Page 21 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

Buck

I fold the blueberries gently into the batter. I've made these muffins a thousand times, could do it blindfolded, but this morning I'm measuring twice, being extra careful. I want them to be perfect. For Skye.

Today she's coming with me to the hospital, to see a part of my life I don't share with many people. My stomach knots with a nervousness I haven't felt in years, like I'm some damn teenager instead of a grown-ass man.

Outside, birds start their morning songs as the mountains emerge from darkness.

My little cabin sits at the edge of town, just far enough away to feel private but close enough that I can walk to Devil's Pass if I need to.

The kitchen's the heart of the place—professional-grade appliances, wide counters, and a window that frames the mountains like a postcard.

I slide the muffin tin into the oven and set the timer. Coffee's already brewing, filling the air with its rich aroma. I grab two mugs from the cabinet—the blue one that's my favorite and the green one with little flowers for Skye.

Last night plays through my mind as I wait. Skye had come back from the movies with Vanna, laughing about how bad the movie was. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair slightly messy, and my chest tightened at the sight of her. I'd been cleaning up the kitchen, getting ready to close up and head home.

"Did you two have fun?" I'd asked.

"It was terrible," she'd said, dropping onto a barstool. "The monster was basically a guy in a rubber suit. And Vanna nearly peed herself laughing."

"I'm heading to the hospital tomorrow morning," I'd said before I could allow myself to overthink it. "Dropping off the hats. If you wanted to come..."

I hadn't finished the sentence, suddenly unsure. But she'd nodded immediately.

"I'd like that," she'd said quietly. "What time?"

And just like that, it was set. Now I'm pulling warm muffins from the oven, my ears straining for the sound of her footsteps on the front porch.

The timer dings. The muffins are perfect—golden brown tops with blueberries peeking through like tiny jewels. I set them on a rack to cool just as there's a knock at the door.

My heart does a stupid little jump in my chest. I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel, take a deep breath, and head to the front door.

Skye stands on my porch, morning sunshine catching in her hair. She's wearing jeans and a simple blue sweater that brings out flecks of color in her hazel eyes. Her hair's pulled back in a neat ponytail.

"Hi," she says, smiling up at me. "Your directions were good. I found it without getting lost."

I step back to let her in. "Come in. Muffins just came out of the oven."

She follows me inside, looking around curiously. "Your place is beautiful, Buck. Not what I expected."

"What were you expecting?" I ask, leading her to the kitchen.

"I don't know. More..." she gestures vaguely. "Motorcycle parts on the coffee table? Modular furniture? Definitely not all these plants and books."

I laugh, feeling more relaxed. "The plants were Grandma Sadie's idea. Said a home needs living things besides the person who lives there." I pour coffee into the two mugs I'd set out. "Cream and sugar, right?”

"Yes, please," she says, moving to the window. "This view is incredible."

"Best part of the place," I agree, handing her the mug. "Muffins should be cool enough to eat if you want one."

“How about if I want three?” she jokes.

“You’re welcome to ‘em. As many as you’d like.”

She settles at the kitchen island, wrapping her hands around the mug. "Did you build this place?"

"Nah," I say, placing a warm muffin on a plate in front of her. "I bought it about ten years ago. Was a wreck then. I fixed it up little by little."

"By yourself?" she asks, taking a bite of muffin and moaning with pleasure. If she only knew what that sound does to me…

I shrug, pleased by her interest. "Mostly. Ford helped with the kitchen design—he's good with spatial stuff. Griff helped with the roof." I sit across from her with my own coffee. "We work well together, the three of us. Always have."

I watch her enjoy the muffin, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"These are just as good as the ones from the other morning," she says, breaking off another piece. "Maybe better."

"I added just a tad more vanilla," I tell her. "I’m always tweaking them."

"So, the hats," she says, changing the subject. "How many are we taking today?"

"Twelve," I answer, nodding toward the paper bag on the counter. "Not my best month, but not bad."

"Can I see them?"

I reach for the bag and slide it toward her. She peers inside, then carefully tips it, letting the tiny hats spill onto the counter. They're different colors—blue, pink, yellow, green, purple—each one small enough to fit in her palm.

"They're beautiful, Buck," she says, touching one with a fingertip. "All these different colors."

