Page 4 of Backed By You (Montgomery Brothers of Montana #3)

Beau

I’m up and moving before dawn. I’ve slept better propped against fucking boulders than I did last night. I had this moronic sense that I acted like a real prick yesterday, and now I can’t seem to get her out of my head.

Callie Ryan .

For a gorgeous woman with a body that could make any grown man insane, she’s sure got a mouth to match. I put her on the defensive during our first encounter, but I’ve got questions—questions that are causing my curiosity to spike beyond belief.

Starting with why her dog, Hulk, follows German commands but is a certified PTSD service dog? Why does she need a service dog in the first place? Is he trained for another type of protection? It sure as hell seemed that way based on how he was behaving toward her against me.

Her comment about Hulk getting a taste of my ass showed me just how serious she was about not taking any shit from me. Problem with that is, she has to. This is my property, my cabin. What I say goes. Whether she likes it or not.

So, I walk the property line beside her cabin, measuring the next two additional cabin sites that’ll be built beside hers. I mark the trees that need removing with spray paint and tape off the sections accordingly. And since the dealership doesn’t open for another hour, I start cutting down brush.

The rip of the chainsaw echoes through the tree line, and a sick thrill spikes my pulse when a feminine shout reaches my ears.

I suppress a grin and glance over my shoulder to see her standing on the front porch of the cabin.

She’s wearing those damnable pajama shorts from last night where her ass was hanging out.

My hands twitch at the passing image of running my hands over the perfect honey-glow of her bare shoulders, midriff, and tan legs.

I swallow hard.

Fuckin’ hell .

She’s yelling at me, but I can’t hear it over the roar of the chainsaw. I wait a beat, mainly just to piss her off, then shutdown the machine in hand.

“—It’s 7:16 AM!” Her voice is a sexy, angry rasp with that hint of an accent I haven’t quite placed yet.

She’s got a ‘city girl’ aura around the way she speaks.

I grunt. “And?”

She throws her hands in the air. “It’s too early to be doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing. It’s Saturday.”

I raise a brow. “It’s my property. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want.”

She glares at me. “I live here.”

“I’m well aware of that.” I shoot a pointed look at her Jeep she never repositioned like I told her to.

“I—I’ll file a noise complaint,” she says, and I cock a half grin.

I tip my chin to her. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “To the police.”

“Like I said, this is my property. I’m your landlord, you’re my tenant. If you’re going to file any noise complaints, it’d be to me.” I fight to contain the shit eatin’ grin itching to spread across my face at her sass.

She crosses her arms over her ample chest as she huffs her frustration. And just when I think she’s going to give me an earful, she spins on her heel, storming into the cabin with a slam of the door.

I wonder if she envisioned it hitting me in the face, given the force she put behind that.

I release my burning grin and chuckle as I start the chainsaw and get to work.

My morning peace is then interrupted by her blaring music. The same shit she played last night. And I swear she didn’t turn it down one damn bit after I told her to. Now…she’s got it cranked to the max.

I shake my head, doing my damnedest to brush off the building irritation this woman is causing. I kill the rumble of the chainsaw and begin dragging the cut brush to the bed of my father’s truck for his burn pile.

The blaring music abruptly stops, and I glance up to see Callie walking out with Hulk at her side.

He’s wearing a black and royal blue vest with ‘service dog’ written on either side.

There are a slew of patches on the vest: Do Not Touch.

Working Dog. Certified Service Animal. And an insignia to show his credentials.

Her high-waisted leggings, off the shoulder peach crop top, and sneakers have my cock weeping. Her honey hair bounces in loose curls, a light coat of makeup that suits her fuckin’ beautifully.

It’s infuriating the reaction my body has to the very sight of her.

She walks to her Jeep, and Hulk jumps in the front seat. She leans in to hook him into some kind of harness attached to the seatbelt. Gorgeous hazel eyes catch my stare for a moment, and my throat bobs uncomfortably when she sends me a stunning smile.

A smile so fucking breathtaking I don’t know what to do with myself.

It’s not meant for you, idiot .

I scowl.

She hops in the driver’s seat and backs out before heading toward town—leaving me a puddle in the brush with a hardening cock.

