Page 8 of Backed By You (Montgomery Brothers of Montana #3)

Callie

The gravel driveway is a mess. More mud than road after last night’s apparent downpour.

I navigate my Jeep around the worst of it, the headlights cutting through the predawn darkness to reveal a landscape transformed.

Fallen branches litter the yard. My flower beds are decimated, petals and stems pasted to the dirt like a sad collage.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to fly through that storm,” I murmur to Hulk sitting perch in the passenger seat.

The short trip to LA was a success. After party and premiere details were set, security was booked, I got to view the final chapter in my movie trilogy for the fifth time, and I spent five days hanging out with my best friend.

It’s safe to say I’m feeling much more confident about traveling for the upcoming premiere.

Although I’m not looking forward to spending the two weeks doing promotions and interviews, but none of that starts for another month.

As I pull closer to the cabin, something unexpected catches my eye near Beau’s little construction site. A half-collapsed tent, sagging under the weight of pooled rainwater.

That’s…odd.

I frown, putting the car in park. I reach for my phone and check the time. 6:23 AM. Too early to call said grumpy landlord and ask what’s going on. I shoot him a text, expecting a response in another hour or so.

I hop out of the car, and my sneakers slap the driveway with a splash of mud. Fantastic.

“You be careful,” I tell Hulk, opening the passenger door. “Don’t get too muddy or you’ll need a bath.”

He leaps down, on alert as he surveys our surroundings. I decide to get Hulk his breakfast before I return to grab my bags. He was so patient on the early morning flight. Together we walk up the porch steps as I remove my keys to open the door and…

I freeze.

The door is unlocked. The deadbolt no longer engaged.

My heart jumps into my throat.

I always lock my door. Always.

Memories flash through my mind—shattered glass, drawers emptied, belongings scattered, the violation that followed me across California and into my nightmares.

“ Such ,” I whisper to Hulk, the search command we’ve practiced hundreds of times.

He moves, nose to the door seam, his body tense. A low growl builds in his chest—not his warning for everyday strangers. This is his alert.

Someone is inside.

My hands shake as I pull out my phone, my finger hovering over the emergency call button. I should back away, call for help, wait in my car with the doors locked. That’s what my father would tell me to do. Safe. Logical.

But this is my home.

One I’ve worked very hard to make mine over the last six months. It’s my safe place.

And someone has invaded it.

With trembling fingers, I grip the doorknob.

It turns with a click that sounds obscenely loud in the quiet early morning.

Hulk’s growl deepens when I push the door open slowly, my other hand still clutching my phone.

The cabin is dark except for the faint glow of sunlight beaming in through the far windows.

I try to steady my breathing despite the fear coursing through me. I can feel a disturbance in the air, a subtle wrongness that prickles the hair on my arms. I reach for the light switch and turn it on, flooding the main living space with sudden brightness.

That’s when I see them—muddy boots by the door. Men’s work boots.

My breath catches.

Hulk moves forward, his body a barrier between me and whatever awaits. His hackles are raised, teeth bared in silent threat as he stalks forward. My legs feel leaden as I follow him, every instinct screaming at me to run, but I force myself to stay, one hand buried in Hulk’s fur for courage.

The couch comes into view, and there, sprawled across it, is a man.

And not just any man.

Beau Montgomery.

For a moment, my fear gives way to relief, then to utter confusion. Beau’s asleep on my couch, one arm flung over his eyes, the other dangling toward the floor with his knee propped up on a pillow. His chest rises and falls in the deep rhythm of an exhausted sleep.

He’s shirtless. Wearing nothing but one of my pink bath towels wrapped around his hips.

I blink rapidly, trying to process what I’m seeing. My grumpy, perpetually scowling landlord is asleep naked on my couch at six in the morning.

“ Steh platz ,” I whisper, letting Hulk know he can stand down. He reluctantly backs up, but remains on high alert, his gaze fixed on Beau.

I take a moment to study him. The carved plains of his chest, arms…

legs. His left knee, I’ve seen him wear a brace over, is bare and savagely scarred.

Jagged skin and burn marks sit alongside clean lines that appear surgical in nature.

