by Marla Monroe

Menage Mountain 19
Finding Her Home on Menage Mountain
Shay isn’t one to stick around for long, but Gage and Maverick plan to change her mind about moving on. Will she listen, or will she run before they can hurt her like she’s been hurt in the past?
Gage and Maverick know she’s the one for them almost from the beginning. They work at convincing her from day one by showing her that they are in it for the long run.
Shay isn’t convinced that they won’t kick her to the curb once they’ve gotten their fill of her, but somewhere along the way she’s fallen for them and can’t find it inside of her to move on when the time comes. She’s going to stick around until they tell her to leave after all.
What will happen when the time comes? Will Maverick and Gage actually ask her to go or will they ask her to stay?
Genres: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 30,078
FINDING HER HOME ON MENAGE MOUNTAIN
Menage Mountain 9
Marla Monroe

Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
Finding Her Home on Menage Mountain
Copyright © 2019 by Marla Monroe
ISBN: 978-1-64243-885-7
First Publication: July 2019
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2019 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marla Monroe has been writing professionally for over thirteen years. Her first book with Siren was published in January of 2011, and she now has over 90 books and novellas available with them. She loves to write and spends every spare minute either at the keyboard or reading. She writes everything from sizzling-hot cowboys, emotionally charged BDSM, and dangerously addictive shifters, to science fiction ménages with the occasional badass biker thrown in for good measure.
Marla lives in the southern US and works full-time at a busy hospital. When not writing, she loves to travel, spend time with her feline muses, and read. Although she misses her cross-stitch and putting together puzzles, she is much happier writing fantasy worlds where she can make everyone’s dreams come true. She’s always eager to try something new and thoroughly enjoys the research she does for her books. She loves to hear from readers about what they are looking for in their reading adventures.
You can reach Marla at [email protected], or
Visit her website at www.marlamonroe.com
Her blog: www.themarlamonroe.blogspot.com
Twitter: @MarlaMonroe1
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
FINDING HER HOME
ON MENAGE MOUNTAIN
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
FINDING HER HOME
ON MENAGE MOUNTAIN
Menage Mountain 9
MARLA MONROE
Copyright © 2019
Chapter One
Shay rode into Cozy on fumes. She had just enough money for a hotel room and maybe a hot meal if she were lucky, but she figured she’d find a job and be fine just like she always was. One thing she had going for her was that she could work. Well, that and that she didn’t believe in giving up. No, Shay could have given up a dozen times in her life, but she’d picked herself back up and started over again and never looked back. As long as she had breath in her she’d get back up and keep on going. It was the one good thing her mom had taught her before she’d overdosed when Shay was sixteen.
The Cozy version of a Motel 6 sat just off the highway and sported a broken vacancy sign. She hoped it was in better shape than the sign. The front desk clerk seemed nice enough. He was probably a college student since he had a book open on a small table behind the counter.
She got a room for one night with the possibility of another night. That would all depend on if she found a job or not and if that job provided an advance. Otherwise she’d be looking for a place to sleep. Since she rode a motorcycle, she couldn’t sleep in it like she could have a car. The bike cost less in gas and was easier to park.
She tossed her backpack on the bed and checked the bathroom to find that it was clean and modern as was the TV mounted on the wall. Not bad for a small-town motel. She sat on the bed and began reading through the classifieds in the paper she’d picked up from the motel office. It only came out once a week on Sundays, so it was almost a week old. The only job opening listed was as a waitress at a local bar. She could handle that no problem. She just hoped the opening was still there.
Shay showered, changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top, then got directions from the motel clerk to the bar and walked the few blocks to the bar. It took her less than twenty minutes to make the walk, so she figured she could handle it until she made enough money to be able to afford the motel and the gas for the bike. It would all depend on how good tips were in a small town like Cozy.
She walked into the bar around two p.m. to find that there were several early drinkers already in place. The bartender walked down to where she sat at the end of the bar and gave her a chin lift.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“I’m here about the ad in the paper. Have you filled it yet?” she asked.
“Not yet. You applying?” he asked.
“Yep. Do I need to fill out an application?” she asked.
“No. Stay right there. I’ll get the manager.”
