Page 11 of Mountain Man Obsessed (Hard Timber Mountain Men #3)

“You broke into my routines and rearranged them in ways I didn’t know I needed,” he said, his voice roughening.

“You made me want more than just making it through. I’ve spent my whole life thinking control was care.

That keeping the doors locked and the shelves straight and my heart shut was the only way to make sure I didn’t get hurt. ”

He took one slow breath that drew me with it.

“You taught me that trust is care,” he said. “That letting you in is the point. That I don’t keep you safe by hiding you. I keep you safe by standing next to you, even when the whole damn town has something to say.”

His gaze cut across the square, daring anyone to disagree. A hush spread like frost. Even the music seemed to fade back, leaving only the snap and sigh of burning wood.

“I love you, Jessa Thorne,” he said, like he was staking a claim.

“I’ve loved you since you were sixteen and wrote your name on my arm with a Sharpie to see if I’d scrub it off.

I didn’t then. I won’t now. If your brothers hate me, if the Ex-List laughs at me, if the whole town thinks The Warden finally fell and wants to watch, let them.

I’ll stand here anyway. I’ll stand with you. ”

My hands shook around the mug. I didn’t realize I’d dropped it until hot cider splashed across my boots. Even then, I didn’t feel a thing.

“Say it again,” I whispered, because part of me needed to hear the words twice to believe they were true.

“I love you,” he said, without blinking. “And I’m done hiding.”

There was nothing gentle about the way I crashed into him. My arms went around his neck, and my feet left the ground. But his hands were already on my waist, hauling me in like he’d been waiting to catch me for years.

Our kiss wasn’t careful. It was rough and hot, like trying to breathe after drowning…

pain first, then nothing but need. He caught my bottom lip, I dug my fingers into his hair, someone whooped, someone groaned, someone yelled, “Pay up!” and somewhere on the edge of it, Nellie shouted, “Finally!” like she’d just won the final blackout game at bingo.

When we came up for air, he rested his forehead against mine. Up close, his eyes were equal parts question and want.

“Took you long enough,” I breathed.

He huffed out a laugh that made his chest shake. “Nothing means a thing without you, Firecracker.”

“Good,” I said, swallowing a smile and a sob at the same time. “Because I’m not going to be quiet.”

“Wouldn’t know what to do with you if you did.”

A beat of silence opened around us, small and private, like the square had given us a pocket to stand in while the world rearranged itself.

Then reality rushed back. Thatcher stepped forward, that mountain stillness shifting into something dangerous. Holt’s scowl deepened into a warning.

“Not here,” Calla hissed at Holt under her breath, catching his sleeve.

“Not tonight,” Joely added, sliding between Thatcher and the bonfire with a look that could stop traffic. “You can grumble later.”

Dane, because he’s never seen a line he didn’t want to walk, cupped his hands around his mouth. “I have a statement! As the fun Thorne brother, I?—”

Rowan barked, “Absolutely not,” without looking up from her clipboard. “No statements that aren’t pre-approved by town hall.”

Dane blinked, grinned, and bowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She didn’t smile, though her pen did pause.

Harlan’s hands eased at my waist like he remembered himself… and my family… and the town… and the fact that kissing me wasn’t the same as getting to keep me. He cleared his throat, his glance tipping toward Rowan as if he’d planned more and needed a witness.

“There’s one other thing,” he said, loud enough to carry, quiet enough that it felt like he was still talking to me. “I told myself I’d make a big speech. Turns out I don’t need one.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small wooden plaque. The grain was dark, the letters hand-carved, and burnished smooth.

BIG PACKAGE OUTFITTERS

OUTINGS & COMMUNITY DIRECTOR: JESSA THORNE

My breath left me in a slow rush. He’d carved my name like it belonged there.

“I filed the paperwork with town hall this afternoon,” he said, flicking a glance at Rowan.

Rowan, very composed, nodded once. “Partnership agreement and program charter on record. Insurance rider pending but approved in principle.” Her gaze ticked up to me, softer than I’d ever seen it. “Congratulations.”

I took the plaque like it was breakable and priceless all at once. “You did this today?”

“I should have done it the first time you walked into my shop with that mouth and those lists,” he said, a rough smile pulling at his lips. “I was too stubborn to see you weren’t trying to take anything from me. You were trying to build something with me.”

He looked at the crowd again, at my brothers, at the town that would never stop having opinions. Then back at me.

“I want you,” he said, simple as that. “I want you in my store, in my life, on my books, for the whole damn town to see.” Then he glanced at my brothers. “If you want to take a swing at me, I’ll stand here and let you. But I’m not walking away from her.”

Tears stung the backs of my eyelids. “What if it gets hard?”

“It will,” he said, turning his attention back to me.

“You’ll tell me when I’m being a controlling bastard.

I’ll tell you when you’re taking on too much.

