Page 1 of Owned In Misty Mountain

One

Mike

I’m at The Rusty Elk Tavern, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, when Clara Montgomery slides into the seat across from me. She owns this place with her husband, Hank.

“Back for good this time?” she asks.

I grunt. “For now.”

I came back to Misty Mountain for peace. To fix things with my hands. I came back because I was tired. Not in the way that sleep fixes—the kind that lives in your bones after two decades of sand, steel, and orders barked through radios.

The army gave me a career, a purpose.

But eventually, I needed air.

Needed space. My mountains. Time to be still.

I bought a cabin outside town. Started a construction business.

Clara studies me like she sees more than I’m saying. Finally, she finishes her tea, stands, and pats my shoulder. “Welcome home, Mike.”

She walks off.

I stare down into my coffee and think about the jobs waiting for me.

Roofs. Siding. Gutters. The library’s storm damage repair. I stand, toss a few bills on the table, and head out.

* * *

The second she opens that damn library door, peace dies a fast, brutal death.

“Hi, Mr. Costa.”

I freeze.

Shanay Williams.

Little Shanay who used to follow me and her uncle around, asking questions about hammers and engine grease, is standing in front of me with a stack of books in her arms and a body that makes my jaw clench.

She’s not little anymore.

She’s soft and curvy and fucking glowing in the soft light of the library entryway. Her curls are pinned up, her glasses sliding down her nose, and her sweater hugs every sweet, full curve like it was made just to tempt me.

I shouldn’t be looking.

I look anyway.

All that smooth brown skin. The dip of her waist. Hips thatshould be held in big hands. Thighs I want spread wide.

Goddamn.

“Storm took out a chunk of the roof.” She’s talking, casual, like she doesn’t notice the way I’m staring. “Back room’s got a little water damage. Ceiling in the teen section too.”

She turns, walking ahead.

I follow—because I’m incapable of anything else.

Her hips are swaying slightly as she leads me through the building. Not trying to. She doesn’t have to.

---