Shay sat there and looked around. It was a fair-size bar with a dance floor and a room off to one side where a pool table was currently occupied by two players. She wondered if they served food or just drinks. She looked around and saw that there was a door to the back behind the bar, so maybe so. A few minutes later, a man of around five foot ten inches walked toward her from the long hall leading toward the back of the building. He held out his hand.
“I’m Gil Michaels. I’m the manager. Follow me,” he said.
Shay slid off the stool and followed him down the long hall to a door marked office and inside where he indicated she should sit in one of the two chairs next to the desk. He
took the other seat.
“Got any experience as a waitress in a bar?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ve worked in several bars as both a waitress and a bartender, so I can do both if you need it,” she said.
“Passing through or planning to stay a while?” he asked.
“Depends on the job,” she said. “If the job pays well, I’ll stay. If it doesn’t, I’ll move on.”
He nodded. “That will depend on you. Tips here are normally pretty good if you’re a good waitress. Show a little cleavage and you’ll get more tips. We don’t allow the men to mess with you, but there’s nothing wrong with letting them dream, you know what I mean?”
“I know. So what is the typical dress code?” she asked.
“Mostly up to you. You can wear jeans, shorts, skirts, or dresses. I’ll be honest with you though. If you wear dresses or skirts you’re asking for trouble. Shorts are good, but not too short, or again, you’re asking for trouble.”
“Sounds good to me. Do I have the job?” she asked.
“When can you start?” he asked.
“Now.”
He smiled. “Come back at six and we’ll work out your schedule after I see how you do tonight.” He tossed her a form. “Fill this out and bring it back with you.”
“See you then.” Shay nodded and folded the form to fit in her backpack.
She took the walk back to look around some. The bar was on the other side of the town, so she got a good look at some of the shops and noticed that there was a tattoo shop there. Maybe she could get one of her tattoos touched up if she earned enough money. It needed a little more color added to it. She had several that signified some important events in her life. The death of her mother, the death of her innocence, and the death of her belief in her fellow man. All had betrayed her, and she now knew that the only person she could depend on was herself. So she kept on moving.
Maybe one day she’d find a place that suited her and she’d settle down with a good job and find a place to put down roots. For now, the road held too many possibilities to give it up.
She finally ended up at the motel once more. She’d stopped by a convenience store and gotten a microwave sandwich and chips with a Diet Coke. She made short work of them then settled down on the bed for a short nap. She figured she’d need it to get through the night ahead. She knew from experience that bars were busy on Friday nights. She’d be worn out by the time the night was over.
* * * *
Maverick kicked the door shut behind him. He dropped the grocery bags on the counter and grunted when he hit his elbow on the fridge when he turned to open it.
“Need some help?” Gage called out from the other room.
“Fuck no. I’ve got it.”
Maverick unloaded the reusable sacks and returned them to the pantry where they kept them then pulled out a bottle of beer and opened it, tossing the cap in the recycle bin. He turned it up and enjoyed the bite as it slid down his throat. He hated shopping. That was why he and Gage took turns. Gage hated it as much as he did.
“Get everything?” Gage asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Yeah. Fucking eggs were a pain in the ass. Had to look through six dozen of them to find a pack that didn’t have some broken in them.”
“Hate that part. That and dealing with the cashier. She’s always so nosey. Wants to talk and all,” Gage said. “Why do they think we’d want to talk?”
“I guess ’cause women talk all the time. Most shoppers are women. I don’t know.”
“Maybe.”
“What are you working on?” Maverick asked.
“First-person shooter game. Got three others on the game with me if you want to join in,” Gage said.
“Hmm, maybe later. I’m going to go work out in the shop. Need some downtime after that.”
Gage chuckled. “I’d need to shoot something after grocery shopping.”
“You shoot things, I cut on things. Neither one of us are right in the head,” Maverick said.
“That’s why we’re up here on this mountain,” Gage said.
“Yeah, the others think we want to share a woman,” Maverick said.
“Yeah, well, if we could find one that we both like and who could put up with us, then maybe, but we’ll never find one who could fit our needs. So what’s it matter? We’re out in civilian life, and that’s all that matters,” Gage said.
Maverick gave him a chin lift then strode out the back door to where they’d built a shop of sorts where he spent a lot of his time. He liked to carve. He carved animals mostly but occasionally carved out other things, as well. He had a motorcycle he was currently working on. It took a lot of detail work and that took time and patience. He had the time. The patience was what he had to work on.
