” the man says, holding his hand out to me across the counter.

“Bonnie,” I tell him, reaching out and placing my hand in his.

“Well, Bonnie, as much as I’m sure Fred would be riveting company, I think you’re probably more my speed. So, will you do me the pleasure of joining me for dinner?”

Before I have chance to answer, a gruff and very loud throat being cleared disturbs us.

“I should probably get back to work,” I tell Dan. “A latte, anything else?” I ask, turning to start his coffee.

“Your number?” he asks playfully.

Ignoring him I make his coffee, sliding it across the counter as soon as it’s done. “That’s three dollars, please,” I tell him.

Pushing a ten toward me, he smiles. “Keep the change,” he says with a flirty wink as he picks up his coffee and moves down the counter to where a handful of stools line the shallow shelf that runs along the wall of the coffee shop.

“Hi Beau, the usual?” I ask, when Dan has gone and Beau steps up to the counter.

“Please,” he says gruffly, his attention diverted between me and Dan. “Who’s the guy?” he asks, shocking the hell out of me and almost making me drop the cup in my hands.

“What?” I ask, disbelieving that Beau Barnett is actually engaging me in a conversation that involves more than two words that aren’t coffee and please. “Who?”

“The guy,” he growls.

“I don’t know, his name is Dan,” I ramble, my hands shaking a little as I fill his cup with black coffee and place the bear claw I saved for him onto a plate, pushing them both across the counter toward him.

“You need me to get rid of him?” Beau asks, a hint of violence lacing his tone.

“What? Of course not, he’s a customer,” I say, shocked by his very strange behavior.

His expression darkens and he glares at me, then slaps a bill down on the counter, before picking up his drink and food and storming over to his table. Incredulous I stare at after him, what the hell has gotten into him? I wonder.

“So, dinner?” Dan asks, sliding his coffee along the shelf until it’s resting on the very edge of the counter.

“It’s a meal, usually eaten in the evening,” I tease, with a smile.

“It is,” he agrees. “And tonight you’ll be eating it with…” he trails off, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.

“My dad and maybe my brother,” I say nonchalantly.

“You live at home?” he questions.

Not answering, I turn the question back to him. “You’re from out of town?” I ask.

“I’m actually thinking about moving here, I’m living in Seattle at the minute, but my company is looking into the Montana market and considering opening a branch here.

“In Rockhead Point?” I ask.

“I own a sporting goods company, so expanding into small towns where there’s a busy all year-round tourist trade is good business,” he tells me.

I nod, like I’m in complete agreement, when really I’m internally rolling my eyes. A big chain sporting goods store opened up a branch in Rockhead Point a few years back. It closed within twelve months.

What bigwig corporations never seem to understand is that people visiting small towns, do so for the small-town charm, not to visit the same chain stores they can shop in back home. They love that McCarthy’s sporting goods has everything they could ever need as well as local knowledge, a friendly atmosphere, and a thousand recommendations for paths, trails, and ski routes.

“So, dinner?” he asks again.

“I like it,” I say with a smile. “It’s not as good as breakfast, but it’s better than lunch.”

Somehow his charming smile gets even wider. “I like it too. If you wanted, we could do both, dinner, then breakfast,” he suggests with a flirtatious wink.

Giggling, I shake my head. “I don’t think so, but thank you.”

Clasping his hands over his heart dramatically, he gasps. “You wound me, but I won’t give up, I’m staying in town for the next few days, maybe you could give me the guided tour instead.”

“I’m working till the shop closes,” I say with a smile, enjoying his playful flirting. I actually don’t remember the last time anyone flirted with me. The majority of the guys in town my age are away at college or already married. Plus, it’s difficult to find a connection when you’re constantly comparing them to the perfect but unreachable man.

My eyes drift over to Beau’s table, I’m expecting to find him ignoring me like he usually does, but instead his piercing hazel eyes are looking back at me, his lips tipped down into a scowl.

“What time does the shop shut? I can wait,” Dan says, pulling my attention back to him.

“We actually close in half an hour, but like I said I have dinner plans with my family,” I tell him.

“See you tomorrow,” Fred calls as he shuffles toward the door.

“Bye Fred,” I call back, stepping around the counter to clear Fred’s table. I take his dirty cup into the back, then return to the counter where Dan is still sitting.

“So, Bonnie, are you a townie?” he asks.

“Rockhead Point born and raised.”

“This must have been a great place to grow up, a safe community, knowing all your neighbors?” he asks, his chin resting on his fist, all of his attention devoted to me.

Sighing, I glance through the window at the town beyond. “It actually was. I love it here, I can’t imagine ever wanting to live anywhere else,” I tell him.

“I know I’m being incredibly forward and probably coming off as a total creep, but are you single, Bonnie?”

A blush fills my cheek with how blatant he’s being, but I like it. I know literally nothing about him other than his name, but it’s so nice to have someone be interested in me. I’m sick of stupidly pining over a guy who is so far out of my reach it’s ridiculous. If Beau had ever done anything to encourage my childish crush, then perhaps I wouldn’t feel so stupid still harboring feelings for him so many years later. But the truth is, I doubt he’d care if I stripped naked and gave him a lap dance.

“Is this how you pursue a girl in the big city?” I tease.

