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

CHAPTER TWO

Asher

I wasn’t the type to linger.

Not after sex, not after drinks, not after anything that even hinted at strings. I knew the drill: a night of fun, a smile, maybe breakfast if she looked like the type who’d cry if I didn’t stay.

But I never stuck around longer than I had to. Except this morning.

This morning, I stood in the hallway outside Room 212 at the Medford Inn for a solid thirty seconds, staring at the door like a dumbass, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

I could still taste her.

Not just her skin, or her mouth, but her . The parts of her she didn’t mean to give away. The parts of her that seeped out in the quiet moments between moans and messy kisses.

Riley had this edge to her—all sharp tongue and tight control. But her eyes?

Her eyes told a whole different story.

She’d looked at me like she didn’t know how to stop burning.

And damn if I didn’t want to be the one who could cool her down… or maybe just burn right alongside her.

I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, muttered, “Get your shit together,” and headed out into the cold.

I made my way into town, ducking into The Brewed Bean Café for a much-needed jolt of caffeine. The bells above the door jingled, and Samantha Barnes greeted me with her usual bubbly grin.

“Morning, Wolfe. The usual?”

“Unless you’ve got something spiked,” I said with a wink.

She laughed. “Not unless you want a visit from Chief Davis.”

“Not my type,” I replied, grabbing the to-go cup she handed me. “But thanks for looking out.”

As I stepped out onto Maple Avenue, the town was already alive. A mom pushing a stroller passed by—Lila Harper, with baby Jace bundled in soft gray knits, cheeks pink from the chill.

“Morning, Asher,” she called, adjusting Jace’s hat.

“Hey, Lila. That little guy breaking hearts yet?”

She smirked. “Only yours if you’re not careful.”

Behind her, Ryan, Colt, and Jaxon emerged from the firehouse, clearly just finishing a shift. Nate Harper, dead serious as always, trailed a few feet behind.

“Wolfe,” Jaxon said, tipping his chin.

“Fellas,” I replied. “What’s the fire gossip this morning?”

“None of your business,” Nate muttered.

Colt grinned. “Which means it’s definitely worth hearing.”

“Ask Samantha,” Ryan said dryly. “She’ll have a recap ready by noon.”

“Already working on it,” I called back, watching Nate shake his head with thinly veiled irritation.

Hell, I loved riling him up.

Up at the Wolfe Logging Company office, I kicked snow off my boots and stepped inside, the heater humming softly. My laptop waited on the desk, the scent of pine and old paper greeting me like it always did.

I should’ve gotten to work… emails, payroll, checking in on the delivery trucks headed upstate. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, coffee forgotten, and stared out the window toward the mountains.

She was still there. In my head.

That little smirk. The way her laugh cracked open like she hadn’t used it in a while. The shift in her voice when she got quiet, as if silence was something she didn’t trust.

Riley.

I didn’t know where she’d come from or why she was here, but I had a feeling she wasn’t just passing through.

And weirdly for me, I kinda hoped she wasn’t.

I drained the rest of my coffee and stood, rolling my shoulders before heading out back where the real work happened.

The air was sharper up here, clean and biting as it sliced across my skin. The hum of saws and the heavy thud of wood against steel filled the space like a symphony only we knew how to play.

Out here, there was no bullshit. Only muscle, sawdust, and sweat.

The way Garrett preferred it.

He stood at the far end of the yard, clipboard in one hand, the other resting on the edge of a half-loaded truck. Even in his flannel and Carhartt jacket, he looked like a goddamn lumberjack calendar come to life.

Beard neat. Shoulders squared. That don’t-fuck-with-me energy pouring off him in waves.

“’Bout time,” Garrett grunted as I approached.

“I was busy this morning,” I said casually. “Had… plans.”

He didn’t look up. “Plans that involve sneaking out of someone’s room before dawn?”

I blinked. “You spying on me now?”

Garrett flipped a page on his clipboard. “Small town, little brother. You think Samantha doesn’t text Aurora, who doesn’t tell Sadie, who’s probably already posted something cryptic about it on her Instagram story?”

I smirked. “You sound jealous.”

Garrett gave me a flat look. “I’m tired.”

“Of?”

“Of watching you screw your way through half the zip code and thinking it won’t catch up to you eventually.”

I whistled low, stepping around the truck bed. “Who said it was someone local?”

That got his attention. He looked up then, eyes narrowing. “Who was she?”

“No one,” I said, a little too fast. “Just someone passing through.”

Garrett stared at me like he was trying to read the thoughts behind my smirk. Which, to be fair, was usually accurate. But this time?

This time, the smirk felt like a mask. One I didn’t quite feel like wearing.

Before Garrett could press, a low whistle cut through the air. I turned as Beckett emerged from the line of trees, flannel rolled up to his elbows, sleeves dusted with sawdust, and a piece of wood slung over one shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

He had that signature broody look on his face, the one that made tourists think he was about to bite them and made every dog in town adore him.

“Morning, sunshine,” I called.

Beckett grunted in response, easily setting the log down on the sawhorse.

Garrett raised a brow. “He say more than that today?”

“Three words, tops,” I said. “We might be breaking records.”

Beckett glanced between us and shook his head, grabbing his axe and lining up a cut. “Y’all are loud.”

“And you’re charming as ever,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “How is it you’re the youngest and still somehow the grumpiest?”

“I like the trees better.”

“Because they don’t talk back?”

“Exactly.”

Garrett’s phone buzzed, slicing through the usual rhythm of the yard. He tugged it from his jacket pocket, checked the screen, and sighed.

“Lucy,” he declared as he turned away and answered, pacing toward the edge of the lot.

Beckett didn’t even glance up from his work, but I could feel the shift in the air, both of us clocking that something was off. Our baby sister didn’t call in the middle of a weekday just to say hi.

Garrett returned a few minutes later, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression tight.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Lucy’s stuck in Eugene,” he said, voice gruff. “Client drama. Production delays. Said it’s a whole mess and she’s putting out fires left and right.”

“Sounds like fun,” I muttered.

“She’s not getting away like she planned,” he went on, ignoring me. “But she offered up her cabin for a while. College friend of hers needed a place to lay low. Apparently, she got in last night, late.”

Beckett paused mid-swing, tilting his head slightly. “Some kind of emergency?”

“Didn’t say. Just that her friend’s going through something and needed space. She asked if we could check in, make sure everything’s working. Heat, firewood, water. No big deal.”

I raised a brow. “You volunteering me for cabin maintenance now?”

“You’re not doing anything useful here,” Garrett shot back. “And Beckett’s behind on chainsaw repairs. Plus, you know the place. You can be charming when you try. Maybe.”

“Wow,” I said flatly. “I feel honored.”

Garrett stared.

I sighed. “Fine. I’ll go check. But if this turns into some Lifetime movie situation with a squatter and a raccoon, I’m blaming you.”

“Lucy said she’s a friend. Be decent.”

“I’m always decent,” I muttered, turning toward my truck. “Eventually.”

“Don’t make it weird, Asher.”

I grinned over my shoulder. “No promises.”