I finish roughly half the brush removal before the truck is full. After a quick shower and change of clothes, I meet up with my father to head to the dealership.

I go through the motions of buying myself a newer four-door, extended-cab, charcoal grey pick-up. They let me know it’ll be ready to be picked up tomorrow.

We get lunch at the diner, and I chat with Butch about the deep-rooted trees I need gone. I rattled off basic specs to Rhett on my lumber order to get that underway.

I’m feeling productive as hell until every-damn-one of them feels the need to make multiple comments on me needing to ‘relax’ or ‘take a break.’

“ Is all this labor good for your knee? ”

To them—no, it’s not good.

To me—I work through the pain. I always have. I do my physical therapy, but I don’t lie to myself. At the end of the day, I’m sore. I’m hurting here and there depending on how I’m moving, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

I manage just fine.

I pull in beside Callie’s Jeep, parked even wilder than before. She has it backed in with the tailgate open like she was unloading something.

That’s when I see her.

She’s reaching up high under the sloped roof of the front porch with a drill in hand. She’s recklessly standing on a chair of all things. On her damn tippy toes to do whatever the fuck it is she’s doing.

I growl under my breath as I get out.

Hulk catches sight of me first, giving a loud, aggressive bark my way, alerting his owner of my presence. “Oh, hey,” Callie says, peering under her arm at me.

As I approach, I stare at a set of chains sitting on top of a wooden bench swing that wasn’t here this morning. “What are you doing?”

Bracing herself, she steps down from the chair. “I got a porch swing,” she announces proudly. She smiles, pointing to the handcrafted swing. “Isn’t it beautiful? I had it custom-made by this guy in town. It came out way better than I expected.”

“Did Duke give you authorization to be drilling holes in the roof?”

Her face scrunches as if she’s tasted something sour. “What is it with you and this authorization and did you get permission ? It’s a swing, Beau. A harmless, pretty porch swing. And in order to hang it properly, I need to drill holes for the hooks into the roof. Is that okay?”

She says it so sweetly, I almost give in. Almost .

“No,” I deadpan.

“What do you mean, no?”

“No. It’s not okay.” I gesture to the drill in her hand. “Defacing private property is a criminal offense.”

She raises a brow as she peers between the drill and me. “Are you going to file charges against me for two holes drilled in a porch roof for the purpose of hanging a porch swing?”

Why does that sound like a challenge?

“Return the swing,” I say before turning to take my leave. However, her unexpected laughter has me stopping dead in my tracks.

She giggles. “No.”

I face her. “You’re not hanging that damn swing. And you better start looking into ways to patch those fuckin’ holes, or I will press charges.”

Callie smiles brightly, setting down the drill before reaching for the arm of the swing. She bends to pick it up and my jaw ticks, knowing it’s real wood and likely heavy as hell.

“Are you going to help me?” she asks sweetly, gazing up at me through fluttering lashes.

I let out a heavy, aggravated sigh. “Callie.”

“Beau,” she mocks, smiling as she continues to drag the swing up the steps.

I shake my head and force myself to walk away. I won’t be enabling her stubborn behavior.

It’s just a porch swing . It’s not. If I help her, it defeats the entire point I’m trying to make, that she can’t do whatever the hell she wants like she owns the place.

She’s a renter. Not an owner.

Stalking to my cabin, I glance back at her watching me with surprised eyes. Letting her do it by herself isn’t the chivalrous thing to do, but it sure as fuck is proving my point. So, standing here with my arms crossed, leaning against the porch post, I watch her glare at me.

She hauls the swing into position, chains it up through the necessary hooks. Then moves her unstable chair to where she can lift the chain to the hooks she drilled into the goddamn roof.

My body fights me to go over there, seeing her struggling to get the chain on the hook where she wants it. This stubborn woman is going to be the death of me.

But before I can go over there and either help or give her another piece of my mind on her installing this fucking swing without my say, the signature ‘Blip Blip’ of a police car sounds, pulling into the driveway.

Callie’s gaze snaps to the Whitetail Deputy Sheriff car pulling in front of her Jeep. And out steps Justin White, the apparent deputy, and prick I went to high school with.

