Page 26 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

Kendra

I spill flour on the counter.

I have to pick eggshell out of my batter.

I burn the first pancake.

I flip the next one too early.

Closing my eyes, I place my palms on the counter and give myself a second to calm down.

Settled, I turn around and find Luther fighting a smile as he watches me struggle.

Ass.

I pick up my bowl of batter and slowly ladle a scoop onto the griddle.

I repeat the process, filling the pan, trying not to think about the man at my back.

Not just any man. Rocky.

I stare down as the batter starts to bubble.

This feels like an old sitcom.

Mistaken identity. Forbidden lover.

I glance over my shoulder as I reach for the bag of white chocolate chips.

Luther is lounging, one arm hooked over the back of his chair, the other resting in his lap.

It’s casual. Relaxed.

Hot as fuck.

Flannel shouldn’t be hot as fuck.

But honestly, that man could be wearing burlap and I’d still risk the rug burns to climb him. Because I know what’s underneath. And I know he knows just how to use all those muscles.

I turn back to our food and sprinkle this batch of pancakes with the chocolate chips and smashed raspberries. Then I flip them.

I will not think about my dad’s best friend’s chest hair during breakfast.

Distracting myself with the task, I make two more batches—one with dark chocolate and blueberries, and the other with milk chocolate and banana slices—all while a package of breakfast sausages cooks in the oven.

Luther comes into the kitchen once, to make another pot of coffee, proving he knows his way around this house, but I pretend I don’t notice.

“Smells good,” Dad calls out as he stands. “I’m gonna hit the little boy’s room before we eat.”

I flip the final pancake. “You have two minutes.”

Dad salutes in my direction, then disappears down the short hallway leading to his room.

Luther stands.

And my heart rate spikes.

I turn and face him fully, shifting back until my butt bumps against the cabinet beside the stove.

I lift my chin. “Rocky.”

His fingers tap against his thighs as he consumes the space between us.

And as soon as he’s close enough, he reaches up and grips my chin.

His front presses against mine, and he shakes his head. “You don’t call me that.”

His fingers feel hot against my skin. “Why not? Didn’t you say most people call you that?”

I don’t know why I’m pushing him. I don’t actually want to call him Rocky.

He shifts closer, leaning more of his weight against me, his free hand reaching around and flattening against my spine. “You aren’t most people, Kendra Doll.”

His words shouldn’t hit so hard.

They shouldn’t mean so much.

We’ve only spent one night together. Didn’t even know who we were with, not in a real-life context. But it’s still the nicest thing anyone has said to me in… a long time.

My body arches into his, and even though I know it’s a bad idea to push this further, I grip his sides. “My dad will be back any moment.”

He moves his hand from my chin to my throat. “We can’t tell him about this.”

“No shit.” I try to huff, but it just comes out breathy as I think about his use of the word this .

As in current .

Ongoing .

Luther is thinking the same thing I am.

We’re going to do it again.

“Such a—” A squeak in the floorboards interrupts whatever Luther was going to say, and he steps back just as I lift my hands to shove him away.

“Can you take the sausages to the table?” I ask louder than necessary as I quickly spin around and start to remove the final pancakes.

They’re a little more done than I’d usually cook them but not so far gone that I’ll need to explain myself.

Luther opens a drawer on the other side of the stove and takes out a pair of hot mitts, and I move out of the way so he can take the pan of sausages out of the oven.

Dad grabs two of the platters of pancakes, and I take the third.

The table is already set with plates, butter, and maple syrup, so now, with the rest of the food, the surface of the round table is nearly covered.

Four chairs circle the table, and since Dad and his bestie choose seats next to each other, I had to decide between sitting next to my dad and across from Luther. Or next to Luther and across from my dad.

I was tempted to sit beside Luther, but next to my dad seemed like the more socially acceptable choice. Considering Luther and I just met .

Plus, being directly across from Luther comes with its own perks. Like eye candy.

The first few minutes are filled with silence as we eat.

Luther shovels another forkful of the raspberry pancakes into his mouth, finishing the short stack in what had to be four bites. Then he sets his fork down and lifts his head to spear me with a look. “What the hell did you put in these?”

I try not to grin like an idiot. He already likes my pussy. It shouldn’t matter so much that he likes my cooking too.

Dad reaches out and slaps Luther’s shoulder. “Told you my girl has talents.”

I watch Luther’s jaw work, and I know his mind is swimming around in the gutter. Because same .

“Thanks, Dad.” I fork up some of my own food, pretending this isn’t the strangest breakfast ever. Eating with my one-night stand and my dad.

Luther serves himself another stack of pancakes, the blueberry ones this time. And as I listen to my dad tell me about a phone call he had yesterday, I watch Luther eat.

He’s a little slower this time, but he still finishes his second round of pancakes in under a minute.

When he’s done, he once again lifts his gaze to meet mine.

