Page 12 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER TEN

Garrett

I wasn’t used to being thrown off balance.

My whole life, I’d built myself around control. Around order. Around being the guy who kept his head when everything else went to shit.

I didn’t make impulsive decisions. I didn’t chase chaos. I handled things quietly, efficiently, and without making it anyone else’s problem.

But Riley Brooks?

She was a goddamn walking contradiction. All chaos and sharp wit, soft skin and stubborn eyes. And ever since she showed up, she’d been screwing with the rhythm of this house, and worse, with my head.

I didn’t know what pissed me off more: the fact that she was here, disrupting everything, or the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

And seeing her with Asher… yeah, that sure as hell didn’t help.

Asher never thought before he acted. He wanted something, he went for it. No hesitation, no second-guessing. I’d spent half my life cleaning up the fallout of that kind of thinking.

But Riley, she wasn’t his to take.

Not that she was mine. At least, that was what I kept telling myself.

So I did what I always did. I went out to work.

Split enough wood to heat the cabin for the next month. Let the ache settle in my shoulders and the cold bite through the fog in my head.

But no amount of work could shake the picture of her, bare legs, bare face, that damn mouth, and Asher looking at her like she was already his.

And then she came outside like nothing had happened and surprised the hell out of me.

“I want to help,” she said, eyes locked on mine like she was daring me to laugh at her.

I didn’t. Couldn’t.

I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the way she said it, like proving herself meant more than pride. Or maybe I wanted to see what she’d do when the world didn’t play to her strengths.

So I handed her an axe.

Then, I stood across from her in the snow, arms crossed, watching as she tried and failed to split her first log. She had no idea what she was doing. Her grip was wrong, stance off, the swing awkward as hell.

The blade hit the wood and bounced sideways. She let out a frustrated sound and shook her arms out.

“Damn it.”

“You’re holding it too tight,” I said, stepping in before she hurt herself.

She turned to glare at me. “Isn’t that kind of the point? Grip it, swing it, hope for the best?”

I fought a smile. “You’re choking up on it too much. Loosen your grip. Let the axe do the work.”

She blew out a breath. “Show me, then.”

I hesitated, only for a second. Getting too close to Riley was a bad idea. I already knew that. But I stepped in anyway, took the axe from her, and set my boots on either side of the stump.

“One clean motion,” I said. I raised the axe and brought it down in one swing. The log split with a satisfying crack.

When I glanced back, she was staring. Lips parted. Cheeks pink from the cold.

“That’s not fair,” she muttered. “You’ve got lumberjack in your DNA.”

I held the axe out. “Try again.”

She did. And failed. Again.

But she didn’t give up.

She adjusted her grip. Shifted her stance. Swore under her breath.

There was this look in her eyes, determined, frustrated, but focused. Like she needed to prove something to herself more than anyone else.

And damn if that didn’t get to me.

Without thinking, I stepped in again. My hand wrapped around her wrist, adjusting her grip. The other landed lightly on her lower back to square her shoulders. Her breath hitched at the contact, but she didn’t pull away.

“You’re fighting it,” I said, low. “Let it move through you.”

She turned her head, looked up at me. Close. Too close.

“I don’t exactly have a lot of practice letting things move through me, Garrett,” she said, her voice soft.

My name in her mouth sounded different. Not sharp, just honest. Like she was raw and bleeding through.

Everything shifted in me. I felt deep and stupid and dangerous.

“Maybe it’s time you learned.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move. She held my gaze like she was trying to figure me out, like maybe I wasn’t what she expected either.

Finally, I stepped in.

I moved behind her, close enough to feel the heat rolling off her body despite the cold. My hands came down over hers on the axe handle, guiding her fingers, steadying her grip.

“Like this,” I murmured, my voice rougher than I intended.

She stiffened for half a second, then breathed in slow, like she was trying not to react.

But I felt it, the way her shoulders tensed under my hands, the subtle shift of her weight as she leaned back enough to register the space I took up behind her.

She smelled like vanilla and campfire smoke. Sweet and earthy. Delicious.

I adjusted her stance, the brush of her hips against mine a spark I didn’t ask for. I tried to focus. Tried to remember what the hell we were doing out here.

“Ready?” I asked, speaking into her ear.

She gave a quick nod. “Yeah.”

Together, we lifted the axe. I let her lead the motion this time, just enough guidance in my grip to keep her balanced.

Her breath hitched as the axe came down and split the wood clean in two.

She gasped, half-laugh, half-disbelief. “Holy shit. Did you see that?”

She turned to me, breathless, eyes bright. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, or maybe from the thrill of it, and her mouth was parted like she was still catching up to the moment.

I looked down at her. Couldn’t look away.

A sizzling flame crackled between us.

I didn’t think. I didn’t calculate or control. I just moved.

My mouth was on hers before either of us could stop it.

She made a soft, startled sound, but didn’t pull away. Her hands were still on the axe, pinned between us, but her body leaned into mine like it belonged there.

Her lips were cold but soft, and when she kissed me back, even for that one heartbeat, it undid me. I hadn’t even realized I was bound that tight.

Then I pulled away.

Hard.

“Shit.” I stepped back, heart pounding in my chest like I’d just made the worst call of my life. “That was a mistake.”

She was with Asher earlier today. And she was Lucy’s friend.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Her face went still. Blank. Like she was slamming a door shut before I could explain.

I hated how that felt.

I didn’t give her a chance to say anything. I shoved a hand through my hair and turned away.

Not because I didn’t want more. But because I did.

As I walked off, boots crunching over snow I couldn’t feel anymore, something smacked past my shoulder and hit a tree with a soft thud .

I stopped.

Turned.

She was standing there, one mittenless hand full of snow, her jaw tight, her expression tight.

“You missed,” I said, voice low.

She shrugged. “Didn’t mean to hit you.”

Bullshit. The second snowball in her palm said otherwise.

My lips twitched before I could stop them. She saw it, and that only seemed to fire her up more. She launched the second one.

It hit weakly and burst apart across my chest.

“Great,” I muttered, brushing it off. “You kiss like a damn arsonist but throw like a toddler.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You kissed me , remember? And then ran off like I was contagious.”

I flinched. Not outwardly, I was better than that, but inside, it landed. Hard.

I didn’t know what I was doing. Not with her. Not with any of this.

“That’s not what happened,” I said, voice rough. “I didn’t run.”

She crossed her arms. “Then explain it. I think I deserve that much.”

I looked at her, standing there in that ridiculous oversized coat, cheeks flushed, eyes burning like she’d take me down if she could, and I felt my chest tighten.

Damn, she was a mess. So was I.

“I can’t,” I said, finally. “Not without making it worse.”

Her mouth pressed into a line. “You already made it worse.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I exhaled hard and turned back toward the cabin. The firewood was done. The air between us, not so much. I needed distance. Clarity. Anything .

But her voice followed me as I walked away.

“Next time you decide something’s a mistake,” she called out, “maybe don’t kiss someone like you mean it. Because it isn’t… you know, fair.”

I paused.

Didn’t turn around. Didn’t answer.

Because she was right about that, too.

And the worst part?

I had meant it. Every goddamn second of it.