Page 2 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER ONE

Riley

I pressed my forehead to the cool airplane window, watching the clouds roll by like waves I couldn’t surf. Just… float through.

Powerless. Weightless. Disconnected.

Perfect.

The hum of the engine was the only white noise loud enough to drown out the words still echoing in my head.

Fake.

Manipulative.

Canceled.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

It had been almost two weeks since the rooftop party. Two weeks since Ava’s crocodile tears turned into my career combusting in real time.

Since sponsors dropped me, followers turned into enemies, and my name trended for all the wrong reasons.

#CancelRiley was the number one topic on Twitter for two days.

Two. Days.

In internet time, that’s basically a public stoning. But worse because it’s forever.

And I didn’t even fight back.

Didn’t post some desperate apology video from my kitchen in soft lighting.

Didn’t hire a crisis manager.

Didn’t go live on Instagram with fake tears and a ring light set to “redemption glow.”

I disappeared.

Because honestly? I didn’t have it in me to beg for forgiveness from people who had loved me for the version of myself they wanted to see. Not the one I actually was.

So here I was, flying to nowhere.

Medford, Oregon.

Population: Please Leave Me Alone.

It wasn’t home. Hell, no. I hadn’t had one of those in a long time. But it was something else, an escape hatch. A quiet space between disasters.

All thanks to Lucy.

We hadn’t spoken much over the past year, not since life got loud and messy and full of too many filters. But when I finally worked up the nerve to reach out, to text her from my bathtub while drowning in sponsored rejection emails, she replied in under three minutes.

I had to reread the texts now, to remind myself I wasn’t alone.

Just because LA was full of Avas didn’t mean I had no one. My college bestie was the realest person I’d ever met in my life.

Riley I know it’s been a minute. And I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m drowning, Lu, and I don’t know who else to call.

Lucy Where are you right now?

Riley LA. My apartment. Until I’m kicked out. I’m sure you’ve seen the online stuff.

Lucy No?? But it doesn’t matter. Come here. Seriously. Hide out in Medford. It’s dead. You’ll love it. You don’t have to explain anything. Just come.

Riley Are you sure? I’m a walking PR nightmare. You don’t need that kind of disaster energy in your life.

Lucy Come on! You’re my best friend. You could show up with a tabloid tail, and I’d still throw you a blanket and a glass of wine. Also, I miss you, and you know I don’t care about any of that shit.

Riley Okay. I’m booking the flight. Thank you. Like, for real.

Lucy Always, Riles.

I cried when she said it. Didn’t even try to pretend I wasn’t. I think that was the moment I realized how tired I really was.

Tired of being looked at.

Tired of pretending I was fine.

Tired of people who only loved the version of me that posted once a day and never flinched.

I didn’t even tell my parents I was hiding out. Not that it would’ve mattered. They never really understood me.

But Lucy did.

Or at least, she used to.

I couldn’t help but wonder if we would still connect in quite the same way. I’d definitely changed since I was in LA, but returning to her hometown and her family might not have had the same impact on her.

Guess I was going to find out.

So I took the one thing I had left—my bruised pride—and packed it into a carry-on.

No designer luggage, no PR-approved outfits. Just jeans, sweaters, hoodies, and the kind of emotional baggage TSA should really charge extra for.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the flight attendant chirped, “we’ve begun our initial descent into Medford. Local time is 4:26 p.m. and the weather is a chilly forty-two degrees.”

Chilly. Small town. Off the grid.

Perfect.

I straightened up and checked my phone.

No new notifications. No texts. No emails.

Only silence.

And much to my own surprise, I didn’t hate it.

The Medford Inn smelled of lemon-scented cleaning products and pine air freshener, with a side of old carpeting that had definitely seen better decades. But it was clean, cheap, and most importantly, uncomplicated.

I dropped my suitcase by the edge of the bed and flopped back onto the too-firm mattress. For a second, I just lay there, staring up at the water-stained ceiling, wondering how I’d gone from penthouses and PR events to hiding in a motel where the front desk still used paper forms.

My phone buzzed with a text.

Lucy Ughhh, I’m so sorry, babe. Still stuck in this meeting in Eugene, total nightmare. Rain check on Lucky’s?

I stared at it, considering bailing on the night altogether.

I hadn’t worn real makeup in days. My hair was in some vague messy bun slash burnout hybrid. And I didn’t exactly feel in the mood for making small talk with people who probably thought a ring light was something you put on a tractor.

