Page 44 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

The new band starts with a sound check, the fiddle screeching once before settling into a warm, resonant tone.

The stand-up bass joins in, and then guitars, creating a rich blanket of sound that spreads across the festival grounds.

People begin to gravitate toward the stage, drinks in hand, conversations shifting to background noise beneath the music.

"Sounds like they're playing a mix of country and folk," Griff says, his fingers tapping against his thigh in time with the beat. "Good dancing music."

The floor fills quickly as the band launches into their first real song—something fast and cheerful with lyrics about summer nights and whiskey kisses. Couples spin and sway, some with specific steps, others just moving along with the music.

Buck turns to me, extending his hand with an exaggerated flourish. "May I have this dance, madam?"

"You may," I reply, taking his hand with a curtsy that makes him chuckle.

He leads me onto the dance floor, his large hand warm around mine. I've danced with Buck before—late at night in the bar after closing, when he'd turn up the jukebox and spin me around the empty floor. He's surprisingly graceful for such a big man.

Buck's hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me through the steps. He spins me, catches me, pulls me close enough that I can feel his heartbeat against my chest.

"You know what my favorite thing about you is?" he asks, his blue eyes bright in the string light glow.

"My incredible taste in men?" I suggest.

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Your smile. The real one—not the polite one you give to customers or the nervous one you had earlier today." His hand squeezes mine gently. "The one you're wearing right now. Like you finally believe you deserve to be happy."

The simple observation catches me off guard, and I stumble slightly. Buck steadies me, his arm strong around my waist.

"I'm working on it," I admit.

The song ends, transitioning into something slower, more intimate. Buck glances over my shoulder and grins. "I believe this is Ford's dance," he says, stepping back with a dramatic bow just as Ford appears beside us.

"If the lady is willing," Ford says, his hand outstretched.

I place my hand in his without hesitation. "The lady is very willing."

Ford's dancing style is different from Buck's—more deliberate, with a quiet attention to detail that mirrors how he approaches everything in life. One hand rests lightly on my waist, the other holding mine with just enough pressure to guide me.

"Having a good time?" he asks, his eyes searching mine.

"The best," I say truthfully. "Thank you for convincing me to come today."

"Thank you for being brave enough to try." His voice is soft, meant only for me despite the crowd around us. "I know this hasn't been easy for you. Putting yourself out there, letting people see us all together."

"It's been easier than I expected," I admit. "Everyone's been so... normal about it."

Ford's lips quirk into a small smile. "That's Flounder Ridge for you. People here value happiness over convention." He spins me slowly, bringing me back to him with a gentle tug. "They see how happy we make each other. That's what matters to them."

"I wish the rest of the world worked that way."

"Maybe it doesn't," he concedes. "But this is our world. Right here." He nods toward Buck, who's now at the edge of the dance floor talking with Reynolds, and Griff, who watches us with a warmth in his eyes that makes my heart skip. "The four of us… this town. It's enough."

The music shifts again, this time to something with a gentle sway, and Ford guides me toward the edge of the floor where Griff waits.

"My turn," Griff says, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.

Ford passes my hand to Griff's with a smile. "Take good care of our girl."

"Always," Griff promises, leading me back into the crowd.

Griff holds me closer than the others did, his hand splayed wide across my back, warm and secure. He moves with a quiet confidence, leading without dominating.

I rest my head against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean laundry, a hint of cologne, and something uniquely Griff that I've come to associate with safety and desire in equal measure.

"I'm proud of you," he says after a moment. "Facing your fears today. That takes courage."

"I had good motivation," I reply, looking up at him. "Three very good reasons to be brave."

The song ends, but Griff doesn't release me. Instead, he glances over my shoulder and smiles. "Look who's coming to cut in."

I turn to see Buck and Ford approaching, huge grins on their faces.

"The band's taking requests," Buck announces. "I put in for something special."

The first notes of "Stand By Me" flow from the stage, and I laugh in delight. It's the song that was playing the first night all four of us danced together in the empty bar after closing, weeks ago when everything was new and uncertain.

"Dance with us?" Ford asks, holding out his hand.

I take it without hesitation, and suddenly I'm dancing with all three of them—passing from Ford to Buck to Griff and back again, their hands gentle as they guide me between them. We must look ridiculous, breaking every rule of traditional partner dancing, but we don't care.

No one else seems to care either. Couples continue to dance around us, some smiling at us, others too lost in their own partners to notice. Vanna and Harry twirl past, and she gives me a thumbs up that makes me laugh out loud.

It hits me then, with the clarity of a lightning strike—this is what belonging feels like. Not the anxious desire to fit in that I've carried for so long, but this bone-deep certainty that I am exactly where I'm supposed to be, with exactly who I'm supposed to be with.

Buck spins me into Ford's arms, who dips me low before passing me to Griff.

Their faces blur together in the string lights—three different men who somehow create one perfect whole in my life.

And as Griff pulls me up and close against him, I realize I'm crying, tears slipping silently down my cheeks.

"Hey," he says softly, his thumb brushing away a tear. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I assure him, and it's the absolute truth. "Everything's right. For the first time in my life, everything is exactly right."

Ford steps closer, concern in his eyes. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm perfect," I say, reaching for his hand. "I just realized something."

Buck joins us, completing our small circle on the dance floor. "What's that, sweetheart?"

"This is my family," I say, looking between them. "You three, Vanna, this town. This is what I've been searching for since my parents died. A place where I fit, where I belong." My voice catches. "A home."

Buck's arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his side. I lean into him while keeping hold of Ford's hand, Griff's palm warm against my back.

The music swells, and we begin to move again, the four of us finding a rhythm that shouldn't work but somehow does. Just like us. Just like this unconventional, unexpected love that found me when I wasn't looking and held on tight when I tried to run.

I think about that morning when I left, sneaking away before dawn, leaving nothing but a note behind. How terrified I was of what people would think. How certain I was that happiness like this couldn't possibly last.

Now, standing on a makeshift dance floor under string lights, surrounded by the men I love and a community that accepts us, I finally understand what Ford told me weeks ago: different doesn't mean wrong.

It just means finding your own path to happiness, even if it's not the one you expected to take.

I now know with absolute certainty that this is my path. These are my people. This is my home.

And I'm never running away again.