Page 32 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

Skye

I 'm sprawled across the bed with the first-edition copy of "The Substance of Silence" that Ford gave me when my phone vibrates. Charlotte's name flashes on the screen, and I mark my place with a receipt before answering.

"Hey, girl," I say, rolling onto my back and staring at the wooden beams crossing the ceiling. My body still feels pleasantly sore from yesterday’s run.

"Yay! You answered," Charlotte says. "I was starting to think you'd been eaten by mountain lions or something."

"Sorry, I’ve been super busy working at the bar." I stretch, feeling a twinge in muscles I didn't even know I had. "And other than that, I’ve been... occupied."

"Ooh, that sounds promising. First, update me on everything. How's the car? Any more news from Daniel the asshole?"

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Car's still not ready. Jed says maybe next week, but I'm not holding my breath. And Daniel's still being a total dick on social media, but honestly? I'm caring less by the hour."

"Good. He doesn't deserve space in your head." There's a pause, and I can picture Charlotte sitting cross-legged on her couch, wine glass in hand. "So, what so you mean by 'occupied'? Something going on with your mountain man?"

I bite my lip, suddenly nervous to say it out loud. "Actually... it’s mountain men . Three of them."

"Seriously!?" Her voice rises an octave.

"I had a threesome with Buck and Griff the other night," I blurt out, then immediately press my face into a pillow and groan. Saying it aloud makes it sound even more surreal than it felt.

"Holy shit, Skye!" Charlotte shrieks so loudly I have to pull the phone away from my ear. "You've been holding out on me! Details. Right now. I need everything."

I roll onto my stomach, face still warm. "We were playing this drinking game after closing, and things just... escalated. One minute we're taking shots and the next I'm naked with both of them."

"And? Was it good? I need a rating on a scale from one to life-changing."

"Life-changing doesn't even begin to cover it," I admit, smiling at the ceiling.

"It was incredible, Char. Like nothing I've ever experienced.

It was crazy how they just seemed to know exactly what I needed.

.." I trail off, remembering Buck's hands, Griff's mouth, the weight of them on either side of me.

"Damn, girl." Charlotte sounds genuinely impressed. "You're living out a fantasy most women only read about in those dirty books."

"I know, right? If you'd told me two months ago I'd be having mind-blowing sex with three guys who own a bar in a town I'd never heard of, I'd have said you were insane." I pause, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. "And they're all so much older than me. Like, significantly older."

"What are we talking?"

"Mid-forties."

Charlotte whistles. "Silver foxes, huh? Never took you for a daddy-issues kind of girl."

"I don't have daddy issues," I protest but then start laughing.

"But yeah, they're definitely silver foxes.

And nothing like the guys I usually date.

They're just so... I don't know, solid? Grounded? They know who they are, what they want and don’t give a fuck what other people think. They also both know their way around a woman’s body. Good god…"

"Unlike the boys our age who are still trying to figure out which end is up," Charlotte adds. "So is this just a fun fling while you're stuck there? Because I’m hearing in your voice it could be more."

The question hangs in the air, and I find myself staring out the window at the mountains, their peaks lit up in the late afternoon sun. "I don't know," I say finally. "That's the thing. It started as just physical attraction, but now..."

"Now you're catching feelings," Charlotte finishes for me.

"Maybe?" I sit up, hugging a pillow to my chest.

"Skye McMillan, you dirty girl."

"Stop," I laugh. "It's not like that. Well, it is like that, but it's also... I don't know. More."

"They're all okay with sharing you?"

"Apparently." I shake my head, still amazed by it. "They talked about it together, Char. They made this agreement that it was all up to me—no pressure, no jealousy."

"That's... surprisingly mature." Charlotte sounds genuinely impressed. "And kinda hot, not gonna lie."

"Right?" I flop back on the bed. "And the craziest part is, I'm starting to really like this town. Like, not just the guys, but the place itself. The people, the mountains, the whole vibe. It feels—I don't know—like I can breathe more easily here."

"That makes sense," Charlotte says softly. "I was worried you were having these feelings because of the trauma of what you’ve been through lately. But after everything with your parents, and then Daniel... maybe you need to be somewhere completely different."