But then again… the Wi-Fi at the motel was glitchy, the TV only had basic cable, and I was rapidly spiraling into “doomscroll my own cancelation” territory.

I texted back:

Riley No worries. I’ll go anyway. Could use a drink after.

Lucy Okay, well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

I snorted and rolled my eyes, tossing the phone aside.

Thirty minutes later, I was walking toward Lucky’s bar, which looked exactly like the name sounded… half dive, half neon sign, with a big wooden porch out front and two guys in flannel arguing over whose truck was blocking the other.

Inside, it was warmer than expected, though. Dimly lit, with a pool table in the back and a jukebox playing a slow, twangy cover of a song I vaguely recognized.

The crowd was mixed: young twenty-somethings, older guys in work boots, a few women laughing in a corner booth over nachos the size of a pizza box.

I made my way to the bar and slid onto a stool.

“Vodka soda,” I told the bartender, a guy in a faded denim vest. “Heavy on the vodka.”

He gave me a once-over, not unkind, only curious. “Rough day?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded like he’d heard that one before. “You from around here?”

“God, no.”

That made him laugh, and by the time the drink was in my hand, I already felt marginally less like a walking cautionary tale.

I sipped slowly, watching the room. I wasn’t here to talk. Just vibe. Observe. Blend in before disappearing entirely.

Which is probably why the universe decided to completely humiliate me.

I turned to look toward the jukebox… and slammed headfirst into a wall of plaid and muscle.

My drink tilted, time slowed, and in one horrifying, inevitable moment, I watched it spill directly down the front of a stranger’s shirt.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, reaching out instinctively. “I am so… so sorry.”

The man stepped back, blinking down at his now-soaked Henley. “Wow. That’s one way to say hi.”

“I didn’t see you. I mean, I wasn’t looking, I’m usually not this…” I stopped myself, flustered and wide-eyed. “Let me buy you a drink.”

He looked at me properly now. Dark hair, sharp jaw, a little scruff, and eyes that looked like they’d seen some shit and had made peace with it.

Handsome, but in a way that didn’t feel curated or filtered. He was real. And currently wet.

His mouth twitched. “You offering out of guilt or strategy?”

I raised a brow, recovering a little. “Can’t it be both?”

He laughed, low and surprised. “Fair enough.”

The bartender was already handing me a towel, muttering something about tourists and cheap vodka. I dabbed awkwardly at his chest, which was now sticking to him in a way I tried very hard not to notice.

“I’m Riley,” I said, handing him the towel.

“Asher,” he said, wringing it out. “You’re not from here.”

“That obvious?”

“You smell like Hollywood and panic.”

That startled a laugh out of me. “Well, at least I’m consistent.”

He leaned against the bar, accepting the drink I ordered for him. “So what brings you to Medford, Riley from Hollywood?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. “LA. And let’s just say I needed to disappear for a while.”

He didn’t push. He clinked his glass against mine. “To disappearing.”

I clinked back. “And to not ruining your shirt a second time.”

He grinned. “Guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to make it up to me.”

I didn’t know what surprised me more—that he said it, or that I wanted to.

He raised an eyebrow, that slow, lazy kind of smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “So, are you the kind of girl who disappears into the night after ruining a stranger’s shirt, or do you usually stick around and make awkward small talk?”

I swirled my glass, still trying not to look at the way his shirt clung to his chest. “Depends on the night. And the stranger.”

Asher chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “Good answer. So what’s tonight?”

I met his gaze with a flicker of challenge. “Small talk. For now.”

“Alright then,” he said, settling more comfortably against the bar as if he had all the time in the world. “Let’s see. What’s the most LA thing about you?”

I pretended to think. “I once did hot yoga with a former Bachelorette and cried after. Not because of the yoga, because she told me my aura was closed.”

He actually laughed at that. “Your aura . That’s brutal.”

“What about you?” I tilted my head. “What’s the most Medford thing about you?”

He smirked. “I once chased a raccoon out of someone’s truck bed with a snow shovel while holding a beer in the other hand.”

I choked on my drink. “That’s honestly iconic.”

“I try.” His smile faded enough for a beat of sincerity to slip in. “You don’t strike me as someone who usually hides out in small towns.”

“Yeah, well. Desperate times.”

His gaze softened, curious but not prying. “You running from something or running to something?”

I hesitated. “Does it matter?”

“Only if you want it to.”

We let that sit for a moment, the clink of glasses and low hum of country music filling the space between us.