Page 5 of Comforted By The Mountain Man (Eden Ridge: Hunter Brothers #1)

ASHER

T he bathroom looks like a disaster zone, and I've seen my share of those.

Water damage spreads across the floor in dark stains, the wallpaper peeling in places where the moisture soaked through.

The broken pipe juts from the wall like a severed artery, rusty water stains marking where the chaos began.

I should focus on the plumbing. Should keep my mind on shutoffs and pipe fittings and anything other than the memory of Sierra standing naked in my arms seven hours ago.

But my brain isn't cooperating. Every time I close my eyes, I see her curves outlined in moonlight, feel the way she fit perfectly against me before that towel hit the floor. The soft gasp she made when she realized what happened. The way her eyes met mine without shame, only surprise.

I shake my head and grab my toolbox from the truck. Work. Focus on work. Fix the damn pipe and get out of here before I do something stupid like offer to solve all her problems.

Except I already did that, didn't I? Offered her a job without even talking to my brothers first. What the hell was I thinking?

I strip off my shirt, tossing it over the doorframe. The bathroom is small, and the work's going to be messy. No point in ruining good clothes. I've got spare parts in the truck that should get the water running again, at least temporarily. A real fix will take more time, more materials.

More time around Sierra Martinez.

I'm elbow deep in the wall cavity, trying to trace the damaged section of pipe when I hear small footsteps approaching. Light, quick steps that can only belong to one person.

"Wow," comes a small voice from the doorway. "Your muscles are really big."

I turn to find Ryder standing in the bathroom entrance, his Hulk toy clutched in one hand, eyes wide as he takes in my exposed torso. There's no fear in his expression, just the pure curiosity of a child.

"Yeah, I guess they are," I say, sitting back on my heels. Kid's barely up to my waist when I'm kneeling.

"Are you strong like the Hulk?" Ryder steps closer, completely unafraid. "Can you lift a car?"

Despite everything, I find myself fighting back a smile. "Probably not a car. Maybe a motorcycle."

"What about a truck?" His eyes light up with excitement. "Can you smash things when you get angry?"

"Ryder," Sierra's voice carries from the kitchen, slightly strained. "Leave Mr. Asher alone to work."

But the kid ignores her, moving closer to inspect my tools. "What's that thing do?" He points to my pipe wrench.

"It's for gripping pipes," I explain, surprised by my own patience. Normally, I don't have time for kids' questions. Don't have time for kids, period. But something about Ryder's genuine interest makes me want to answer. "See how the teeth bite down when you turn it?"

"Cool!" He reaches out like he wants to touch it, then pulls his hand back. "Mama says I can't touch grown-up tools."

"Smart mama," I agree. "These can hurt if you don't know how to use them."

"But you know how, right? 'Cause you're like the Hulk, but nice."

Before I can respond to that assessment, Sierra appears in the doorway. Her eyes sweep over me, and I catch the exact moment she notices my bare chest. Her pupils dilate slightly, her lips parting just enough to draw my attention to her mouth.

The same mouth I had my hands near last night. The same lips that looked so soft in the moonlight.

"Ryder," she says, her voice slightly breathless. "I told you to leave Mr. Asher alone."

"But Mama, he's fixing our water, and he's really strong, and..."

"Baby, he needs to concentrate." She steps into the bathroom to collect her son, carefully avoiding looking directly at me again. "Come on, let's let him work."

"Actually," I hear myself saying before my brain can catch up, "I could use some help. If you've got a minute."

Sierra freezes, her hand on Ryder's shoulder. "Help? I don't know anything about plumbing."

"You don't need to. Just need someone to hold things while I work." It's not entirely true. I can manage this job alone. But something about the careful way she's avoiding my eyes makes me want to keep her close. "Ryder can play in the living room. This shouldn't take long."

She hesitates, glancing between me and her son. "Are you sure? I don't want to get in your way."

"You won't." I turn back to the wall, giving her space to decide. "But it's up to you."

I hear her take Ryder out to the living room, her voice soft as she explains that Mama needs to help fix the water. When she returns, she's carrying a hair tie, pulling her dark brown hair back into a ponytail that exposes the elegant line of her neck.

Focus, Asher. Focus on the work.

"What do you need me to do?" she asks, crouching beside me but keeping careful distance between us.