"Maybe." I trace patterns on the quilt beneath me. "But it's crazy to think I'd actually stay here, right? I mean, what would I even do? Tend bar? Wait tables? And what about my degree? All that student debt for nothing…"

"First of all, there's nothing wrong with working at a bar if it makes you happy. Second, your degree isn't going anywhere. You could still use it somehow, even in a small town." Charlotte pauses. "But Skye, it's only been a few weeks, right? Maybe don't make any major life decisions just yet."

"I know, I know." I sigh. "I'm getting way ahead of myself. It's just... for the first time since my parents died, I feel like I've found somewhere I belong."

"Then enjoy it," Charlotte says firmly. "Whether it's for a few more days or forever. You deserve some happiness, honey. And if that happiness comes in the form of three hot older men who worship you? All the better."

I laugh, feeling a weight lift from my chest. "You always know what to say."

"That's what friends are for. Now, I expect detailed reports on any further developments with your men. Especially if you sleep with all three of them at once."

I nearly choke. "Charlotte!"

"What? I'm just saying, if the opportunity presents itself..." She trails off suggestively.

"You're terrible," I tell her, but I'm grinning. "And I love you for it."

"Love you too, babe. Call me again when you can."

We say our goodbyes, and I set my phone aside, Charlotte's words echoing in my head. Enjoy it while I can. That's sensible advice. But as I glance around this small room that's somehow started to feel like home, I wonder if "while I can" might be longer than either of us imagined.

The dinner shift that night is crazy busy. The Saturday night energy is higher, the laughter louder, and, thank god, the tips better. Fixing Poppy is going to cost more than I was initially told, so making some extra money is crucial.

I weave between tables with practiced efficiency, balancing a tray of empty glasses while dodging the outstretched legs of patrons who’ve had a beer too many and aren’t paying attention to much of anything.

Behind the bar, Griff expertly mixes cocktails, his biceps flexing as he shakes a martini. Jesus, he’s fucking hot.

Buck emerges from the kitchen, plates balanced up his arm like a pro, while Ford charms a group of hikers who've wandered in from the trail. Working alongside all three of them makes the air feel charged, like there's an electrical current running just beneath the surface of every interaction.

"Two more beers for table six," I tell Griff as I slide behind the bar.

He nods, grabbing frosted mugs from the freezer. "You holding up okay?" he asks, sliding the beers toward me.

"Never better," I reply, and I mean it. Despite the chaos, there's something about this place that feels right. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

I deliver the beers and turn to find Ford at my elbow, close enough that I catch the subtle scent of his deodorant. "Need anything from the back?" he asks, and there's a depth to his question that makes my stomach flutter.

"Just some napkins," I say, suddenly aware of how our arms brush when we pass each other.

Buck catches my eye from across the room, giving me a wink that sends heat curling through me. How is it possible to want three different men this much? Each touch, each look from any of them leaves me flushed.

The door swings open, and a hush falls over the bar. I turn to see what's caused the sudden quiet and nearly drop my tray.

Reynolds stands in the doorway, but not the Reynolds I've come to know—the disheveled dude with bloodshot eyes and wrinkled clothes.

This Reynolds is... transformed. His normally unruly hair is combed neatly, his face freshly shaved.

He's wearing dark jeans that appear to have been ironed and a clean blue button-down shirt that actually fits him properly.

But the most shocking part isn't his appearance—it's the woman beside him.

She's petite with shoulder-length brown hair and kind eyes that crinkle when she smiles up at him. Her hand rests comfortably in the crook of his arm, and the way she leans toward him speaks of genuine affection.

"Well, I'll be damned," Buck mutters, appearing at my side. "Does Reynolds have a date?"

"I think so," I whisper back, watching as Reynolds leads the woman to a small table in the corner. He pulls out her chair for her, and the gesture is so unexpectedly gentlemanly that I can’t look away.

"Who is she?" I ask.

"No idea," Buck says, shaking his head in wonder. "But he's sober. Look at his eyes—clear as day."

Vanna approaches their table, her usual cool efficiency replaced by barely concealed curiosity. I inch closer, pretending to wipe down a nearby table, straining to hear their conversation.

