Page 1 of Mountain Man Wanted (Hard Timber Mountain Men #1)

THATCHER

The sun was barely peeking over the mountains when I pulled into a spot in front of the Huckleberry Cafe.

There were only a few other folks out this early.

Hard Timber was a sleepy little mountain town, even in the summer.

We didn’t get many visitors, there wasn’t much drama, and that’s exactly how I liked it.

Friday mornings were for supply runs. It was the only time I left my refuge up the mountain and came into town to stock up on the things I needed and pick up my mail.

My routine always started with breakfast at the cafe.

Nellie’s family had been running the place since it opened over a hundred years ago.

It was just as much a part of Hard Timber as the mountains themselves.

The smell of cinnamon, coffee, and bacon frying on the griddle swept over me as I entered.

Country music from an AM station out of Whitefish floated through the speakers while a TV on the wall over the counter played the news on mute.

I nodded toward Nellie as I headed to my regular booth in the back.

She already knew my order without me saying a word.

That was one benefit of being a creature of habit.

“Morning, Thatcher.” She set a cup of hot, black coffee down on the table in front of me. “How’s the ghost of Hard Timber doing this morning?”

I cleared my throat, but my voice still came out hoarse since I hadn’t used it in a few days. “Ghost?”

Nellie pushed her thick glasses back up on her nose. She had her gray hair pulled back in her usual bun and a shit-eating grin stretched across her face. “I take it you haven’t seen the post that went up last night on Hard Timber’s Facespace page?”

Grunting, I reached for the mug. “Not really my thing.”

“You might want to check it out.”

“Doubt it.” The coffee hit the back of my throat, a welcome distraction from the conversation.

“Suit yourself, sugar. Your order will be out in a few minutes.” She turned to head back to the kitchen, quickly weaving between tables like a woman a quarter of her age.

I swept my gaze around the cafe while I waited.

Yellowed photos of Hard Timber hung on the walls.

Faces of the men who’d founded the town around the old lumbermill peered down at me, some of them my own ancestors.

Back then, it had been a booming hotspot for folks looking for a place to settle.

The population rose into the thousands. Hard Timber had an unending supply of trees, access to freshwater lakes, and sat along the route goldminers took on their way to California.

Now the town was a shadow of what it had been in the past. The lumbermill shut down, the mines tapped out, and the population shifted toward the bigger towns. That suited me fine.

Just as I turned my attention back to my coffee, my younger brother Holt pushed through the front door looking like a man who’d spent all night long fighting monsters again.

He must have just dropped my nephew off at camp and come in for some coffee.

Being a single dad was hard, but being a single dad to a kid who battled night terrors meant a good night’s sleep was wishful thinking and mainlining coffee was a requirement.

As he barreled toward me, he waved his phone in the air.

“Did you see this?” Holt asked. “Somebody posted it last night, and it’s already got a ton of shares.”

I leaned back against the booth and sighed. This wasn’t how my morning was supposed to go.

“Did I see what?” I grumbled, wishing I’d stayed home today. The supply run could have waited, though I did have a few other things I needed to do in town.

The table rattled as Holt slid in across from me and set his phone down between us. “Look. They’re calling you the ghost of Hard Timber.”

I glanced down at his phone.

The Ex-List - 6 Hard Timber Mountain Men You Should Definitely Avoid

We were all there: me, my brothers Holt and Dane, and a few of my buddies like Ridge, Harlan and Trace. My gut clenched and anger tightened my jaw.

“What the fuck is this?” I growled.

Holt shook his head. “I don’t know who’s behind it. Did you see what they wrote about you? What they wrote about me?”

I snagged his phone and scrolled through the article.

Number Two - Thatcher Thorne - This bearded recluse is hotter than a bonfire burning out of control, but he’ll disappear on you faster than a trout who just snagged the bait right off your line.

Nicknamed “The Ghost of Hard Timber,” he’s more elusive than the legendary Big Foot and more prickly than Miss Nellie’s pet porcupine.