Roughly standing at six-foot, clean shaven, short dirty blond, slicked-back hair, wearing the traditional tan cargo pants and brown uniformed, short-sleeve shirt with all his gear strapped on him. The obnoxious smile he’s beaming in Callie’s direction has my jaw clenching and my eye twitching.

Callie gets down from the chair at the same time Justin speaks with that same irritating grin in his voice, “What you got goin’ on there, Miss Ryan?”

I catch her glance at me, probably wondering if I called the cops on her, when I never truly would. But the threat still holds merit, depending on how this little interaction goes.

Justin approaches her front porch, and Hulk is sure to create his own barrier beside Callie. One I’m rather grateful for at the moment because I don’t like how this fucker is eyeing her up. “You can call me Callie, Justin.” She sighs. “I’m just hanging up my new porch swing.”

Justin nods, looking at the swing before scanning the area, and that’s when his eyes catch mine. “No shit. Beau Montgomery.” He smirks. “How the hell are you, man? I heard what happened. Glad to see you made it outta there alive.”

I grunt, not wanting to share any friendly banter with this fuckhead.

Callie looks at me curiously, likely wondering what he’s referring to, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t already know. Turning her attention to Justin, she asks, “What, um, did you need, Justin?”

He grins. “Just checking in, make sure you’re doin’ well.”

“He called you again, didn’t he?”

“Officer Ryan did put in a wellness check,” he says, resting his hands on his utility belt, like he’s someone even remotely important. “Said you haven’t been answering any of his calls.”

She huffs in annoyance. “I missed one call. I was in the middle of a project; he knows I always get back to him when I can.”

Justin nods. “Yeah, I figured as much. But you know how it goes, get the call, gotta check in.” He points to the porch swing. “Need any help hanging that up?”

I move. Pushing off the post, I stalk my way over, grumbling several curses under my breath as I catch Callie’s eye and the stunning smile that follows. She gestures my way. “Thank you, but Beau was just coming over to help me.”

Justin raises a brow when I walk past him and onto Callie’s porch to hang this goddamn swing, because like hell I’m watching Deputy Justin help her.

“You sure, Beau? I’d hate to see you mess your knee up. After all those surgeries it took to put you back together.”

I snarl, ignoring him. I hoist up the chain and swing, getting it hooked, hung, and level within seconds. Callie beams, craning her delicate neck up to look at me. “Thank you.”

Justin clears his throat loudly. “Well, I’d better get going. It was good seeing you, Callie. Tell your father I said hello when you get a chance to call him back.” He winks with a chuckle, retreating on his heel to his car.

When he’s gone, I glance at Callie as she plops on the freshly installed porch swing. I watch her swing, smiling with a light laugh as she pats the space beside her. “Do you want to sit? Give it a swing .”

I huff in frustration, shaking my head, earning me another beautiful smile and giggle from her. I gesture toward her cabin. “Duke mentioned the oven stopped working.”

She nods, continuing to enjoy her porch swing. “Yeah, I don’t know what happened. It just stopped working a few weeks ago.”

“I’ve got time tomorrow morning to take a look.”

“What time?” she asks.

“Whenever works for you.”

She raises a brow with a playful smile. “Well, I was hoping to sleep in on a Sunday. Assuming this jerk who cranks up a chainsaw before seven in the morning doesn’t perform a repeat wake-up call.”

I ignore her comment. “My brother is coming over at noon to decide how we’ll be clearing out these bigger trees. There shouldn’t be any need for a noise complaint by that time.”

She glances at the partially cleared, taped-off property next to her cabin. “Why are you clearing the trees?”

“Adding another cabin,” I grumble. “Does 0900 work for you? Gives me time to get parts or a replacement if needed.”

“That’s fine.” She smiles, and I turn away to head to my cabin when she says, “Sure you don’t want to try out the new swing? She’s swinging like a dream.” She sing-songs with a giggle.

I glance at her, lifting my chin to her Jeep. “Move your car and turn the wheels so they’re straight. You’ll fuck up your drive shaft if you keep leaving it like that.”

She swings high, sending me a mocking salute. “Yes, sir.”

And if the sight of her beaming smile or the sound of her laughter didn’t send a jolt to my cold heart—knowing how happy she is right now because of a damn swing would do the trick.