Page 4 of Autumn Feud With The Mountain Man (Ozark Mountain Men Falling For Love #1)

Shelby

I felt like a fish out of water.

Sara had talked me into coming to the party at her friend Brook’s house, even though I’d tried to duck out at the last minute.

I’d already met Brook. She was pretty, pampered and as civilized as they came. So, it had seemed like a safe decision to attend a party at her place.

How was I to know that Brook had a thing for bad boys?

Her husband was a foul-mouthed redneck who Brook obviously adored. The two were polar opposites. And unfortunately his friends were the type to go mudding and do ‘pig-wrassling’ on a Friday night.

I might have wicked confidence in my skills in a courtroom, but I’d always been awkward in real life. And that was no different tonight.

Everyone was being so sweet to me, and I could tell that Sara and Brook had taken me under their wings. They were determined to integrate me into Deer Springs life.

But that didn’t change the fact that I felt awkward as hell.

First of all, Brook had given me a makeover.

We were the same size, and she’d loaned me a pretty, flowing party dress in a rich shade of burgundy that she swore made the auburn highlights in my hair stand out.

It had a ruffled hem and a plunging neckline that she assured me was perfect for attracting a husband.

Even after I’d said I wasn’t sure I wanted a husband, she’d insisted it was still the right thing to wear.

Really, I’d settle for a one-night stand at this point. I’d been too busy for socializing in New York, and I hadn’t been on a date in a year. My pussy had developed cobwebs so thick a man would have a hard time bringing it back to life.

I didn’t fit here. But I also didn’t feel like I fit my life back in New York. I was stuck in an in-between place in my life, and I didn’t know how to take the next step.

Or even what the next should be.

I just knew I’d watched too many Hallmark movies in my tiny New York City studio apartment. All those small towns and white picket fences had drawn me in.

And life at the big law firm I’d left to move here hadn’t fulfilled me the way I’d thought it would.

My best friend Lizzie and I had met in law school and crafted our future goals together. We’d both wanted to take over the world. We’d had the energy, brains and determination to go after whatever we’d wanted. And that had been a partnership at Williams, Phelps and Harmon.

The firm was one of the most prestigious in the country, and it took grit and steel to get in the door. But we’d managed the impossible, both of us securing our spots. First as summer associates, then as junior associates, before moving up to associate level.

Next on the list was senior associate before the coveted partner status.

But somewhere between the eighty-hour workweeks and no social life to speak of, I’d lost faith in that dream. The fantasy of stepping into a Hallmark movie had overtaken me.

And when I’d done some online job-searching, I’d discovered Hank Stillson, a small-town lawyer deep in the Ozarks who was looking to retire and sell his practice.

But he only wanted to sell to the right person. Which meant a trial period in a paid internship. Which was how I found myself in this situation.

It was all self-inflicted.

And right now, I wanted nothing more than to crawl back to New York City so I could hide in the anonymity of a million people.

No one had ever told me I’d be so seen in a small town.

Currently, I felt like I was at my very own debutante ball. All the eligible bachelors of Deer Springs had paraded by for a meet-and-greet at this point, with Sara and Brook acting as social lubricant.

They’d introduced me to the single men in town and kept the conversation flowing when I inevitably let it falter.

So far, there’d been no takers, although a particularly handsome outdoorsy type, Sam, had seemed willing to take me out for a spin. I’d been told he was a playboy who could show me a good time, but would never settle down.

I was getting a drink and hiding in the kitchen when disaster struck.

The doorbell rang, and I heard Brook clearly say, “Hudson! I had no idea you were coming tonight. Is your darling brother with you, too?”

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart stopped beating. My hand inexplicably trembled, and the wine in my glass threatened to slosh over the rim.

No. Not him.

That’s when I heard a distinctly familiar voice drawl out, “Brook, stop your flirting. What would your husband think, calling me darlin’?”

I’d know that voice anywhere. It had haunted me far too often recently.

It snuck into my head whenever there was a slow minute at the office, which happened all too often.