“No,” he laughs. “I actually don’t remember the last time I saw a girl worth pursuing. But you didn’t answer my question. Are you single?”

“What would you do if I told you I was taken?” I ask.

“If you had a boyfriend or a husband you were serious about, you’d have shot me down the moment I asked you out,” he says, reaching out and running his finger over the back of my hand.

“It’s eight thirty,” Beau announces loudly, startling me and making me snatch my hand away from where Dan was touching me.

“What?” I ask, my voice a little breathless.

“It’s eight thirty, shop’s closed,” Beau says again, striding over to the counter and placing his empty mug and plate down, muscling Dan out of the way as he does.

“I should go,” Dan says, glaring at Beau for a second before he looks at me, his lips turning up into a playful smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Bonnie, are you working tomorrow?”

I nod, and he knocks the top of the counter with his knuckles. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, he looks at Beau again, smirks, and leaves, the bell over the door tinkling as he goes.

I’m not even slightly ashamed to say I watch him leave, his perfectly tailored suit, clinging to his tight ass in all the very best ways. It takes me a minute to realize Beau is still at the counter, his expression more of a glower now, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed.

Clearing my throat, I force a polite smile to my lips. Grabbing his plate and mug I slide them toward me. “Was there anything else I can get you?” I ask, when he just stands there glaring at me.

“I’ll wait while you tidy up,” he snarls.

“There’s no need, I can lock the door while I clean up,” I tell him, hating how uncomfortable him speaking to me makes me.

This guy has been the object of every dirty fantasy I’ve ever had, his is the face I see every time I touch myself and make myself come. He is literally my fantasy man in flesh, but now he’s actually looking at me, I have nothing to say that doesn’t include me offering to serve him food or drink.

“I’ll wait,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

The tone of his words makes me feel chastised, like I’ve somehow done something wrong, but I have no idea what it could be. Beau and I aren’t friends, we don’t even have friends in common, other than perhaps my brother, but I don’t even know if Caleb knew Beau in high school.

I want to argue with him, but instead I find myself nodding. “Okay,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, then I scurry into the back to get on with my clean up duties.

When I’ve loaded the dishwasher and stacked the clean trays, I take the trash out to the dumpster, then head back into the main shop to turn off the coffee machine and get set-up for the morning. I’m half expecting Beau to be gone, but instead, he’s waiting at the counter, his arms crossed across his huge chest, his expression still dark and brooding.

“I just need to clean the tables, there’s really no need for you to wait,” I babble.

“I already cleaned the tables, and I told you I’ll wait,” he says, his voice full of warning not to push him on this.

An unexpected heat bubbles to life in my core, usually I don’t feel it unless I’m in bed at night, my hands inside my pajama bottoms, fantasizing about him kissing and touching me. His angry voice and black expression shouldn’t be turning me on, but it is. Even though he’s being a bossy dick, this is the most he’s ever spoken to me.

More heat rushes to my cheeks and I quickly turn away, switching off the machine and refilling the grinds ready for the morning as fast as I can. I don’t understand why I’m reacting this way to him. I’ve wanted him to notice me for so long, and now he’s here and I’m acting like a teenager with a crush, which I suppose I basically am, except I’m twenty-one and not a teenager anymore.

Rushing to the back I grab my purse and jacket, and then stride out to the front of the store, trying to look unaffected and calm, even though I’m neither of those things. “Thanks for waiting, I’m all done now,” I say on a rush, darting to the door and holding it open.

Without a word he follows me, pausing just outside the door while I turn off the lights and lock up.

“You shouldn’t be talking to strangers,” he says, his voice a low rasp.

“What strangers?” I ask perplexed.

“That douche in the suit.”

“He’s a customer, I have to talk to the customers,” I say, unbelievably confused.

“He was flirting with you,” he says bluntly.

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“So, you need to stay away from guys like that,” he growls angrily.

“Why? And what kind of guy is he? He wasn’t asking me to marry him, he was flirting a little and asking me to dinner,” I say.

“The kind of guy who’s not for you,” he warns.

His words and the tone of his voice instantly gets my hackles rising. I might be in a seriously unrequited mythical relationship with this guy, but that doesn’t give him the right to tell me what to do. I mean we’re not friends, we’re barely acquaintances. I’m just the girl who gets his coffee. “Excuse me,” I snap, arching my eyebrows and daring him to explain what the hell he thinks he’s doing.

“What would your daddy and Caleb say if they saw you flirting with a guy like that?” he snarls, taking a step toward me.

“Are you serious?” I cry. Did Caleb put him up to this? Is that why he never utters a word to me, but always waits while I lock up and get into my car? Did my brother ask him to spy on me?

“Am I serious about you staying away from douchebags like that guy who was asking you to go back to his hotel and ride his dick? Hell fucking yes I’m serious,” Beau hisses angrily.

“Look, I have no idea why Caleb asked you to spy on me or whatever. But I already have one pain in the ass brother who insists on treating me like a child, I don’t need another one. I’m an adult, with a job. I can vote, get married, have babies, move to another country should the mood take me. That also means I can flirt, date, and screw anyone I want, so you can stop keeping an eye on me and tell my asshole brother to mind his own business,” I shout, before stomping to my car, opening the door, and driving away without even glancing in Beau’s direction.

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