by Wyatt, Dani
Copyright © 2020
by Dani Wyatt
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,
events and incidents are either the products
of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
www.daniwyatt.com
Cover Credit Pop Kitty
Editing Nicci Haydon
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
The Mountain Man's Kitten
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
THICKWOOD, CO SERIES
OTHER TITLES BY DANI WYATT
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Chapter One
Katarina
“PUT EDGAR AND PAULINA over there.” I nod at Curtis, looking toward the line of cages on the ground to my left under the canopy, as I set up the donation box and straighten up the clipboards, adoption forms at the ready.
“What?” He cocks his head, holding a cage in each hand and squinting, shaking his head as he struggles to hear over all the barking.
“Over there!” I half shout, pointing where I want him to set down the cages containing two rescue wire-haired mutts that were surrendered to the shelter three weeks ago.
He nods and shuffles though the chaos as I direct the other three shelter volunteers. We are setting up our adoption booth at the summer Lumberjack Jamboree, which is the highpoint of the Thickwood, Colorado summer.
As I slip around the front of the table where we will take donations and applications for adoptions, I’m so distracted I catch my toe on one of the ropes securing the corner posts to the canopy, and fly headlong into Curtis—who is now carrying a jug of water to fill the animal’s bowls.
Cold water splashes into my face and the air.
“For Christ’s sake, Kat.” Curtis grabs my arm and tries to right me without falling over himself. “What is with you today? First you walk right into the tent pole...” He reaches up and pokes the bruise on my forehead, and I wince as I smack his hand away. “You drunk?”
“No,” I snap. “I’m not drunk. I don’t even drink, you know that.”
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe you need to start.”
“Maybe you need to start.” I mock back in a singsong, sarcastic tone, and he gives me a dirty look.
“You off your meds today, girl.” He screws up his face and walks away toward the lined-up cages, filling water bowls as he goes.
We’ve volunteered together at the shelter since I moved here. That was three years ago, when my dad took over the local luxury auto dealership, bought up a ton of real estate around town and transported our entire life—including me—from Denver to Thickwood. A Things changed after my mother divorced him and moved in with her Dominant to become a professional Dominatrix. I guess none of us saw that coming.
It’s all fine and good, she just didn’t have much room in her new life for me, so when Dad said let’s start over, I was along for the ride, and we ended up here in this mountain town in Colorado and quickly made ourselves right at home.
Truth is, I was sort of relieved when it finally all blew up. My parents had been so unhappy for so long. My dad worked; my mom spent. My dad wanted a family, my mom wanted a party.
I walk around to each of the cages, making sure they are clean, and give the Eldridge twins, Barbara and Brittany, a schedule on which dogs to walk and in what order.
“Just do the usual.” I take the ponytail band from my wrist and put my crazy blonde ringlets up into a messy bun as the temperature of the morning sun starts to make me warmer than is comfortable. “Walk them over on the hill. Make sure you pick up after them. We still have to follow the park rules.”
“Got it, boss lady.” They answer in unison, as they often do, and it’s still a little creepy to me. They walk away in step with each other, wearing matching outfits with their green Thickwood Rescue t-shirts tucked into the high elastic waistbands of their mom jeans.
They are in their sixties, have lived here all their lives and volunteered at the shelter for a couple decades. I’m not sure exactly what their situation is, but they are almost savant like, yet in many ways they act like pre-teens. Doesn’t matter, they are good workers and adore every animal that comes through the shelter, and their family donated a shit ton of money over the years.
I, on the other hand, took far too long deciding what I should wear today. Which annoyed the hell out of me this morning, after my third change of clothes. Why should I care?
I opted for a Thickwood Rescue tank top, a white denim mini-skirt and these new, bedazzled sort of flip flops.
Normally, at an adoption event I’d grab the first clean pair of jeans and a rescue t-shirt and not think twice.
It’s just another adoption booth. I’ve done them bunches of times over the years.
Today though, I know he’s going to be here.
I should be locked up for the thoughts I have about Miller ‘The Grip’ Graham. He’s the local Lumberjack Jamboree celebrity, and for some reason I don’t understand, my father hates him.
And I...God, I think I love him.
He’s everything I shouldn’t want. He’s rough. Lives in some crazy cabin in the woods. Barely speaks. It’s a small enough town and my dad has become somewhat of a prominent fixture, what with the luxury cars, the real estate and the fact that almost as soon as he moved here, he was invited to join the town council. If he and Miller are at loggerheads, I should steer about as clear as a town this size allows...
