Page 49 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

I glance around. Trees crowd us, heavy with snow. My phone is just a hunk of glass and metal out here; no signal can pierce through these mountains. "Not much choice. You need a tow, and that means a call."

"Can you try? Please? I don’t have any service."

I exhale sharply. “No one does. Radio’s the only thing that works up here.” I jerk my chin toward my truck. "Let's head up to my truck. I've got a radio there."

She hesitates, arms wrapped around herself, barely dressed for the weather. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip like she’s debating whether to argue. She looks like the type to argue with everything just for the fun of it.

“Unless you wanna sit here all night,” I add, already trudging back through the snow.

She huffs, mutters something under her breath, but follows. The wind cuts sharp, and I don’t miss the way she shivers. Damn city girl wasn’t prepared for mountain roads or mountain cold.

It’s January in Montana. What exactly was she expecting? Sunshine and heat waves?

I haul open the truck door and climb in, reaching for the radio mounted under the dash. Static crackles as I twist the knob. “Hank to Mason, you there?”

More static. Then Mason’s voice breaks through, rough as ever. “Yeah, what’s up?”

"Got a stranded vehicle on the ridge. Gonna need a tow.” I glance at the girl, still hugging herself like that flimsy sweatshirt and painted-on leggings of hers are doing a damn thing.

“What's your twenty?"

"About five miles east from the fork, near the old Miller place. Car’s stuck pretty good. Needs a tow when you can. She’ll freeze before the engine does."

"Roads are hell. Might take some time."

"Radio when you can get out. Thanks, Mase."

The girl's huddled against the passenger door, her arms crossed as though she can hold off the chill just by willing it away.

"Great," she mutters, more to herself than to me.

"Where you headed?" I ask, shifting to face her.

"An Airbnb," she replies. “Not far from here, I think.”

“I’ll take you.”

She meets my eyes, hesitation clear in the tight set of her jaw. There’s a silent standoff, she’s clearly weighing the risks, but the snow isn’t letting up. It’s piling higher by the minute, swallowing her chances of making it anywhere alone. Even if she did know where she was going.

Finally, she nods, a reluctant frown tugging at her lips, like she’s agreeing to something she doesn’t really want to.

“Okay,” she whispers, slipping out of the truck.

The door shuts with a dull thud behind her, the sound swallowed by the wind. I watch as she moves through the snow, graceful despite how damn miserable she looks. That city car of hers never belonged on these roads—especially not in weather like this. The hell was she thinking?

She wraps her arms around herself as she fumbles with the keys, shivering hard enough that I can see it from here. No jacket. No boots. Just an oversized sweatshirt, thin leggings, and slip-on shoes that are already soaked through. The sight needles at me.

She doesn’t match that fancy city car she’s been driving. Even roughed up by the weather, she screams money. Which makes even less sense, given the way she’s dressed.

She pops the trunk and bends down to dig through her bags, and my eyes catch on the way her hair tumbles loose from that messy bun, chestnut strands falling over her shoulders. Even dressed like this—half-frozen and worn down—she’s something to behold.

I don’t know what brought her out here, but whatever storm she’s running from must be a hell of a lot worse than the storm.

"Need help?" My voice breaks through the howling wind.

"Got it," she calls back, pulling out a duffel bag. It’s another anomaly. The thing’s top-of-the-line, the kind that costs more than some people’s rent.

For a moment, I stay put, gripping the steering wheel. What's her story? Not my business. But damn if I'm not curious. Why is she here without a proper jacket? Without boots that could handle a single step in this wilderness?

"Hey," I say as she pulls another large bag out of the trunk and drops it to the snow-covered pavement. "You sure you're good?"

"Yeah." Her teeth chatter, and she hugs the bag close, like it's a lifeline.

I huff, shoving open the door. Stubborn thing.

Trudging through the snow, I reach the trunk just as she wrestles with another suitcase.

My eyes flick over the pile. Jesus. How long is she planning to stay?

There's a whole lot of them, and none look like they've ever seen a day of rough weather.

Does she even have a coat in there? Maybe boots?

She's standing there, arms crossed, watching me like I'm about to dropkick her prized poodle.

I grab the nearest suitcase by the handle, testing its weight. Heavy. Probably full of designer crap that won’t do a thing against this cold. With a shake of my head, I haul it up and toss it into the truck bed.

She gasps, predictable as the damn wind. "Hey! Be careful!"

I lift an eyebrow, but she just presses her lips together and looks away, cheeks flushed—not just from the cold. Interesting.

"Sorry, princess," I grumble, not sorry at all. The suitcases keep coming, one after another. They're heavy, but not as heavy as whatever's weighing on her. Her eyes follow each bag, and I can tell she's biting back words with every toss.

The last one lands, and I slam the tailgate shut. "All set?"

