Page 8 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
“Shh,” I hiss, sneaking closer to the door.
No keyhole. Small towns are too trusting, I conclude. I grab the curtain to peek around when another loud, sharp bang almost breaks my door down.
Well, now I’m just pissed.
I swing it open, ready to face whatever or whoever is on the other side.
“For fuck’s sake, Lettie, you don’t just open?—“
Too late.
My door is wide open, and on the other side of it stands the beastly frame of a heaving, angry mountain man. My chest stalls. I need to crane my neck to look way up.
Um.Shouldn’t my body’s initial reaction be fear?
Then why does my stomach clench and warmth spread below at the fire behind those darkening blue-green eyes?
Owen McKenna stands at my front door. Oh. And he’s angry.
The darkness of that anger slowly bleeds into shock, but quickly morphs to something else that has his nose flaring.
“You?”
CHAPTER THREE
OWEN
"You?"
The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it, my entire body going rigid with shock. The Christmas Queen cannot be my new fucking neighbor.
Lettie Donovan, wearing yet another ridiculous holiday sweater, stares up at me with those big brown eyes, her mouth forming a perfect "o" of surprise.
"Owen?" she says, sounding just as shocked as I feel. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," I growl, gesturing to my cabin fifty yards away through the trees. "What are you doing here?"
She blinks, then a small smile tugs at her lips. "I guess we're neighbors."
"We are not neighbors," I spit out, my anger resurfacing. "This can't be happening."
Her smile falters. "Is it really that terrible?"
The scent of sugar cookies wafts from behind her, and I fight the urge to inhale deeply. Inside her cabin, I can see boxesstrewn everywhere, tinsel and ornaments, and what looks like at least three different garlands draped over furniture.
"Who is it, Lettie?" a male voice calls from somewhere inside.
Lettie glances over her shoulder. "Just my new neighbor."
A tablet appears next to her face, and a man with tanned skin and a neatly trimmed beard peers out at me. "Holy shit, is that the mountain man you mentioned? He is delicious. Like a lumberjack fantasy come to life."
Heat crawls up my neck despite the December chill. Lettie's cheeks flush pink.
"Tomlin!" she hisses, lowering the tablet.
"What? I'm just appreciating the view. Densel would too."
I run a hand through my hair, increasingly uncomfortable with this entire situation. "Look, this isn't happening. I'm calling Ezra."