We’ll fight. We’ll get over it. And when your brothers threaten to break my jaw, I’ll hand them a waiver and ask them to initial next to the part where you said yes. ”

Thatcher made a noise that started like a growl but ended in acceptance. Holt’s mouth flattened. Dane, happy to be the “fun” brother, clapped his hands together. “Oh, I like him now.”

Everyone around the square slowly remembered they had other things to do. Kids tugged at sleeves, hungry for s’mores. Ridge yelled something about a knot-tying speed run. Trace pointed a climber’s toes like the gentle tyrant he was. Nellie gave me a look that said told you so .

Harlan lifted the plaque like a toast. “Where do you want it?”

“Front window,” I said, without hesitation. “Eye level. So when people come to town, they know that I belong there.”

He nodded. His quiet acceptance felt like the opposite of surrender and exactly like love.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “Before the first station opens.”

“No, now,” I said, feeling brave and bossy.

He blinked, then laughed, and the line of men who’d followed him into every fight of his life looked like they didn’t quite know what to do with the sound. Thatcher’s jaw eased. Holt’s shoulders dropped a notch. Dane bumped Rowan with his hip and got an elbow in the ribs in return.

We walked together to the outfitter at the corner, Bubbles trotting at our heels like the everything in his world had finally clicked into place. Harlan unlocked the door and reached for the lights, pausing like superstition or gratitude had snagged him by the wrist.

“Ready?” he asked.

I looked at the dim interior that had smelled like dust and forgotten dreams the day I walked in. The same space that held the mugs I’d ordered, the maps I’d marked, the gear we’d tested, the life I thought I wasn’t allowed to want.

“Ready,” I said.

He flipped the switch. Warm light filled the windows. We stood shoulder to shoulder, and together we set the plaque in the front display, centered and level, where anyone who walked past would see my name and understand what it meant.

It wasn’t confetti or a balloon release. It was a small, carved truth, placed where it would last longer than the gossip that had swirled around us since our first kiss.

It was enough.

Behind us, the crowd still at the square cheered for something else.

Maybe a kid ringing the bell at the top of Trace’s wall, or the marshmallows being refilled at the s’mores table.

Whatever it was, I didn’t care. Harlan slid his fingers between mine and squeezed once, a silent if you want me, I’m here . I squeezed back I do .

Thatcher approached first. He looked at me for a long beat—me, not Harlan—and then nodded, steady as the ridgeline at dawn. “You good?” he asked.

“I am,” I said. “And before you get too upset, this isn’t about you. This is about me. And what I want. And what I want is him. So if you’ve got a problem with that, you can take it up with me.”

He lifted his brows and grunted, which in Thatcher meant okay , and drifted three steps to the side where he could still keep an eye on me.

Holt came next, his eyes flinty, his jaw tight.

He looked at Harlan, at our joined hands, at the sign in the window.

He didn’t say a word, just reached for Lane’s shoulder with one hand and Calla with the other, anchoring them both to his sides.

It was warning and acceptance in one move.

I nodded so he’d know I understood both.

Dane slid in last, light as chaos. He clapped Harlan’s shoulder. “Welcome to the family doghouse,” he said. “It’s spacious. Good ventilation. I ought to know, I’ve spent a lot of time there.”

Harlan leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “You sure about this?”

“About you?” I said, turning so he could see the truth in my eyes and never have to guess again. “I’ve been sure since the first time you glared at me for moving a lantern two inches to the left.”

His laugh curled around me like a warm blanket. He kissed me once, quick, for us and not for the town, and then we walked toward the square and let the town swallow us back up.

I’d thought loving Harlan meant making my life smaller. Instead, it made everything feel bigger. I looked back at the plaque in the window of Big Package Outfitters, at my name carved where I could see it, and felt the ache that had lived under my ribs since I’d come home finally ease.

When I came back, I hadn’t wanted roots. I’d wanted proof that I was capable, that I could build something, that I wasn’t the girl who’d failed at making it out. I thought if I proved myself, I could finally leave.

But I didn’t need to run anymore. The proof was already in front of me, in every flyer tacked up across town, in every kid laughing through Adventure Weekend, in the store that looked alive again because I’d put my stamp on it.

And because the man who’d once thought keeping his feelings to himself was the only way to survive was standing beside me, open-handed, open-hearted, trusting me to choose.

I chose this. I chose him. And for the first time, it felt like enough. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was more than enough. It was everything.

“Ready for day two?” I asked, giddy with happiness and nerves.

He looked down at me like surrender didn’t scare him anymore. “With you,” he said, “I’m ready for all of it.”

We turned toward the fire, toward the noise and the work and whatever would come after. The square roared, the night settled cold and sweet around us, and somewhere behind us a small carved sign caught the light and held it.

It was better than anything I could have ever imagined.