Page 31 of Single Mom’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #1)

Patty

I don’t feel right leaving things how they currently are with Mitch.

Even though Mitch is not angry at me, I need to know for sure. The anxiety and remorse chew up my gut all afternoon, and that feeling’s made worse when Mitch skips dinner.

And his absence is certainly felt by others too.

“Where’s Mitch?” Katie asks, glancing around before she sips her glass of water.

“He had a headache and said he wanted to lie down,” Charlie lies. “He’ll eat later.”

"Should we go kiss his booboos?” Maddie asks. “I always feel better when my mommy kisses my booboos.”

“We can go do that later," I tell Maddie, trying to smile even with the shame that steals whatever was left of my appetite.

Oh, what Mitch must think of me. I think about the pure judgment in his eyes and shudder.

He probably thinks I'm some kind of hussy.

And I must be. Something must be twisted around inside to make me the kind of woman to enjoy sex with two men. Brothers for that matter .

Mitch is probably scared I'm going to ruin his family and even though it's the last thing I want to do, I can understand his fear.

So after dinner, I take a tray of food to his room. I figure that I might as well use this opportunity to apologize to him, or at least make sure he’s okay. He came back early from work today which is very unusual for him, so I want to make sure that his illness isn’t anything too serious.

I knock on the door, but don’t receive an answer. I knock again and this time, there's a faint groan from the other side.

Alarm grabs me by the throat.

“Mitch?” I call out but there’s no answer. Oh no. Is he passed out?

I push the door open, taking in his small, highly organized bedroom, and finding Mitch on the bed, lying on his back. He’s still in his work jeans, shirtless with sweat shining on his skin. One arm is thrown over his eyes and he emits another moan.

I place the tray on the table next to his computer and approach.

“Mitch," I call out softly. “Are you alright?”

He doesn’t respond. Does he have a fever? I reach out to touch his forehead, trying to detect his temperature.

His arm snaps around my wrist and tugs me to the bed.

I barely have time to squeak as he rolls over on top of me, his eyes suddenly wide and wild as they stare down at me, unblinking, remorseless.

Breaths pass between us, each one an ice age in duration.

He doesn’t say anything and neither do I. We simply stare at each other, panting our shock. With the glassy look in his eyes, I suspect that whilst Mitch is certainly staring at me, he may not actually be seeing me .

His gaze is slightly unfocused as though he's stuck in whatever nightmare he was having.

It only starts to clear after some time.

“Patty," he whispers.

"Um yeah. It's me." I swallow. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I just wanted to check in on you.” My voice trails off into breathlessness as I become more aware of our position.

His body hovers over mine, low enough that his naked chest almost brushes against my breasts.

The gold St. Christopher medallion he wears rests between my cleavage, and a delicious thrill of dangerous desire fuels me.

He smells good, like the fresh outdoors, and I suddenly have the mad thought to lick the sweat off his neck

“Jesus." He suddenly releases me and rolls over to sit. “I’m sorry about that. Did I hurt you?"

“Uh no,” I shake my head. "Sorry. I probably shouldn't have woken you up like that but I thought we were sick...or maybe having a bad dream."

His face tightens and he swallows. He looks off silently, his jaw working slowly as he chews on something.

"Was it a nightmare?" I venture.

He pushes his face into his palms and even without words, I feel his pain so poignantly that I have to lay a hand on his shoulder, wanting to absorb it, to release him from its grasp.

"I don't know why the fuck I can't forget it," he rasps.

"Forget what?" And then I realize. "Is it...the Marines?"

He hesitates and then nods tightly. "I wasn't the worst off.

Not even close. I came home, and not on a stretcher.

I have all my limbs. I have a place to live and a job to go to.

I'm supposed to put that shit behind me and sometimes I feel like I have.

But then I go to bed and find myself right back there. "

My heart aches. I've heard so many stories about vets with PTSD. My foster father was one of them and even though he was a mean bastard of a man, I've always sympathized with the haunted look in his eyes, the way he flinched whenever someone moved a tad too fast in his peripheral vision.

"Sometimes it takes time," I say even though my words feel lame in my own ears. "You went through something awful, you can't expect to be over it overnight."

"It's been years," he says.

