Page 12 of Mountain Man's Longing
You’ll be forty soon, Graham. Time to stop acting like relationships are enemy combatants.
He’ll be thrilled when I tell him I’ve found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. And he won’t give a damn that she’s younger than me. He’ll just want to confirm she’s a woman who can put up with my sorry ass.
Plus, if anyone understands what it’s like for a man like me to fall for a city girl, it’s him. Eric had his heart broken by one years ago, though he’s never told me the whole story. Maybe, he’ll have some insight into how to make it work. And I could use the advice.
Plus, if Brenna’s in town, I’ll be able to track her down in minutes. A beautiful stranger in a Range Rover in Wildwood? That kind of thing gets noticed by everyone from Mia at the cafe to Rhys at the brewery. Small towns don’t keep secrets, especially not ones that look like her.
Grabbing my keys and wallet, I head for my old pickup, letting the cabin door slam behind me on my way out.
Chapter eight
Brenna
For a heartbeat that stretches into eternity, Eric Truett and I stare at each other across the cluttered counter. My father. The man I’ve wondered about my entire life.
He’s taller than I imagined. Broader through the shoulders, with laugh lines around his eyes. Nothing like the reckless and irresponsible ski instructor my mother painted him to be in her rare, bitter mentions of him.
“You have her smile,” he says finally, his voice thick. “But those eyes…” He shakes his head in wonder. “Christ, Brenna. Twenty-two years.”
The way he says my name, as if he’s uttered it a thousand times, breaks open something inside me.
“But you…” I start then trail off.
Pain flickers across his features. “I’ve thought about you every single day since—” He stops, glancing around the shop. A customer browses hiking boots just a few aisles away. “This isn’t the place for this conversation.”
I take a step back. “If you don’t want to—”
“No.” He’s around the counter in three strides, his green eyes fierce with determination. “I’ve never wanted anything more.” His hands hover near my shoulders as if he wants to pull me into a hug but isn’t sure he has the right. “I’ve waited more than two decades for this conversation, honey. I’m not about to run from it now.”
The endearment washes over me like a warm wave. Honey. Said with the kind of paternal affection I’ve craved my entire life.
“I don’t have a tour until two,” he continues, already reaching for his jacket. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
We head back out the door to Main Street, and I catch myself studying his profile as we walk, searching for pieces of myself. He waves or exchanges pleasantries with every single person we pass, often by name. Warmth spreads through my limbs as the midday light slants through the trees. This is what belonging looks like. What it feels like to be woven into the fabric of a community. I’ve never experienced anything like it in Manhattan, where our doorman knows our names but our neighbors are strangers.
“Do you know everyone around here?”
“In a town as small as this one, everyone knows everyone.”
Oh.
“The brewery’s just ahead.” Eric nods toward the soft glow of Edison bulbs visible through the windows. “Rhys makes the best wood-fired pizza this side of the mountain.”
The moment we step inside, a mountain of a man behind the bar looks up from the glass he’s polishing. Dark beard, flannel shirt, arms like tree trunks. He could be Graham’s cousin. My pulse kicks up at the comparison, heat flooding my cheeks as memories of last night crash over me. The scratch of Graham’s beard against my inner thighs, the way his hands spanned my waist.
“Eric!” The bartender’s face splits into a grin. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Been busy with the autumn rush.” Eric’s hand ghosts my elbow in a gesture so naturally protective it makes my throat tight. “Rhys, this is Brenna. She’s…visiting from the city.”
I don’t blame him for the generic introduction as Rhys’s gaze sweeps over me with curiosity but no judgment. “First time in Vermont?”
“It is.”
“Well, you picked a hell of a week for it, what with that storm last night. But look at the sky now.” He gestures toward the window where sunlight breaks through dissipating clouds, painting the mountains in brilliant relief. “Oh, Eric, I should tell you the Hendersons came in for dinner last night. Little Tommy’s doing great. Still talking about his big adventure.”
Eric’s face lights up. “Glad to hear it. That was a hell of a scare.”
Rhys turns to me. “Last month, their boy got lost on Maple Ridge during a family hike. Eric organized the entire search party. The man didn’t sleep for two days. He was too busy coordinating with the rangers and searching all night in the rain.” He sets down the glass and towel. “That’s just who Eric is. Steady as the mountains, reliable as the sunrise.”