Do yourself a favor. Stay out of his way and definitely stay out of his bed.

“‘The Ghost of Hard Timber’? Is that the best they can do?” I slid Holt’s phone back across the table just as Nellie set my plate down in front of me.

“‘The Ghost of Hard Timber’ sounds pretty spot on to me,” Nellie said. “We barely see you around town unless you’re making a supply run.”

I grunted and picked up my fork.

“What are we gonna do about this?” Holt asked.

Shrugging, I shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth. I wasn’t like my brothers or my friends. Some of them actually cared what people thought while I’d given up on giving a shit a long time ago.

Holt shook his head as he scrolled on his phone. “Everyone’s going to be pissed.”

I swallowed and looked over at Nellie. If anyone had an idea of who’d written such a piece of trash, it would be her. She was always at the center of everything that went on around town.

“Who do you think is behind this?” I asked.

She gave me one of her sweet smiles—the one that said there was something she wasn’t going to tell me. “Don’t you think there’s another question you might want to ask that’s even more important?”

“No.” I reached for my coffee. It was too early to play mind games with Nellie, though she never passed up an opportunity to teach “her boys” a lesson, especially if it involved emotions and feelings and shit.

She’d been the high school guidance counselor when I was in high school. It wasn’t until after she retired that she took over running the cafe from her own mom. Miss Maggie still made appearances every once in a while, and her huckleberry pie would always be the best in the county.

“What question is that?” Holt asked. Not only was he a single dad to my six-year-old nephew, but he was also the only one of us who went on to join the fire crew.

If he wanted folks around town to trust him, he couldn’t have his reputation fucked over, especially by something as stupid as a post on social media.

Nellie shook her head, but her eyes still held their sparkle. “Instead of trying to figure out who wrote it, maybe you two should be more worried about what landed you on that list in the first place.”

“Well, that’s easy.” Holt reached for my coffee mug, but I batted his hand away. I needed all the caffeine I could get this morning. He scowled at me. “Thatcher made the list because the longest relationship he’s ever had lasted all of about three days.”

I wouldn’t curse in front of Nellie, but the glare I gave him should have been strong enough to make him think twice about continuing. Unfortunately, he took a great amount of personal pleasure in making me uncomfortable, so he kept talking.

“Remember that woman you went out with a couple of years ago from Granite Gulch?” The corner of Holt’s mouth curled up in a lopsided smile. “I’d say you ghosted her. Maybe she’s the one who put you on the list.”

Rolling my eyes, I picked up my fork again. “We went out once, and she asked if she could move in with me. That wasn’t ghosting, it was self-preservation.”

Nellie clucked her tongue, sounding like one of her prized chickens she was constantly doting on. The woman had always collected strays in one way or another, both animals and humans.

“Now, boys,”—she patted my shoulder—“maybe this list isn’t such a bad thing. It could give you the chance to work on parts of yourselves you might want to improve.”

I forced myself not to flinch. Nellie was touchy-feely, and I tolerated it because she’d been there for me and my brothers when no one else had. She was probably the closest thing to a grandmother I’d ever known, and even though she got under my skin, it was only because she cared.

“The only thing Holt wants to improve is his chance of getting through a week without stepping on a plastic T-Rex,” I mumbled.

“Hysterical,” Holt said. “You should try doing some stand up at The Knotty Pine this week.”

“Yeah, right. With this crap hanging over my head, you’ll be lucky if you see me in town again until it all dies down.” I shoveled the last bit of eggs into my mouth, eager to get on with my day.

Holt leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re still coming to Trail Supper tonight though, right?”

Before I could answer, Nellie clapped her hands together. “And you promised you’d help with the farmer’s market kick-off tomorrow.”

Groaning, I set the fork down on my empty plate. “I thought that was next week.”

Nellie shook her head. “Don’t try that with me. You promised you’d help me with the petting zoo for the kids. Meet me at my place at six so we can get everyone loaded.”

