Page 1 of Grump of Misty Mountain

ONE

FINN

Two things hadn’t changedsince I retired from the Army. The first. I still woke up at five a.m. without setting my alarm and, second, my need for release. My self-imposed celibacy mostly caused the second since I moved to Misty Mountain a couple of years ago.

Pushing forty-three, I was amazed by the second and frustrated by the first. And for a moment, okay, maybe longer, I wished I hadn’t shut myself off from relationships—even a one-night stand no longer appealed.

Lately, I’d been wondering, a lot, if I’d passed up the chance to find an honest to goodness partner in life by cutting myself off from dating. The need to find someone who valued the same things as me and who could provide a softness to help calm my rougher edges had become forefront in my thoughts.

A part of me said it wasn’t too late, but another warned me I was too old to change my ways for any woman. So, for now, I’d keep to myself, write my stories and tinker with my motorcycle. A Harley Softail Heritage. If someone had just met me, and knewanything about vintage motorcycles, they’d probably think I was entering my mid-life crisis era. Maybe I was.

But cycles had been my passion long before the army and no matter where I was stationed, I always found one that needed a bit of TLC.

However, wallowing in my thoughts would not write the last chapter of my book, and my body was signaling its need for caffeine and sugar. It was Monday and that meant a trip into town for coffee someone else made instead of the instant crap I lived on. And my mouth watered at the thought of the crisp, apple fritters Ms. Clara sold down at the Pine and Petal Cafe. A weekly indulgence that kept me from turning into the cliché of a grumpy-hermit-mountain man most of my hometown friends and former rangers I served with had accused me of when I told them where I was moving after retirement.

During basic training, my unit brothers nicknamed me grump, and I’d never been able to shake it. I’d always been on the stoic side, even as a kid, but that had more to do with my home life. On my eighteenth birthday, I signed up with the Army to escape from the chaos of my dysfunctional parents.

Spending years of eating sand and slogging through deserts and rocky, mountainous terrain was enough to turn anyone into a grumpy ass, as far as I was concerned. But I never regretted it because the best thing to come out of my twenty-plus-year hitch was being an Army Ranger and realizing family, a real family, wasn’t always made by blood, butforgedby blood.

Blood, sweat and honor among men and women who, no matter the enemy, always had my back and I theirs. Now separated physically but still connected through technology, I stayed in touch with many of them. I also didn’t mind that my fellow townspeople had labeled me grump the same as my friends had so long ago.

Since moving to Misty Mountain, I’d mostly kept to myself, which had the locals speculating how I supported myself. With no desire to reveal that I wrote military thrillers for a living, publishing under a pen name was one of the smartest decisions I’d ever made. I let them think what they wanted and just kept my face expressionless when someone at the cafe or the Rusty Elk Tavern, where I’d stop for a beer or two with Hank the owner, tried to dig for gossip about me.

Over time, I’d come to like this small town, but that also meant dealing with the mentality that came with living in a place that had a population less than three thousand. Everyone knew each other’s business, who was dating who, etcetera, etcetera.

And so when I walked into the bustling Pine and Petal Cafe to pick up my weekly order, I was not expecting to see anyone other than the queen of gossip herself behind the counter. Ms. Clara, the sweet owner, was speaking to a woman wearing an identical apron with the cafe’s logo on the front. However, the mystery woman’s face hidden behind one of the low hanging menu boards. But what I saw definitely had me looking twice, considering how long I’d been neglecting my libido.

Taking a third look, I drank in all her curves while silently willing her to step just a few more inches to the left so I could find out what she looked like.

“Finn, there you are. Was wondering where you were. I’ve got your fritters set aside. Near sold out of them again. They’ve become almost as popular as my cinnamon rolls.” Clara’s words managed to do what I couldn’t.

I tore my gaze away from the new employee and settled on the cafe owner. “Thanks. And I’ll take a large coffee today. Need the extra boost.” My voice came out rougher than I wanted, lust riding me hard as I tried to hide my interest.

“Now wipe that perma-scowl off your face or you’ll get nothing today. I have someone I want you to meet.”

Rumors abounded about Clara’s matchmaking tendencies, so I knew where this was going. I’d avoided her meddling in my life for so long I’d hoped she’d given up on me. If I needed to scratch an itch, I either used my hand or left the area and found a quick hookup in the neighboring city. But of course, I never shared any of that with Clara.

I did tell her often I was quite happy with my solitary life, but she’d just wave me off with a grin and tell me not to give up on finding love.

“You really should try the lavender honey latte. It’s A-mazing. I’ve had at least a dozen since I started working here last week.” The woman attached to the sultry voice stepped from behind the sign, wearing a sunny smile.

Shock and awe suddenly had a new meaning. Dark chocolate eyes and equally dark, silky looking and wavy hair swung around the most beautiful face I’d seen in a long time, maybe ever.

Each of my nerve endings went on high alert, similar to what would happen right before giving the go order during a high-risk mission when I was still active with the Rangers.

But this was so much better. There was no area of my body that wasn’t aware of this woman, especially my lower region, which was growing by the second behind my jeans' zipper.

“Finn, this is Sami Lynch. She answered my ad last week, and she’s been a godsend. Hardly had to train her. She’s an artist with foam, too. Sami, this is Finn Campbell. Don’t let his gruff and battle-hardened exterior fool you. He has a heart of gold. My Hank thinks highly of him. They’re both veterans, you know.” Clara winked at me.

I narrowed my gaze, lifting my chin in defiance to her description. I nodded at Sami and this time; I managed not to ogle her body. Much. I wasn’t going to play into whatever Clara was trying to orchestrate. She had that darn twinkle in her eye.

Shifting from one foot to the other as both women openly stared at me. But I’d been stared down by enemy combatants while taking crossfire and surely I could handle two petite women.

“Welcome to Misty Mountain.” There, I played nice. Hopefully, this torture would soon end. But Clara didn’t give up.

“See. Man of a few words. But he’s not hard on the eyes, so we put up with him. Especially since he gets a dozen apple fritters every Monday.”

Sami’s cheeks bloomed with a pretty pink blush. Had she noticed me checking her out? I kept my face neutral. At least I hoped I did since my body was still rioting.

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