Page 8 of Mountain Man Obsessed (Hard Timber Mountain Men #3)

JESSA

If Harlan Flint wanted to keep me at a distance, then fine. I’d show him and this whole town I didn’t need anyone to fight my battles.

I buried myself in Adventure Weekend prep.

From the second I opened my eyes in the morning to the minute I collapsed in bed, I made lists, chased down volunteers, and posted flyers anywhere that would hold tape.

Maybe if I moved fast enough, I wouldn’t feel the sharp edge of the gash Harlan had cut into my heart when he pushed me away.

At least everyone in town was excited about the weekend. Nellie strung twinkle lights over the cafe’s awning. Ridge dropped off a stack of whistles he wanted to donate for the scavenger hunt. Calla and Lane stopped by with dinosaur eggs they’d stuffed full of prizes for the dig.

People believed in this event. They believed in me.

That should have been enough. But every time I caught sight of the outfitter across the street, with its windows scrubbed clean and the new display I’d fought for sitting front and center, I ached.

Because no matter how much good I was doing, the one man I wanted in my corner wouldn’t risk being caught dead there.

By Wednesday, the entire town was buzzing. Nellie handed out free cookies shaped like pine trees and told every customer at the cafe that Adventure Weekend was “exactly what this town needs.”

“I’m proud of you, sugar,” she said when I stopped in for coffee. She leaned across the counter, lowering her voice. “But don’t let that Flint boy spook you. He’s wound tighter than barbed wire on a corner post. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

I stirred creamer into my cup. “If he feels it, he hides it better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Nellie’s eyes softened. “He’s not hiding from you. He’s hiding from himself. Big difference.”

I wanted to believe her. But belief didn’t keep me warm at night.

Thursday brought volunteers. Thatcher agreed to run a fire-safety demo, though he grunted so much through our conversation I couldn’t tell if he was saying yes out of brotherly loyalty or because Nellie bribed him with pie.

Joely promised to help Calla keep the kids corralled during the scavenger hunt.

Even Lane piped up that he’d “help guard the prize table,” like it was his sole purpose in life.

I smiled, I encouraged, and I delegated. People left meetings feeling useful and excited to be part of something. That was the point. Having the whole town rally around the outfitters was exactly what I’d set out to do, and it was working.

But when the crowd thinned and I was left with my clipboard and the echo of laughter, the ache came back.

Because I wasn’t only doing this to save Big Package Outfitters from the threat of Wild Wilderness or to prove myself to the town.

I was doing it because I wanted Harlan to look at me and see more than Thatcher and Holt’s little sister. I wanted him to see me .

And right now, he wasn’t there—not in the way I needed him to be.

By Friday morning, the gossip hounds had stopped sniffing around and started biting.

I walked into The Huckleberry Cafe to grab a box of muffins for volunteers and froze halfway through the door.

Two women from town, sweet older women with heads full of blue-tinted curls, sat near the window with a tablet between them.

They were whispering and tapping, laughing behind their hands as they gathered their things to get up from their table.

“The Ex-List poll says he’s next,” one of them said, her voice barely loud enough for me to hear it. “The Warden finally fell.”

Heat flamed my cheeks. I didn’t need to ask who they were talking about.

I lifted my chin and walked over to the counter like nothing could touch me, like it didn’t feel like someone had peeled back the covers to shine a spotlight straight into the most private part of my life.

Nellie slipped the box of muffins across to me without a word, her eyes sharp, her mouth tight.

“You okay?” she asked once the women left.

“Fine,” I lied.

But the truth twisted in my chest like a knife.

This was exactly what Harlan had been afraid of…

my name tossed around like gossip, my life reduced to a bet on the Ex-List. I’d sworn he was wrong, laughed off his warnings, told myself I was stronger than the whispers.

But there I was, sitting in the middle of it, proving all of his fears right.

Even worse, I’d made myself the example he’d been trying to protect me from all along.

That night I stayed late at the community center, going over the final details to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. My brothers checked in by text, asking if I needed their help. I told them I had it all under control.

Because the truth was, I did. I’d handled every last detail. All on my own.

But when the lights buzzed and the shadows grew long, loneliness pressed against me.

I wanted Harlan there, even if he’d scowl at my color-coded folders and grumble about how I was “girling up” his store.