“Fine.” I drew in a deep breath through my nose. I’d planned on clearing a few of the fire trails this weekend. Instead, I’d be trying to corral Nellie’s motley crew of rescue animals all day tomorrow.

“Oh, and I almost forgot,” Nellie said. “I’ve got a huckleberry cobbler made up for you boys for dessert tonight. You can take it now and warm it up yourselves or stop by on your way to Trail Supper and I can have it ready for you.”

“You spoil us, Nellie.” My mouth watered with the promise of homemade cobbler. The woman might spend too much time meddling where she shouldn’t, but no one would ever go hungry with Nellie around.

She set her hand on my shoulder and held my gaze. Her blue eyes held nothing but love. “Someone needs to, Thatcher.”

“I can swing by and grab it after I drop Lane off at the babysitter’s.” Holt reached for my coffee mug again. This time, I let him drain it.

“I’ll have it ready at six.” Nellie pulled her hand back and reached for my mug. “You want some more coffee to take with you?”

“I’m good for now.” I pulled out my wallet to settle up before I headed over to grab my supplies.

“I’ll take some, Nellie.” Holt gave her a tired smile.

It wasn’t my place to tell him how to handle things at home, but the guy needed to catch a break.

I helped out with Lane as much as I could, but he needed someone more permanent, maybe even someone live-in if he wanted to get a good night’s sleep in the next ten years.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Nellie said. “I’ve got someone staying at the Hideaway this weekend. She’s a writer.”

“A writer, huh?” Instantly suspicious, I cast a quick glance over at Holt. He was busy scrolling through his phone, oblivious to the fact that Nellie might have just handed us our first clue as to who might’ve written the stupid blog post.

“She’s doing a piece on the top hidden gem vacation rentals in Montana and The Huckleberry Hideaway made the list. Who knows what kind of publicity might come from that.” Nellie looked pleased as punch at the idea that her little vacation rental might draw a whole lot of attention to Hard Timber.

“Great. That’s just what we need… more outsiders hanging around.” My acreage butted up to Nellie’s land, which made me the closest neighbor to her rental cabin. She’d only had it open about a year, and I’d already had several folks stumble onto my property after getting lost.

“Be nice to her, Thatcher. I want to make a good impression. We could all use a little fresh blood around here, don’t you think?” Her eyes crinkled at the edges, then she actually winked at me before picking up my plate and disappearing into the kitchen.

“Tell her to watch out for my ‘No Trespassing’ signs,” I called after her.

Holt laughed. “Knowing Nellie, she’ll probably go out and take down all the signs before the woman checks in. She’s been trying to match all of us up for years.”

“Trying,” I said. “Not succeeding. This writer’s probably an old, retired English teacher who’s just making a little extra cash while funding her travels.”

I looked around the restaurant as I slid out of the booth.

A couple of Nellie’s friends sitting on the other side of the room glanced up and started whispering.

They could have been talking about anything, but I got the sense they were gossiping about me based on the way they giggled behind their menus.

Holt slid his sunglasses on as we exited the cafe. “This Ex-List thing is going to blow over, right?”

I stopped on the sidewalk, my attention zeroed in on a woman sliding out of a car right across the street.

She had on a denim jacket and a flowy skirt over cowboy boots that looked like they’d never seen a speck of dirt.

Long brown hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back.

She closed the door, then turned my way.

Something inside me snapped. I didn’t know who she was, where she came from or what she was doing in my tiny corner of the world. But I did know one thing… she was meant to be mine.

“Thatch?” Holt’s elbow nudged my ribs. “You okay, man?”

Reluctantly, I shifted my attention back to my brother. “Yeah.”

He followed my line of sight to where the woman had started to cross to our side of the street. “Who the hell is that?”

My gut prickled at the interest in his tone. What the fuck was wrong with me? I had no right to the curvy brunette. It didn’t make sense, but the closer she got, the more convinced I became that she was here for me. “I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.”