"The staff likes variety," I explain, feeling oddly vulnerable. "And it keeps it interesting for me. Same hat over and over would get boring."

She picks up a yellow one with a small pom-pom on top. "How long does each one take?"

"Couple hours, usually." I watch her handle my creations with such care, and something in my chest expands. "Ready to head out soon? The NICU nurses change shift at nine, and I like to catch Norma before she leaves. She’s my favorite."

"Sure," Skye says, carefully placing the hats back in the bag. "Just let me finish this amazing muffin first."

As we eat, I try not to stare at her—at the way the sunlight plays across her face, at the small scar near her eyebrow I hadn't noticed before. When she catches me looking, I don't look away. And neither does she.

"Ready?" I ask when our plates are empty.

She nods, standing. "Ready."

I grab the bag of hats and my keys. As we head out to my truck—a big black Ford that Skye eyes with appreciation—I feel a quiet kind of happiness settle over me.

This thing between us may be temporary, complicated by my feelings and Griff's and Ford's, but right now, in this moment, it feels just right.

The hospital parking lot is half-empty when we pull in. Mountain View isn't a big hospital—just three floors of beige brick with windows that reflect the surrounding peaks. I park in my usual spot near the east entrance, close to the NICU wing.

Skye's quiet beside me, maybe a little nervous. I understand that. Hospitals have a way of making people feel out of place, but for me, this place has become a kind of sanctuary over the years.

"You come here a lot?" Skye asks.

I nod, grabbing the bag of hats from the back seat. "Once a month, like clockwork. Been doing it for about five years now."

We walk through the sliding doors into the antiseptic brightness of the hospital. The smell hits immediately—that clinical scent that smells like sickness and worry. But there's something else too, something hopeful about a place where lives begin and sometimes, against the odds, are saved.

I lead Skye past the information desk with a wave to the volunteer who recognizes me. The NICU is on the second floor, down a hallway lined with photographs of babies who once fit in the palm of a hand.

"These are all preemies?" Skye asks, slowing to look at the pictures.

"Yeah.” I point to a photo of a dark-haired boy in a superhero costume. "That's Ryan. Born at twenty-six weeks, weighed less than two pounds. I’ll never forget meeting him."

Her eyes move across the wall of miracle children. "It's amazing what they can do for these babies now."

The double doors at the end of the hall require a security badge. I press the intercom and a woman's voice answers, warm and familiar.

"NICU, this is Carol."

"It's Buck."

There's a buzz, and the door unlocks. I hold it open for Skye, guiding her into a small room where we're met by a nurse with short silver hair and bright eyes that crinkle when she sees me.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite knitter," she says, hands on her hips. "And you brought a friend this time."

"Norma, this is Skye. Skye, this is Norma Thomas, head nurse of the NICU and the reason I started making these hats in the first place."

Norma's eyes appraise Skye with open curiosity. "About time this big lug brought someone along. I've been telling him for years that knitting is more attractive to the ladies than he realizes."

I feel heat creep up my neck. "Norma?—"

"Oh hush, Buck. Let me have my fun." Norma winks at Skye. "He gets so flustered. It's adorable."

Skye laughs, her eyes darting between us. "I can see that."

Norma leads us to a washing station, where we scrub our hands and arms meticulously. "So how did you two meet?" she asks as we rinse off.

Before I can answer, Skye jumps in. "My car broke down in town. Buck and his friends own the bar where I've been staying."

"Ah, Devil's Pass," Norma nods. "Buck's burgers are legendary around here."

"And his muffins," Skye adds. "I had one this morning that nearly made me cry."

Norma's eyebrows lift, and I catch her giving me a meaningful look. "Is that so? Well, he's been holding out on me. Never offered me a muffin, and I've known him for years."

I dry my hands on a paper towel. "I’ve brought you muffins a million times. You always told me you can’t eat them and to stop bringing them or you’d ban me from the hospital."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Norma waves dismissively and then starts laughing. "Now, let's see what you've brought us this time."

I hand over the paper bag of hats. Norma peers inside, then empties them onto a clean counter, examining each one with approving nods.

"Beautiful work as always, Buck. We have three new arrivals this week who could use these right away." She selects a pale green hat. "This one's going straight to baby Lila. Born yesterday at twenty-nine weeks."

Skye's face softens at the mention of the newborn. "Can we... see them?" she asks hesitantly.