But Miller has ruined more of my panties in the three years I’ve been obsessing over him than I can count. We’ve run into each other over the years at little town events, or the grocery, or the diner where Curtis is a line cook.
I’ve given up even attempting to say hello, because the humiliation of his silence when I gather my courage to even eep out the smallest greeting is too much. He hates me. I don’t blame him either.
My father has been suing him for two years over an easement he needs straight through Miller’s property for a utility line, so he can develop a couple of properties on land he bought just after we moved here.
Miller is also a builder of some sort, and my father has bought out land from under him a few times, causing him to lose contracts and a large amount of cash.
My dad can be a grade A asshole when it comes to business. But with me? He’s an amaz
ing father, and I’ve always known he would be there for me through anything.
To everyone else, however, he’s a complete prick.
I’m sure Miller hates my father in equal measure. And I suppose it doesn’t matter much, since the few times we’ve been around each other he can’t get away fast enough, so there’s no use worrying they’ll get into a fist-to-cuffs at the rehearsal dinner or anything.
Even with my unnatural, and unrequited, obsession with the mountain man of Thickwood, I’ve been happy since we moved here.
My phone rings and I see it’s the owner of the veterinary practice, which makes her my boss when I’m here with the shelter. Not that this is my main job. I’m now proudly a registered nurse after graduating college. Landed my dream job at the NICU in the local hospital, too.
I’ve always loved babies. And animals so in the grand scope of things, my life is damn good.
“Hi.” I answer, and Dr. Shirley Temple—yes, her parents had a sense of humor—is on the other end.
“Hey. Everything going okay?”
“Yep. Nothing out of the ordinary. Things are getting ready to start here, and we’re all set up.”
“Great.” She’s super kind and started the rescue shelter with her own funds, converting an old barn on part of her property for the purpose. “Thanks for taking point this weekend.”
“Of course.” I smile, watching as Curtis comes around the table and under the canopy, grabbing a bottle of water and swigging it down. “Getting married is a fairly good reason to take a weekend off.”
“Yes, just hate to put it all on you.”
“Never mind. Will you just go have some fun? Lake Tahoe is a fun place and you’re on your honeymoon. Why are you even calling me?”
She laughs. “I just worry.”
“Well stop. We’ve got it all under control. We’ve got a heap more volunteers coming later, and the twins are going to spend the night in the shelter after we get everyone that isn’t adopted settled back in later this afternoon.”
“Thank you so much. Okay, guess I’ll go do some honeymoon stuff.” She snorts and I laugh.
“Sounds good. Not too much information though, okay?”
“No problem. Talk to you Monday.”
With that, we sign off and for the next few hours, Curtis, myself, the twins—and a few more volunteers—play with the animals, talk and interview potential adoptive families and I try to keep my focus on the work.
Not on the huge open field where burly men from around the country are engaged in all sorts of lumberjacky, highlander sort of competitions.
It’s not the games I’m so interested in.
It’s Miller. And whenever I’ve caught a glimpse of him, way off in the distance, I can barely breathe. He’s not just huge. He’s sturdy in just the right way. There are bigger guys at the competition, like The Mountain from GoT big.
Miller’s not small by any stretch, but he’s just the right mix of hard muscle and thickness, without being grotesque. Whenever I’ve been close to him, I feel small. I’ve battled eating disorders since I was little and although I no longer obsess about my weight, I still have to be careful to keep that side of me in check. I run a couple of times a week, and it helps to balance my calorie intake by forcing me to get some nutrition. I know if I didn’t focus on fitness, rather than food, there’s a danger it would get out of hand again.
There’s a huge cheer and applause that comes from the field, and I see what must be most of the competitors gathering around one of them. It’s Miller.
They are swatting him on the back, high fives and fist bumps, which tells me he’s won.
Again.
He’s holding up a trophy as the cheering ebbs.
At my size, I’m sure he could hold me against the wall, kiss me...fuck me...do whatever he wants with me like a little doll. I let the thoughts take me away for a moment as my face gets hot and the tension between my legs has me drawing a shaking breathe.
“You okay?” Curtis comes up next to me where I’m standing behind some of the cat and kitchen cages. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just had a very special private moment.”
“Shut up,” I snap back, and he laughs.
I’m hopeless.
Chapter Two
Miller
“FIVE WINS IN FIVE YEARS.” Doyle McGuinness smacks me on the back as the rest of the competitors disburse, and the crowd files down from the bleachers. “That’s what you get for being a perfectionist.”
I grunt a small response to my friend, rubbing my hands down the front of my black t-shirt, but the win isn’t what’s on my mind.
