Page 63 of Mountain Daddy
The man is probably somewhere between mine and Luther’s age, and he’s handsome as hell. A real tall, dark, and brooding type.
The woman at his side is closer to my age, pretty, with braided hair and a baby strapped to her chest in a green carrier.
“Hi.” The woman holds her hand out, and I take it. “I’m Courtney. That’s Sterling.” She nods toward the hot guy. “And this is Ursa, our little baby bear.” She runs a hand over the baby’s shockingly thick dark hair.
“Nice to meet you all. I’m Kendra, Joe’s kid, obviously.” I grin down at the baby. “She’s adorable.”
Courtney huffs good-naturedly. “She’s gonna run the house.”
The man, Sterling, drapes an arm over Courtney’s shoulders, and for a moment, my heart squeezes.
Then I remember my mission, and I turn to the other two people. Both men.
“Kendra.” I hold my hand out to the younger of the two.
The guy, maybe my age, gives me a wide smile as his palm connects with mine. “Fisher. Nice to meet you.”
I match his smile. His energy is bright and easy.
Nothing like the serious, overwhelming energy pouring off the man who just stopped at my side.
“Fisher.” Luther’s voice is so serious and loud that the younger man almost jumps.
“Hey, Rocky.”
The second man introduces himself as Simpson. And as we all gather plates of food, I find out they all work together at some lodge near here.
Not my jam, but glad they all seem to love it.
When our group steps out onto the back deck, Dad makes a big commotion of saying hello to everyone. And it’s another ten minutes before Dad serves us all brats from the grill, and we find seats around an unlit firepit in the backyard.
Dad added extra folding chairs to accompany the usual wooden chairs that live in a circle around the pit.
Everyone shuffles around. And I make sure to catch Luther’s eye as I take the chair next to Fisher.
Chapter 38
Luther
I’m tornbetween a laugh and a growl when Kendra seats herself next to fucking Fisher.
My humor dies when Susan takes the chair on Kendra’s other side.
Not cool, Susan.
I hesitate, trying to decide whether I want to take the chair directly across from Kendra or the one on the other side of Fisher so I can hear what they’re saying.
Then Kendra crosses her legs, and I beeline for the seat across from hers.
If she’s going to flash anyone with that short skirt, it’s going to be me.
Torture.
The last hour has been actual torture.
No offense to Simpson’s stories, but I’ve been staring at Kendra’s bare thighs for a fucking lifetime as she leans against her armrest, talking to a man who is arguably more age appropriate.
I’ve finished my food.
