Page 89 of My Knotty Mountain Men

After the bullshit with Sylvia last week, the guys and I are extra protective. I love this town, and spent most of my life here. I’ve built a family, a life, a business. I’ve made some of the best friends a man could ask for.

Then I’m reminded that there are people in this town who throw their power and money around, getting whatever the fuck they want for the right price.

What's the point of having a restraining order if the law isn’t going to uphold it because of their connections?

Sylvia is out of control, a spoiled, entitled woman who thinks the world owes her everything. And it doesn’t.

I have no idea why she has her sights set on my pack and me. I’m sure there are plenty of packs that she could pick from. One that comes more from her pedigree.

Maybe it’s because she’s a Beta, and in their society, they aren't as sought after like Omegas are, or maybe she really does wish she was an Omega. The way she’s been acting, it seems like she does.

Either way, Sylvia is a problem that we don’t know how to fix.

I know Aiden still has that fear in the back of his mind that Violet is going to get overwhelmed or scared off and leave us again. But with how she acted at Nolan’s party, the way she defended our pack and stood up for what belonged to her, I know she’s ours. She’s picked us, and she’s not going anywhere.

I just need to sink my damn teeth into her neck and mark her as mine for good.

I’ve been waiting, not wanting to overwhelm her. Her bonding with Aiden took a lot out of her. She was tired for a few days after. With planning a party for our Beta, something we had no idea he wanted, and the bullshit with Sylvia... it wasn’t the right time.

Then add in her late first trimester morning sickness, and I knew I couldn’t ask.

“So, what do you do all day?” she asks me as she slowly peruses the aisles.

“I mostly sit and wait for customers,” I tell her as I make my way behind the counter to get set up for the day.

She glances up at me with a raised brow, a small smile playing on her lips. Does she know how beautiful she is? “That doesn’t sound like very much fun.”

I grin. “Sometimes it’s not, but for the most part, we’re pretty busy. There are all kinds of different forms of hunting you can do. Small game like rabbits, squirrels, lots of different kinds of smaller birds; then there's bigger game like bears, sheep, deer, moose, elk, goats, mountain lions.”

Her eyes widen. “There are mountain lions out there?” she asks, looking utterly horrified.

“Yes,” I chuckle. “All kinds of wildlife live in these mountains.”

“You mean I could be just chilling in the backyard of the house, and boom, a big old murder cat pops up?”

“It’s a possibility.” I nod. “It’s why we have things placed around the property like air horns, a few guns—stuff like that.”

“Wow,” she says, blinking. “Yeah, I’m going to have to let the girls know about that. Last thing they need is to come here for vacation and lose a limb.”

That has me chuckling. “You're adorable, you know that?”

“Thanks.” She grins. “You're not too bad yourself, big guy.” She winks before going back to looking at all the items for sale.

Yup, I’m obsessed, that's for sure.

“What else can you kill around here, Mr Mountain Man?” I can see the cheeky grin on her sinful lips, and it makes my cock twitch. This Omega has a way of making me feral just by looking at her.

“We have some wild turkeys that love to come down onto our lands. For the most part, we leave them alone but if there becomes too many, we provide most of the town with Thanksgiving or Christmas lunch.”

“Damn.” She blows out a breath. “That's savage.”

“Very much so,” I say with amusement.

She makes her way around the store. I should be going back to get the cash ready for the till, but I’m too entranced by my Omega. I love watching her. The way she moves, her body language, her smile, and the way her brow furrows when she’s looking at something that interests her.

“I can feel you watching me,” she sing-songs, snapping me out of the trance she’s put me under.

I jolt back and clear my throat. “Stop being sexy, and I won't stare,” I grumble.

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