"Hold this steady while I tighten the fitting." I hand her a section of new pipe, positioning her hands around it. Her fingers are smaller than mine, more delicate, but steady. "Just like that."

We work in relative silence for a few minutes, and I find myself stealing glances at her profile. She's concentrating hard, biting her lower lip in a way that shouldn't be distracting but absolutely is.

"So," I say, trying to fill the quiet with something other than my awareness of her proximity. "You said you're good with numbers. What kind of work did you do before?"

Her hands tighten slightly on the pipe. "Just basic bookkeeping. Nothing fancy."

"For who?"

A pause. Too long. "A small business. In California."

The way she says it tells me there's more to the story. A lot more. But I've learned when to push and when to wait, and Sierra Martinez is clearly someone who needs patience.

"California's a big place," I observe, threading the new fitting into place. "Whereabouts?"

"Southern." Another non-answer, delivered in a tone that suggests the topic is closed.

I let it drop, focusing on the repair while my mind works through what I'm learning.

She's running from something, that much is obvious.

The fear I saw in her eyes last night when she thought I was someone else, and the careful way she parcels out information tells me everything I really need to know.

Whatever happened in California, it wasn't good.

"What brought you two to Oregon?" I ask, keeping my voice casual.

Her motions stutter as she adjusts her grip on the pipe as I work. "Ryder and I needed a change of scenery."

"Eden Ridge's pretty quiet compared to California."

"That's the point." The words slip out before she can stop them, and I see her immediately regret the admission. "I mean, we wanted somewhere peaceful. For Ryder to grow up."

Another half-truth. This woman's entire life seems built on them.

"Well, you picked the right place for peace," I say, deciding not to push. "Sometimes I think nothing ever happens here."

That earns me a small smile. "Except for mysterious naked women attacking innocent neighbors with plumbing tools."

The reminder of last night sends heat through my chest. "Not so innocent," I mutter under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." I clear my throat. "Hand me that wrench."

She passes it over, our fingers brushing as she does. The contact is brief, probably accidental, but it sends electricity up my arm. Sierra's eyes meet mine for just a moment before she looks away, a flush creeping up her neck.

So, I'm not the only one feeling this pull.

"Tell me about Ryder," I say, desperate for a safer topic. "He seems like a good kid."

Her face transforms when she talks about her son, the careful mask dropping away. "He's amazing. So smart, so curious about everything. He loves superheroes and bugs and asking a million questions about how things work."

"Sounds exhausting."

She laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "It is. But it's also wonderful. He sees magic in everything, you know? Makes me remember what that's like."

"What happened to his father?" The question is out before I can stop it, too blunt, too personal.

Sierra's face shudders immediately. "He's not in the picture."

The flat finality of her tone tells me that topic is definitely off limits. Which only makes me more curious about what kind of man would walk away from a woman like Sierra and a kid like Ryder.

"Turn the pipe a quarter turn to the right," I instruct, refocusing on the task at hand.

We finish the repair in relative quiet, testing the connections and checking for leaks. When I turn the water main back on, the pipes shudder to life with only a minor complaint from the old system.

"That should hold," I say, packing up my tools. "Though you'll want to replace the whole section eventually. This is more of a bandage than a cure."

"How much will that cost?" The worry in her voice is immediate, real.

"Don't worry about it right now. This'll work fine for a while."

Sierra stands, brushing dust off her jeans. "I should pay you for this. For your time."

"No payment necessary."

"Asher." She uses my name for the first time without the formality and I like the way it sounds in her voice. "I can't keep accepting charity. I need to contribute something."

The pride in her voice reminds me of my offer earlier. The job that I haven't cleared with my brothers yet.

"Actually," I say, "if you're serious about the bookkeeping work, that dinner invitation for later still stands. My brothers will be there, so we can talk to Ezra. He runs our distillery, handles most of the financial side. He's been drowning in paperwork since tax season."

Hope flickers in her eyes before uncertainty takes over. "What about Ryder? I can't leave him alone and I don't know anyone here to watch him."

"Bring him. Beckett and Grace love kids. Grace has been collecting children's books and art supplies, says she wants to be ready when kids come around. Ryder would probably love the attention."

"I don't know..." She worries her lower lip between her teeth. "It's a lot to ask."

"It's not asking. It's family helping family. That's how things work around here."

"We're not family."