"Yes. And you came back to meet your mother dying and your family business failing. In a way, it was like you'd been transported into another warzone and the stakes were much more personal here. Have you ever given yourself time to relax and process everything that has happened?"

His lips move but it's not a smile. "Time. That's not a commodity I have a lot of lately."

"The world won't end if you take a day off."

"It feels like it would."

I shake my head. “What you’re doing, how hard you work, it can’t be healthy. Why do you do it? Do you even enjoy it?”

His smile is crooked. “My sergeant used to tell me ‘You don’t gotta like it, but you gotta do it anyway.’ That’s how I view my work.”

Poor thing. I rub his shoulders, wishing I could take some of his burden away and somehow force him to relax. I would love to give him a massage but it's too risky.

"Have you thought about talking to a therapist?" I ask.

"Talk about what? My feelings?" His tone has just enough mockery to be insulting. It's such a male answer I roll my eyes .

"It doesn't make you any less of a macho man to talk to someone."

He smiles. "I've never doubted how macho I am. It's just therapy as a whole. I've tried it before and it was pointless. I just talk and talk and then what? They can't fix it. Can't fix me."

I stare at him trying not to expose the pity I feel.

He's holding onto so much, and he's refusing to let go even if it kills him. But he would hate to see my pity right now. It will only make him feel worse. I just have to be open and honest with him.

“The point isn’t to fix you,” I say gently.

“The point is to help you find better coping methods. Or maybe just to get it off your chest, to share the burden. I used to have frequent nightmares three years ago, and they only stopped after I found someone to talk to.” In my case, it wasn’t a therapist per se, but a bartender at one of the places I would frequent while the kids were in daycare.

They had great wings and while I enjoyed my meal at the bar, the young lady behind it would always strike up conversation.

She told me she had a psychology degree, which made sense because she was so easy to talk to.

Before I knew it, I was spilling my guts about my nightmares and Keegan’s sporadic verbal and physical abuse.

I of course couldn’t tell her everything about Keegan and his business, but I knew she could probably tell at least some of it was illegal.

And while I never took her advice to leave him at that point, it was one of our conversations that planted the first seed of escape.

It was also nice to have someone at least pretend to care for two hours of the day.

Jennifer, her name was. Sometimes, I still think about her. But I had to stop going there after a few months, so Keegan wouldn’t get suspicious. I didn’t want him to hurt her too .

“Why were you having frequent nightmares?”

The question jogs me out of my reverie, and immediately alerts me that I’ve revealed too much.

I cough to cover up my sudden awkwardness and say,“You know. Being a new mother and all, it’s not exactly the easiest thing.”

“What about their father?”

I nearly laugh at the thought of Keegan performing any childcare. “He was a bum in that regard. He didn’t care about them.”

Something dark glitters in Mitch’s eyes as he nods in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Despite the difficulty, I wouldn't trade my daughters for the world. But yes. It was tough and talking to someone helped me. I think therapy would help you too.”

He frowns, and stares out the window. “Maybe. But probably not.”

I can’t help but smile. Stubborn man. There’s so much about Mitch I admire. His strength and dedication. His fierce loyalty and protectiveness. Even his dogged drive and sense of duty.

But his stubbornness is strangely adorable too.

It’s weird to think about Mitch in such terms. He’s a ‘man’s man’ in every sense of the word, a man who carries everyone’s burden on his own, never showing how heavy it is. He’s so strong and so dependable, but that’s what makes him so vulnerable too. And maybe that’s the reason I’m falling for–

I pull back on that thought, with an internal gasp.

What am I thinking? I can’t be falling for Mitch. How could I be falling for one brother while sleeping with the other two ?

Well to be fair, you might be falling in love with all of them.

No! I reject the idea unequivocally, even as my heart thumps faster calling me a liar, reminding me of every time it fluttered or melted in the men’s presence.

I can’t fall for them now. The thought induces more panic. They’re too good for me. All I have to offer them is emotional baggage and trauma. They deserve better than that.

And if I fall in love with them, then I would have to tell them the truth about me and that would complicate everything.

Better to keep things simple. No matter what I’m doing with Wes and Charlie, I refuse to let my heart be involved.

Even though Charlie melts me with his gentle touch, so much so that he makes me want to weep.

And playful Wes makes me laugh constantly.