Dad is still gabbing, eyes on his mug as he pours himself more coffee, so I point to the final platter and mouth, My favorite, before Dad looks up.

Luther uses the spatula to slide three of the banana pancakes onto his plate.

Before he cuts into them, I reach out and nudge the butter, then the maple syrup toward him.

Taking the hint, he cuts a square of butter off the stick and drops it on his stack.

Dad looks at the table, watching the silent interaction, but he doesn’t stop talking and doesn’t seem to find our behavior suspicious.

I make the proper noise in response to Dad’s story, but my attention stays on Luther as he lifts his fork.

His lips part.

A drip of syrup falls onto his plate.

I wish I was that plate.

And then he puts the fluffy goodness into his mouth.

He pulls the clean fork out from between his lips, and his eyes close as he starts to chew.

I take a drink of my coffee to help my suddenly dry throat.

Then Luther startles everyone when he groans. Loudly.

Dad jerks his head in Luther’s direction. “Damn, Rocky. Keep it in your pants, would you? My daughter’s here.”

I choke on my coffee.

Luther chokes on his pancakes.

And Dad just shrugs when I widen my eyes at him. “Sorry, but he started it with that R-rated noise he was making.”

My cheeks heat because Dad’s not wrong. I’ve heard Luther’s groans, and that was the same sound he made in the motel room.

But still, I can’t pass up an opportunity to harass my dad. “So… you know what Luther’s R-rated sounds are like? Is there something you two want to tell me? Is that what this breakfast is all about?”

Dad sputters for a moment before throwing his head back with a laugh.

Luther lays a hand on my dad’s shoulder with a wicked grin aimed my way. “That’s right, Kendra. I’m your daddy now too.”

I gape.

He. Didn’t.

My dad waves his hands around, taking my expression the wrong way. “No. We’re not—” He’s laughing so hard he can’t finish his sentence. “Rocky and I ain’t like that. Not that there would be anything wrong with that.” He gives me a knowing look.

I roll my eyes. “Thanks, Dad, but I’m not gay. I like men.”

It’s so hard not to glance at Luther as I say the last word. Because I’ve dated. I’ve been with guys. But like I told Luther last weekend, it’s been a while. And I don’t think any of them actually count as men. Not compared to Luther.

“I’m just saying.” Dad lifts his shoulders, then shoots a glare at Luther. “And it’s a safe rule of thumb to just ignore anything Rocky says. He likes to start shit.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the flannel-wearing hottie says as he serves himself another banana pancake before sliding the last one onto my plate.

I look down, staring at the caramelized bananas.

It’s a simple thing. A chivalrous thing. But it’s more than that.

It’s the same thing he did at the Inn when he ordered us those burgers.

He’s not trying to limit me. Not giving me different food than what he eats.

Not telling me to eat less. Have less. Be less.

And it’s shit like this that makes him even hotter.

Dad thumbs his fist against his chest. “I never really thought about what it’d be like having the two of you together, but I’m starting to think it won’t be dull.” He serves himself the last of the blueberry pancakes. “But back to my original point.”

“There’s a point?” I ask.

Luther snorts.

“Back to my original point,” Dad repeats loudly. “I believe Rocky was moaning and groaning in an effort to say he likes your cooking.”

Luther tips his head toward me. “That’s exactly what I was trying to say. Everything you’ve made is delicious.”

Heat flares in my chest.

“Thank you.” I hold Luther’s gaze as I say it. Meaning it.

“And that’s not for nothing,” Dad adds, and I see a slight wince pass over Luther’s features. “I don’t know if you noticed it, but you would’ve driven past the restaurant Rocky owns on your way here.”

I slowly turn my head to face my dad. “Restaurant?”

“It’s attached to a place called The Rocky Ridge Inn. He owns it.” Dad tilts his head. “Come to think of it, I don’t know if the restaurant has a name or not. We just call the whole place the Inn .” Dad rattles on. And I slowly turn my head back to look at Luther.

“How. Interesting.” I keep my expression neutral.

I’m not actually mad. We were together for one night with no plans to see each other again.

He didn’t need to tell me he owned the motel we met in. And I didn’t need to tell him I was actually only going twenty minutes away rather than passing through .

But I also don’t need to let him off the hook quite so easily.

My dad hums his oblivious agreement. “Food’s real good too. We’ll have to go some night.”

“That’d be fun.” My tone is just sarcastic enough for Luther to stifle a reaction, but Dad doesn’t notice.

“Come to think of it.” Dad snaps his fingers. “Ashley will be back in, what, just a couple weeks?”

Luther replies with a slow nod.

My eyes narrow. “Who’s Ashley?”

If this motherfucker just made me an accomplice to adultery, I’m going to ruin him.

Luther inhales, his shoulders straightening as he prepares to answer. “My daughter.”

Oh.

My sudden flash of anger dissipates.

Not a cheater. Just single dad vibes… I dig it.

“You’ll like her,” Dad says with confidence. “She’s about your age.”

I choke again.