My gaze flicks to his chest where a few scars mar his toned torso, weaving through his thick-cut abs.

He stirs slightly in his sleep, shifting his weight on the cushions.

The arm covering his eyes falls away, revealing his face and peaceful expression, so different from his usual constipated scowl.

His strong jaw is relaxed, and his full lips part slightly.

Without the usual furrow between his brows, he looks younger. Vulnerable.

My gaze shifts downward once again, tracing the defined ridges of his abdomen, the bulky cut of his hips, and the way my pink towel contrasts with his tanned skin. The fabric has loosened with his movement, slipping lower on one hip and exposing more of that V-line.

It should be illegal for men like Beau to show their Vs in public.

I can’t help but notice the distinct bulge beneath the towel, the fabric tented slightly. Heat floods my cheeks and a warmth races down my spine, settling low in my belly. I swallow hard, very aware of how intimate this moment is.

Hulk chooses said moment to growl at our intruder. His low warning breaks the spell. Beau’s eyes fly open—alert and focused despite his abrupt waking.

His gaze lands on Hulk and he bolts upright, disorientation clear on his face for a split second before his gaze locks with mine. I watch comprehension dawn, followed by something I’ve never seen on him before. Embarrassment.

“What are you doing in my house?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel, riding on a wave of relief and…something else I’m not ready to admit.

Hulk growls again, a second warning that needs no translation. I keep my hand firmly on his collar, but I don’t call him off completely.

Beau runs a hand through his short, sleep-mussed hair. The movement causes the towel to slip even lower on his hips. I force my focus to remain locked on his face, refusing to acknowledge the direction that towel is heading.

“Callie,” he says, his voice rough from sleep. “You weren’t here.”

Of all the things he could have said, that is probably the worst. Like it would have been fine if I hadn’t caught him? Is he serious?

“That’s not even close to an explanation,” I say.

Hulk shifts beside me, sensing my increased emotions. It’s hard to say if I’m leaning more toward anger, fear, or worry at this point.

Beau eyes Hulk warily, but to his credit, he doesn’t flinch.

“The storm,” he finally says, gesturing toward the window. “My tent—”

“You broke into my home because it was raining?” The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh.

“I didn’t break in,” he counters weakly. “I used the key Duke gave me.”

The spare key that should only be used if I lose mine and because Duke was my landlord.

I can get past Beau having it now, considering he is my current landlord, but this?

“That’s for emergencies! Like a busted water pipe, or if I can’t get into the house.

Not for—” I wave my hand at his state of undress, at the clear evidence that he’s made himself right at home in my absence. “—whatever this is.”

The bold reality of the situation hits me full force. He’s been in my bathroom. Used my shower. Touched my things. Slept in my space without permission. The boundaries I’ve so carefully constructed feel tampered with. Shattered.

Never mind that he’s a familiar face with a hot—and albeit tempting—well-built physique.

I’m mad now. Mad and hurt and…

Beau’s expression shifts from defensive to concerned as he grips the edge of his towel and stands. His towering stature and defined chest a mere foot away. “Callie,” he says, softer this time. “You’re shaking.”

I am. My whole body trembles with a mixture of emotions I can’t begin to process. Just when I thought I could let my guard down . I press my lips together to keep them from quivering and take a step back. Hulk moves with me. “Get dressed,” I manage to say. “And get out.”

Something flickers across Beau’s face. Regret, maybe? He gives a single, silent nod before turning toward the bedroom and into the bathroom. His back muscles flex with each step, and I hate that I notice them. The door closes behind him with a soft click .

I stand rooted in place, Hulk pressed against my leg for support.

A minute later, the door opens. Beau emerges fully dressed in grey sweatpants and an army green T-shirt.

He moves with quiet efficiency, gathering his phone from the coffee table, his keys, and a small duffel I hadn’t noticed beside the door.

Not once does he look at me.

The morning light catches on his profile, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the rigid set of his shoulders.

He pauses at the front door, his hand wrapped around the doorknob.

For a heartbeat, I think he might say something to break this painful silence.

Apologize, even. But he doesn’t. The door opens, and without a backward glance, he steps through and pulls it shut behind him.

I’m alone.