And I’d even taken to looking out the window every Wednesday at ten a.m. when I knew his trash truck would rumble down the road.

Last week I was certain he’d noticed the crack in the blinds where I’d been peeking out, watching his muscular form pick up the can and toss the garbage in the truck.

I’d become obsessed with the man, to a point that was most definitely not healthy.

Brook laughed, and I heard the light sound of her dress swishing down the hallway. “Everyone’s out back. Oh, have you met Shelby yet? She’s new to town. You’re both going to loooove her. She’s such a sweetheart. And single, too.”

No one in my entire life had ever called me a sweetheart before, and I felt a lump in my throat that had nothing to do with Thatcher. Brook really meant it. Just like Sara had when she’d called me that a few days back. I could get used to having friends like them in my life.

But none of that would fix the disaster that was about to unfold.

Before I could hide, the three of them were in the living room walking by the kitchen. I was in plain sight.

Brook said, “There she is now. Shelby, let me introduce you to two of the hunkiest singles that Red Oak Mountain has to offer. This is Hudson and Thatcher.”

Two drop-dead gorgeous men looked over at me, where I stood stunned by the stove. One of them I was already familiar with.

Thatcher elbowed his brother in the ribs and joked, “This one’s mine. I call dibs.”

Brook laughed and flitted out into the backyard, leaving me alone with the men.

Thatcher’s brother laughed and said, “Sounds like you two have already met. I’m Hudson. Nice to meet you, Shelby. If you get tired of him, come find me.” Then he told Thatcher, “I’ll be out back.”

That left me alone with the man who had turned into my nemesis.

He looked just as handsome as always, a worn flannel slung over his thick frame, buttons open, revealing a gray t-shirt underneath.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have to assume this was his uniform.

All I’d seen him in was jeans and a flannel.

I didn’t know if he wore the same clothes every day or if he had multiple versions of the same clothes. But I’d been curious to know.

My cheeks burned hot as we made eye contact. His gaze burned into me, and I tried to start breathing again.

“You look… different,” he drawled in that annoyingly slow way of his, as though he were so relaxed even his words couldn’t come out fast.

His gaze dropped from my eyes, taking a slow stroll across all my curves. I could feel my breasts standing tall, nipples firming under his attention.

Thatcher grinned as he lingered on my cleavage, then meandered his way back up to my eyes again.

Why had I let Brook and Sara talk me into wearing this dress again? It hadn’t bothered me nearly as much until this moment. Now I felt like I was on display for the man.

He stepped forward, one boot invading the six-foot buffer space I needed from the man.

Then he added, “You look… softer. Less vicious.”

I opened my mouth to sling a comeback at him, but it dried in my throat. Was I really trying to convince him that I was vicious?

With a few glasses of wine in me, that was the last thing I wanted to be.

“I’m not vicious,” I said too softly for my own taste.

His lips quirked up even higher, and I noticed his dimples for the first time. They were almost hidden by his thick beard and I wanted to step closer to inspect them. But I resisted the urge.

“Of course you’re not vicious. You’re a pussycat, right? A sweet little pussycat straight from New York City. I hear they breed women soft and sweet over there.”

He took another step forward, clearly too close now. Then his voice dropped down an octave, somehow going even lower than before. “Are you a soft and sweet kind of woman, Shelby Mitchell?”

I gasped. “How do you know my name?”

Thatcher licked his lips, a subconscious reflex I was sure, but one that made me want to close the distance between us and see how his mouth tasted.

He rumbled, “I asked around, sweetheart. It’s not every day that a woman like you rolls into the Ozarks.”

Would he taste like wild woods and feral lands? Would he taste like a mountain man? All muscle and strength?

I wasn’t sure how I’d ever thought I could best the man. He was obviously in charge. He’d always been in charge. I felt myself bending to his will, even without any words.

My lips parted, and I let myself fall under his spell.

His eyes danced over me, and he drawled out, slow and steady, “We should leave the party and … get to know each other better. I can tell you’d like that.”

Thatcher was presumptuous.

And arrogant.

And entirely right.

My voice came out tiny and small. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”