"Evening, Reynolds," Vanna says. "Nice to see you. And who's your friend?"

The woman extends her hand with a warm smile. I can't catch her name over the bar noise, but Reynolds beams with pride as he introduces her, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"Just a glass of white wine for the lady," he says, his voice steadier than I've ever heard it. "And I'll have a club soda with lime."

Vanna's eyebrows shoot up, but she nods and returns to the bar.

"Club soda?" Ford echoes in disbelief when Vanna relays the order. "Are we sure that's actually Reynolds?"

"He's wearing a belt that matches his shoes," Griff adds, equally stunned. "I didn't even know he owned shoes that weren't work boots."

We all take turns finding excuses to pass by their table, each of us unable to resist catching glimpses of this new Reynolds.

He leans forward as his date speaks, genuinely interested in what she's saying.

She touches his hand as she laughs at something, and his face lights up in a way I've never seen before.

"They're cute together," I say to Ford as he helps me load a tray with fresh drinks.

"They are," he agrees. "Good for him. Everyone deserves someone who makes them want to be better."

His eyes linger on mine as he says it, and I can’t help but wish I could kiss him right now.

An hour later, Reynolds approaches the bar, his date waiting by the door. He puts down enough cash to cover their drinks plus a generous tip.

"We're heading out to eat at my place," he announces, a nervous pride in his voice. "Made beef stew this morning. It's been in the slow cooker all day."

"You cook?" Buck asks, unable to hide his surprise.

Reynolds smiles shyly. "Used to, before... you know. Trying to get back to it."

"Well, don't let us hold you up," Griff says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You don’t want to keep your lady waiting.”

We watch through the window as they leave, her hand tucked into his as they walk to his truck—which, I notice, has been washed.

"That might be the most romantic thing I've ever seen," I say to no one in particular.

"Reynolds cleaning up his act?" Buck chuckles.

"No," I reply. "Someone seeing past all his mess to the person underneath."

The night continues in its whirlwind of activity—drinks poured, food served, tables cleared. By the time we finally usher the last customer out just after 1 a.m., my feet are aching and my shirt sticks to my back.

"I need to sit down or I might actually die," I announce, collapsing into a chair.

Buck laughs, flipping the sign to CLOSED. "Saturday nights'll do that to you."

Ford appears with four glasses and the bottle of good tequila. Griff joins us, pulling up a chair. The four of us sit in a small circle, the quiet of the empty bar a stark contrast to the noise of just minutes ago.

"To Reynolds," Buck says, raising his glass. "May we all find someone who makes us want to iron our jeans."

We laugh and drink, the tequila warming me from the inside. When I set my glass down, I notice all three men exchanging glances.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious. "Do I have something on my face?"

"We wanted to ask you something," Ford says, his voice taking on that thoughtful tone that makes me wonder what he’s up to.

Griff leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "We've been talking, and we had an idea for Monday night."

"An idea?" I echo, looking between them.

"Ford found this place up in the mountains," Buck continues. "A private cabin with a hot tub, amazing views. We thought maybe the four of us could go there. Together."

The implication hangs in the air between us. All four of us. Together.

"No bar, no interruptions. Just us," Ford adds, his eyes never leaving mine.

My mouth goes dry, and it has nothing to do with the tequila. Images flash through my mind—the four of us tangled together, hands and mouths everywhere, the endless possibilities of what could happen.

"You don't have to decide right now," Griff says gently, mistaking my silence for hesitation.

"Yes," I say quickly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, yes, I'd like that. A lot."

The look that passes between them is hungry, primal, and directed entirely at me. My skin prickles with anticipation.

"Monday, then," Ford confirms, his voice low and full of promise. “We’ll leave here around two.”

Later, after we've finished cleaning up and said goodnight, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. Sleep should come easily after such a long shift, but my mind refuses to quiet. All I can think about is Monday night—the four of us in that cabin, with nothing but time and privacy.

I imagine Ford's thoughtful touch, Buck's playful enthusiasm, Griff's steady command. All of them focused on me. All of them wanting me. I shift restlessly under the sheets.

Monday can't come soon enough.