It’s been a grueling three days of competition as usual, but it’s not the games that are what’s been hard.
It’s my dick.
And knowing she was going to be here today.
I barely slept. Between jerking off and wandering around my cabin imagining what it would be like to have her there next to me, I couldn’t even mentally prepare for the final day of the competition.
I drank five cups of coffee before I left the cabin this morning, knowing I’d need the kick after not sleeping all night.
I’ve watched her for three years. Ever since she moved to town with her asshole father—who has become my nemesis. It’s no wonder she hates me. He and I can’t seem to agree on the color of shit, let alone battle it out for construction contracts and easement restrictions.
He’s an arrogant dick, who blew into town from the big city thinking he was going to set all of us small-minded folks straight.
Well, he didn’t have that quite right. He may be some big shot back in Denver, and his money buys him land and some influence even in this small town. But I don’t cotton to intimidation, and he and I are coming straight to a tipping point where something is going to blow. And if it’s me, he better get the fuck out of my way.
I grip the top of my head as Doyle stares at me. “You okay there, bud?”
He looks down toward where the art show booths, the elephant ear and cotton candy stands are, and then looks back at me, shaking his head.
“Go fucking talk to her, man. This is so stupid.”
“What? Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I fucking do know what I’m talking about. Katarina Harcourt. She’s down there and the guy who’s not afraid of anything can’t go talk to the kitten lady? Come on. What’s the worst that could happen?”
She could tell me to get lost.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I don’t? I haven’t been around you for going on ten years? The last three, whenever she’s within sniffing distance, you look like you’re about to go postal on anyone close to her. You forget where you are, what you’re doing.”
He’s right, but I’m not going to tell him that. We’ve known each other a long fucking time, he is one of my construction managers, and although I would never say the words, he’s also my best friend.
“You’re full of shit.” I bark back as we make our way to where our duffel bags sit on the side of the grassy area, where the competition just wrapped up. We grab our stuff and walk over to where our trucks are parked next to each other and stow the gear.
I won today, in spite of myself. All I could think about was Katarina. My kitten. I knew the shelter was going to have an adoption event today and that she would be there. I’m a fucking hard ass, but when I’m around her, I can’t form words.
I can’t think.
I’m sure she thinks I’m an imbecile.
As well, an asshole, because that’s what I think of her father and the feeling is mutual.
“You wanna get a beer?” I turn to Doyle, who gives me a disgusted look.
“No. I don’t want to get a fucking beer with you.”
“Fine.” I grit out, opening the door to my truck as he shoves it closed and I growl, my brow tight.
“Listen to me, dick weed.” He starts, and if he was anyone else, I’d ha
ve him flat on the pavement for talking to me like that. “Two months ago, I was sitting in a hospital room holding Jenny’s hand, praying to fucking God for the first time in my life, that if he would just let her live, I would never waste another day. Another opportunity.”
There’s a twinge in my chest when I look at his eyes, seeing the remnants of pain there. He’d been in love with Jenny since high school. They had ups and downs. She moved away, went to college. Moved back and for six months, he didn’t speak to her.
Then, one day, she came down with a virus that nearly killed her. Settled in her lungs, made her brain swell. It was rare, something she caught from a crazy bug bite when she returned from a trip to Costa Rica. But it nearly took her out.
Doyle was there with her every day until she recovered and hasn’t been away from her a day since.
“Tomorrow isn’t promised to any of us, asshole. And I know you well enough, you’ve never looked at a girl like you look at Kat. I know, man. It’s scary.” He nods, giving me a sympathetic look. “It makes you feel like you’ve got no control, but you do. Don’t waste time. I almost lost Jenny because I was an ass just like you’re being. Go down there. Talk to her. That’s all I’m saying. Just, talk to her. For me? Okay? Trust me, if you keep waiting for everything to be prefect, you’re going to die perfectly alone.”
I cursed him out as I stomp down the hill toward the booths. The scent of fried batter and sausages should make me hungry but all I can think about is how she would taste.
As I work my way down the grassy aisles lined with booths of handmade jewelry, hand forged axes and hatchets, photo booths and leather goods, my palms begin to sweat. My heart is beating so hard I’m sure it’s going to erupt from my chest like that little alien did to that poor guy in that movie.
I curl my hands into fists as I get closer. I hear the yelps and barks from the puppies and dogs, and I curse under my breath as my dick thickens and my hard-on threatens to derail whatever this could be before it starts.
I see the blonde ringlets of her hair, tied back in a ponytail that’s working its way loose, and I can’t breathe. Every day since the moment we met, she’s been at the center of my thoughts.
