Page 23 of Single Mom’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #1)

Later that evening as the sun sets, with a sunburn sitting on my back and new calluses on my fingers, I finally trek back to the main house. But I don’t go inside.

Instead, I go around the house and into the garage where we keep the bikes.

Wes’ Harley sits dramatically in a shaft of remaining golden sunlight that make sits way in through the windows.

It’s all gleaming chrome and glossy paintwork, the skull and crossbones custom paintjob prominently displayed on the teardrop-shaped gas tank.

It's Wes’ pride and joy but to me it’s a real eyesore that sits between my equally powerful but much more understated Indian, and Mitch's bike, an all-original 1973 Harley-Davidson Electra Glide Police Special. It even still has the siren. I move over to my Indian and lift the dust sheet, run my fingers over the shiny hardware. I haven’t found time for riding in ages, but I need to clear my head, and driving around in my truck isn’t going to cut it.

I need to feel the wind in my hair and the feel of the road underneath me. I need to feel each bend and curve, and to control the slightest motion of my movement.

I slip into my room to put on my leathers, hearing Patty working in the kitchen.

I almost stop by to talk to her, but I hesitate.

Every time I’ve wanted to talk to her, I’ve been held back by a couple of factors.

A sense of shame for one, for having her see me fighting like an animal.

I was also worried that I scared her, but then I smile as I recall her fierce expression as she had thrown a large pan of cold water over us.

To be fair, she looked more furious than scared.

But still, I don't imagine she wants me around much right now.

The second reason I avoid her is because every time I'm in her presence, my heart feels like it's melting and it’s everything I can do to keep from grabbing her and kissing her again.

From begging her to allow me to get on my knees and eat her out again.

I still taste her on my tongue. Every time I close my eyes, I can smell her, see her, almost taste the musky sweetness of her kitty.

The taste was addictive and I'm itching for another hit.

It’s the reason why I’m standing in the hallway with my eyes closed, breathing through my nose to control my erection.

I force myself to walk away. I can’t talk to Patty yet, not until the thing with Wes is settled. I’m not sure if it’s out of some loyalty to my brother or simply to ease Patty's mind. Probably both.

Nevertheless, Patty remains on my mind as I sit astride my bike, kick back the stand and press the starter button.

My Indian’s 1,811cc Thunder Stroke 111 air-cooled engine roars into life and I can feel the power of it throbbing through the leather of the seat and my riding gear and directly into my body.

That age-old thrill hits me just like it always does.

The sense of as-yet-unleashed power is there, even whilst I leave the engine in neutral to gently maneuver past Wes’ Harley and turn to face the open garage door.

Then I gun the throttle, release the clutch, slip into first gear and I’m off, dust and leaves scattering in my wake, the roar of my engine echoing back from Mitch’s precious woodpiles as I clear the yard and then I’m into second gear, turning onto the dusty track leading to the road and kicking up into third, the engine warming up nicely now and seeming to sing a song of its own – happy perhaps to be out and about after so many weeks asleep in the garage.

I’m opening her up now, zooming up the hilly road, heading to the highway and chasing the last of the sunset behind the mountains.

But all the time I am thinking: How the fuck do I solve this problem with the three of us?

I truly don't want her to leave. But I can't deny my hunger for her and resisting it or ignoring it would be futile. I will either have to avoid her like the plague forever, or accept I'll eventually give in again.

I want Patty that badly.

But how do I have her without my brother hating me? He seems to want her just as badly as I do and it's not like we can share her.

Share her….

The thought nearly has me over the handlebars as I momentarily lose control of the almost half a ton of metal I am sitting astride, before I quickly regain my center of mass to finish taking the bend and safely continue on my way.

Phew… that was close – too close to be completely comfortable.

Can we share her?

I pause on that thought even longer, letting it sit in my mind, spread, and take root as I complete the series of bends and open up the throttle again as I approach a long straight stretch, the sun just barely in the sky now, and the peaches, pinks and reds of a beautiful sunset spreading like blazing fingers of light across the darkening sky.

It's an unconventional thought to have, but heck, I've never been the type of guy who respected convention anyway. Plus, as they say, the simplest solution is usually the right one. And this is as simple as it gets .

Wes and I arguing over Patty, or… Wes and I sharing Patty.

We can do it.

If Wes and Patty are amenable to it, it might actually be fun. I've heard of polyamorous relationships, and I recalled a guy I’d met in the Marines who was involved in one. He always seemed to be as happy as a clam, and said it was the best thing he'd ever done.

"If anything happens to me," he told me once. "I know someone is there to protect her and our kids."

"Do you get jealous?" I asked.

"Not really. I thought I would but..." He shook his head. "There's simply no space for it in our relationship. It's hard to explain."

And it was even harder to understand then but now I get it. I'm not really jealous of Wes being with Patty. I just want to be with her too.

Could this really work? It's risky. And with risky things, it's best to consider them for some time before taking action. But I don't have time. I have to act now.

I stare at the sunset as it lights the sky around me in a final but diminishing display of yellow, pink and purple, and ask aloud. "Is this the part where I ask for a sign?"

Just at that moment, a strange shape on the side of the road ahead attracts my attention and I slow down as I draw closer. It’s a shaggy dog, crouching in the bushes. He growls when I come closer and I see his paw is caught in a trap.

Damn redneck hillbillies. Probably a teenager after rabbits did that.

"Come here buddy," I tell him. "Let me take a look at that for you."

He bares his teeth but I easily see through his bluster to the truth. The poor thing is scared, weak, and in pain .

"I'll get you out of there," I tell it, slowly squatting and extending my leather-gauntleted hand so the dog could sniff it. "I think, little buddy, that you just became my sign."