I wanted him pressed against my back, muttering about how I’d taken on too much, then quietly helping me make it work anyway.

Instead, I had silence and a clipboard.

By Saturday night, I was so wound up I couldn’t sit still.

My planner sat open on the kitchen table, every slot filled with notes about scavenger hunt prizes, trail maps, and a detailed minute-by-minute schedule of the entire weekend.

Everyone was in. Everyone but Harlan. I tapped my pen against the page, staring at the list of names. His absence was like a gaping hole.

He’d asked for time, and I’d given it. But each day that passed made it clearer. He wasn’t willing to fight for me. And maybe that meant leaving when this was done. Because I couldn’t spend the rest of my life sneaking around, waiting for him to decide if I was worth the risk.

I closed the planner and sat back, the house too quiet around me.

One more week, I told myself. One more week to prove what I could do. After that, if he still wouldn’t stand with me… I didn’t let myself finish the thought.

Instead, I looked out the window, at the mountains etched against the night sky, and vowed to myself that I wouldn’t let fear write the story of my life. Not Harlan’s fear. Not my brothers’. Not mine.

* * *

Harlan

Adventure Weekend was three days away, and the town was humming like it hadn’t in years. Flyers were posted in every window, kids were talking about potential scavenger hunt prizes, Nellie handed out free coffee refills “for volunteers only” with a wink that meant everyone.

I should have been proud. I should have been standing next to Jessa, shoulder to shoulder, while she lit this town up brighter than the cafe’s twinkle lights.

Instead, I was stocking shelves and pretending the air wasn’t buzzing with her name.

Bubbles padded along behind me, his tail brushing against the shelves. He was restless too.

I was stacking cans in the back corner when the front door opened. Two guys I’d seen before at The Knotty Tap wandered in, trading laughs about something.

“Did you see the Ex-List thread this morning?” the taller one asked. “They’ve got odds on The Warden finally cracking.”

“Cracking?” the other guy snorted. “He’s already cracked. I heard Thatcher’s sister is the reason he’s suddenly playing nice with customers. Guess even The Warden can’t keep his zipper shut.”

Their laughter carried down the aisle, careless as hell, until I stood up and started down the aisle toward the register. Both men froze.

The taller one’s eyes went wide. “Uh, hey, Harlan. I didn’t know you were back there.”

“Yeah,” the other one mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “We were just kidding around.”

I didn’t answer. My stomach had already turned to stone, my jaw locked so tight I could hear the grind of my own teeth. I rang up their shit in silence, each beep of the scanner too loud.

When the door shut behind them, their words still echoed. Thatcher’s sister. Zipper. Cracked.

Bubbles let out a soft whine like he knew I couldn’t hold it together anymore.

Comments like theirs were what I’d been trying to avoid.

I didn’t want to subject Jessa to the gossip or scrutiny of getting involved with a guy the town had named The Warden.

I also didn’t want her brothers to start thinking the gossip was true, but it was too late.

I grabbed my jacket, flipped the sign to Closed, and locked the door behind me on my way out.

I found Jessa at the square, kneeling on the pavement with a roll of painter’s tape in one hand and a stack of laminated scavenger hunt clues in the other. Her hair was falling out of its bun, her cheeks flushed, her mouth curved in a way that meant she was working too hard and loving every second.

Damn, she was beautiful. My stomach twisted as I wished she could be mine. And that was the problem. Wishing wasn’t going to make it true. I was the only one who could do that, and I’d fucking failed her.

“Need a hand?” I asked.

She looked up, startled but smiling. “I thought you’d be holed up in the shop all day.”

“I closed early.” My voice came out sharp.

She tilted her head, studying me. “Something wrong?”

I crouched next to her, took the roll of tape from her hand, and set it down on the pavement. “We need to talk.”

Her smile slipped. “That sounds serious.”

“It is.” I dragged a hand over my beard. “I heard them. At the store. Guys running their mouths about us. About you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What did they say?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I stood, pacing a few steps to try to give the anger coiled inside me an outlet. “My point is the gossip’s out of control. The Ex-List poll, the comments, now this. It’s only a matter of time before your brothers hear it, and then?—”

“Then what?” She rose to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. “Then they finally realize I’m an adult making my own choices?”