Now he took another swig of his beer then set the bottle down and picked up the knife and sat on the stool in front of the roughed-out bike that stood a good two foot by three foot on the table in front of him. He began carving out pieces of wood until sliver by sliver the handlebars began to take shape. He moved to the seat and then the back before returning to the front of the bike. When his hands began to cramp, he cursed and stopped. They were the only reason he couldn’t work for more than two or three hours at a time.
His hands were scarred, and he was lucky he could use them at all. He could have lost them back in Afghanistan when the truck in front of them had run over the IAD that had killed many of the men in his division. He and Gage were lucky to have escaped with as few injuries as they had. He’d suffered shrapnel injuries and burns to his hands and chest while Gage had nearly lost his leg. He still walked with a limp and suffered with cramps in it especially at night. He’d walk the floors sometimes because he couldn’t sleep.
“Ready for dinner?” Gage called out from the door.
“Yeah. Just putting things away in here anyway,” Maverick said.
“Warmed up some chili-mac and made some toast. Good for you?”
“It’ll do. Want to hit the bar tonight? Feel like a draft.”
“Suits me,” Gage said.
Maverick finished putting away his knives and covered the piece he was working on with a towel. Then he grabbed his empty bottle to toss in the glass recycle bin in the house after locking up his shop. He needed a shower before he went anywhere. Normally he wouldn’t give a damn if he’d had one or not, but he felt grimy and didn’t want to feel that way all night. More than likely it would be hot in the bar with lots of people.
He grunted at that thought. People. He could do without all the people, but other than going to the pizza place you couldn’t get a good draft beer anywhere else. He didn’t want to go to the pizza place, so the bar it was. He could deal with the people as long as they left him alone. One snarl and most of the women got the message.
Gage didn’t mind the women so much. He’d even been known to bed a few, but mostly he kept to himself much like Maverick did. Gage was self-conscious about his bum leg, and since he couldn’t dance, he didn’t have much to offer a woman in a bar. They were two miserable excuses of mankind.
As soon as they arrived at the bar Maverick saw her and instantly got hard. What the hell? She had long curly black hair pulled back in a ponytail that reached just below her shoulders. She was about five foot seven or eight inches tall and had a curvy body that accented her tight round ass perfectly. He’d never seen a woman who looked as perfect as she did. He knew Gage had seen her because he stopped just inside the door and Maverick ran into him.
“What the fuck, man? Signal when you’re going to stop like that,” Maverick said.
“Do you see her?” Gage asked.
“Yeah. Can’t help but see her. She sticks out like a black cat in a room full of white mice,” he said.
“Fuck me, she’s perfect,” Gage said.
“We aren’t,” Maverick reminded him.
Gage huffed out a breath and stomped off toward an empty table. Well, it was empty now. It might have belonged to someone dancing, since it ha
d two half-consumed beers on it, but hey, no one was guarding it. Maverick moved the two beers to one side and waited to see if they were in their dream woman’s area. It wasn’t lost on him that she was a new waitress there. She wore the bar’s logo apron and had a tray.
To his delight, she made her way over to them and cleared off the two bottles and asked what they’d have.
Gage smiled. “Besides you, draft Bud.”
Maverick snickered. “I’ll have the same. You included.”
She just shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I swear, do all of you get your lines from the same person? You really need to shake it up some. That’s two Bud drafts. Be right back.”
“Well, that went well,” Gage said, scowling.
“Stands to reason every single and not-so-single guy in the bar has already hit on her,” Maverick said. “Look at her. She’s a wet dream.”
“Half the men here would come on to a female nanny goat if it walked on two legs,” Gage said.
“Walking on two legs may be optional to some of them.”
“Ew. You’re sick.”
“Your point is?”
Gage sighed. “I like her. She’s got sass.”
“That’s not all she’s got. Her ass is just about perfect,” Maverick said.
“Here you go. Two Bud draft beers. That’s four fifty each,” she said.
Maverick handed her a twenty. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks. I’ll check back in a little while. Otherwise, wave me down,” she said.
“Wait,” Gage said. “What’s your name?”
“Shay. But all you have to do is wave at me and I’ll get to you as soon as I can.” She threaded her way between the patrons to the next table holding up their glasses to take their order.
“Shay. I like the name,” Gage said.
“She’s got a wicked voice,” Maverick said. “Kind of smoky and rich.”