She nods, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she doesn't say anything. I guess silence is better than more complaints.

"Come on then." I jerk my head toward the passenger door. "Let's get you warmed up."

She shivers, rubbing her arms as we climb into the cab of my truck. I watch her from the corner of my eye as she digs through her purse—another fancy thing—and pulls out her phone.

"Where to?" I ask, ready to get this over with.

"Um, it's 259 Black Bear Ridge." Her voice is small against the hum of the heater.

I frown. That address sits funny with me. Too far out for comfort, especially with the storm breathing down our necks. "You sure that's right?"

"Yes." She holds out her phone, showing me the listing. A cozy-looking cabin surrounded by snow—it's picturesque, too much so. "It's supposed to be cozy, secluded."

"All right," I say with a shrug, pulling away from the mess of her car buried in the snow. If that's where she wants to go, who am I to argue?

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice almost lost in the roar of the engine.

The truck grumbles up the mountain, wheels biting into the gravel. Trees crowd us in a tight embrace, snowflakes dancing at the edges of the headlights' glow. The girl beside me is silent, lost in thoughts I can't begin to unravel.

By the time we crest the last hill, my gut is already tight. Something’s off.

There aren’t any rentals up here—at least none that look like the glossy photo she’d flashed earlier. I could be wrong, but I know this mountain like the back of my hand.

The truck rolls to a stop, its engine idling rough against the stillness.

"Here we are," I say, though the words feel hollow. The red flags are now slapping me in the face.

The cabin sits hunched against the tree line, dark and lifeless. No lights in the windows. No sign of recent tracks in the snow. Just a sagging porch and a number barely clinging to the wood near the door. I frown, scanning the place.

She doesn't move right away. She just sits there, her breath fogging up the window. Then she grabs her phone, staring at the screen, then at the cabin, then back at the mailbox like she’s trying to convince herself this can’t be the place.

A gust of wind rocks the truck, rattling the loose shutters on the cabin, and she finally exhales, shoving her phone away.

"Are you sure this is it?" I ask, peering out at the place myself. It's got that abandoned look, the kind that gets under your skin.

She nods but doesn't speak. She steps out, slipping slightly before catching herself.

I follow, standing guard as she approaches the mailbox.

It's leaning, almost defeated by the weather or time.

She squints at the numbers hanging on for dear life.

Worry etches deeper lines in her otherwise smooth brow.

She bites her lip, then trudges up to the porch and punches a code into the lockbox with what must be numb fingers.

I snag the key that it reveals and push open the door. It moans on its hinges, a sound that sets my teeth on edge. The city girl hovers close behind me, her breath coming out in puffs of white vapor.

"Jesus," I mutter under my breath.

It’s even worse on the inside.

The air is frigid, stale, and heavy with the scent of neglect. Roaches scatter across the floorboards as we step inside, and I can hear the skittering of rats somewhere in the shadows. A shiver runs down my spine—not from the cold, but disgust.

The place looks like nobody's cared for it in years. There's a layer of dust on every surface, and stains I don't want to think about are smeared across the walls. The furniture is sparse and decrepit; cushions torn, stuffing spilling out like innards.

City girl stands frozen, fretting, looking on the verge of freaking out. Her chest heaves, each panicked breath fogging up the frigid air. She’s rooted to the spot, eyes darting around the dismal cabin like she’s hoping it’ll morph into something livable if she just stares hard enough.

But it won’t.

The place looks more like a damn flop house than a rental, and it’s just as cold inside as it is out. So, no heat. And, no heat means no phone lines.

“No way,” I say, firmly.

She startles, her wide eyes snapping to mine. Then she starts babbling about mix-ups, refunds, how this can’t be right. But there’s nothing to be done about it now.

"Come on." My decision is made, instincts kicking in against the darkening sky outside. “Back to my place. You can make your calls there.”

"Your place?" There's a hitch in her voice, a tremble that doesn't quite mask the hope that flickers behind her doubt.

"Storm's rolling in fast." I glance out the cracked window at the gathering clouds, thick and heavy with the promise of even more snow. "Might get socked in for a few days, maybe more." I know it's not what she wants to hear, but better she knows upfront.

"Stuck? With you?" It's a whisper, almost lost in the creaking complaints of the dilapidated cabin.

"Only if you want to stay warm," I say. The offer hangs between us, a lifeline thrown across the widening gap of her uncertainty.

"Okay." She nods, just once, but it's enough. Enough for me to lead her back into the winter chill, away from the disaster that was supposed to be her sanctuary.

This is a terrible fucking idea. But I can’t stop myself from helping her. It’s that or leave her here to freeze to death. I can’t live with that on my conscience.

Yeah, this is a terrible fucking idea.

But as I watch her shiver, watch the last bit of fight drain from her shoulders, I know there was never another option.