Page 1 of Love Me In Misty Mountain
Chapter 1: Bree
Mistake number one: thinking my boots were mountain appropriate.
Mistake number two: believing moving back to Misty Mountain was going to be peaceful.
Mistake number three: assuming Scott Fergus was going to be anything other than a complete pain in my ass.
All three became abundantly clear as I stepped out of my car, sinking instantly into a slushy mix of mud and snow. My brand new boots, bought online from some influencer who clearly had never seen a mountain, were ruined within seconds. I cursed under my breath, yanking my foot free with a wet squelch.
“Perfect,” I muttered.
Misty Mountain was exactly how I remembered it. Towering pines, crisp air, and that subtle promise of getting snowed in at the worst possible moment. Population: 2,500, if you counted the dogs. The kind of town where everyone knew your business before you did.
I used to love it. When I was a teenager, it had felt safe. Like home. Now? I wasn’t so sure.
The cabin I’d bought looked as rough as I expected. The roof sagged slightly, the porch creaked worryingly, and the front door hung at a crooked angle. It needed work. No. It needed alotof work.
I didn’t care though, because it was all mine.
I was done with city life, the long hours, fake smiles, and men who thought a curvy woman was just a novelty to check off their list. I wanted something more. Something real. and if that meant trading in my heels for power tools, so be it.
Speaking of tools.
A low rumble of an engine snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned just in time to see a battered old truck roll up, tires crunching over the gravel drive. The man behind the wheel was a silhouette, but I knew exactly who it was. I would have recognized that scowl anywhere.
Scott Fergus.
My brother’s best friend. Ex-Marine. Local recluse. Certified mountain man. Also, my teenage crush and current annoyance.
The truck door creaked open, and Scott stepped out, tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a flannel jacket that had seen better days. His dark hair was a little longer than I remembered, his beard thicker, but his eyes, the colour of storm clouds, had not lost their intensity, and currently they were locked onto me like I was an unscheduled complication to his otherwise grumpy day.
“Bree,” he said, towering over me.
“Scott.” I crossed my arms, refusing to let him intimidate me.
His gaze flicked down to my mud-covered boots, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “City shoes don’t last long up here.”
“Thanks for the fashion advice.”
That almost smile faded, and the scowl returned. “Your brother called me.”
Of course, he did. I loved my brother, but he had a habit of treating me like I was still sixteen and in need of a babysitter. And Scott Fergus? He had always been the enforcer of those big brother rules.
“I don’t need help,” I said firmly.
“I didn’t say you did.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his eyes sweeping over the cabin like he was mentally cataloging every single thing wrong with it. His jaw tightened, and I knew exactly what was coming. “But you’re going to get it anyway,” he finished.
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already turning back toward his truck.
“I’ll be here tomorrow. Eight a.m. Don’t be late.”
With that, he climbed back into his truck and drove off, leaving me standing in the slush, fists clenched and heart racing.
Tomorrow was going to be hell, and for reasons I didn’t want to unpack, I was kind of looking forward to it.
Chapter 2: Scott
Ididn’t want to be here.
