Page 6 of Comforted By The Mountain Man (Eden Ridge: Hunter Brothers #1)

"You're my neighbor. That makes you family enough."

She studies my face like she's trying to read my motives, and I can see the exact moment her walls go back up. "I've had men make promises before," she says quietly, her voice losing its warmth. "Tell me what they think I want to hear. It never ends well."

The pain in her voice hits me square in the chest. Someone hurt her. Badly. And now she's looking at me like I might be just another man with pretty words and selfish intentions.

"I'm not making promises," I say carefully. "I'm offering dinner. One meal, with my family present, where we talk about work. If you decide it's not what you want, you walk away. No strings, no pressure, no consequences."

She searches my face for a long moment. "And if I say yes to dinner but no to the job?"

"Then you've had a free meal and met some decent people. Win all around."

"What do you get out of it?"

The honest answer is too complicated, too raw. That I want to see her smile without that careful mask she wears. That I want to watch Ryder's face light up when someone pays attention to him. That something about her makes me feel useful in a way I haven't felt in years.

"A chance to help someone who needs it," I say instead. "And maybe some decent conversation that doesn't involve my brothers arguing about football."

This time, I’m rewarded by an unguarded smile. "Okay. But just dinner. No promises about anything else."

"Fair enough." I pull my shirt back on, hyperaware of the way her eyes track the movement. "Pick you up at six?"

"We can drive ourselves."

"Sierra." I step closer, noting how she doesn't back away. "It's not charity to accept a ride. It's practical. You don't know where you're going."

She considers this. "Six o'clock, then."

"Six o'clock."

I gather my tools and head for the door, stopping when she calls my name.

"Thank you. For everything."

The gratitude in her voice does something uncomfortable to my chest. "Thank Ryder. Kid's got good instincts about people."

"He likes you. He doesn't usually warm up to strangers that fast."

"Smart kid knows good people when he sees them," I say, then pause. "What about his mother? Does she have good instincts about people?"

Sierra's eyes widen slightly at the implication behind my words. "She's learning to trust them again."

With that cryptic answer hanging between us, I head out to prepare for dinner.

Beckett and Grace's house sits nestled against the mountainside like it grew there naturally, all weathered wood and stone with windows that catch the last rays of afternoon sun. Smoke curls from the chimney, and I can see Grace moving around inside the kitchen through the wide windows.

Six months of marriage has been good for my oldest brother. He's still gruff, still carries shadows in his eyes, but there's a lightness to him now that wasn't there before Grace. Like he remembered how to breathe again.

I park next to Nash's mud-splattered pickup and West's practical Subaru.

Grayson's military issue Jeep is already here, too, which means I'm the last to arrive.

Sierra and Ryder slide out of my truck, and I notice how Sierra's eyes sweep the house and surrounding area, cataloging exits and sight lines like she's expecting trouble.

That hypervigilance bothers me more than I want to admit.

"This is beautiful," she says, but her voice is tight with nerves.

"Beckett built most of it himself," I tell her, trying to ease the tension. "Took him three years, but he's particular about craftsmanship."

Ryder bounces beside us, unaffected by his mother's anxiety. "Is this where Hulk lives?"

"Not my house, buddy," I explain. "This is where my brother Beckett lives. He's the oldest."

"Is he nice?"

"Most of the time."

The front door opens before we reach it, and Grace appears with a welcoming smile. She's gotten more comfortable with our family chaos over the months, no longer the shy girl who could barely speak around Beckett's intimidating brothers.

"You must be Sierra," Grace says warmly, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I'm Grace. Welcome."

"Thank you for having us," Sierra replies, and I can hear the effort it takes for her to sound normal. "This is my son, Ryder."

"Hi Ryder!" Grace crouches down to his level. "I've heard you like superheroes. Did you know we have a whole collection of superhero movies?"

Ryder's eyes go wide. "Really? Do you have Hulk?"

"We absolutely do. Maybe after dinner we can watch some together."

The kid practically vibrates with excitement, and even Sierra's shoulders relax a fraction.

"Come in, come in," Grace says, ushering us inside. "Everyone's in the living room pretending to be civilized."

The house smells like roast chicken and something else that makes my mouth water. Grace has turned into quite the cook since marrying Beckett, though she insists it's just practice for when they start having kids of their own.

We enter the living room, where my brothers are scattered around like they own the place. Which, technically, they do. Family dinners have been rotating between houses since Beckett and Grace got married, and tonight was Grace's turn to host.

"About time," West calls from his spot on the couch. "We were starting to think you chickened out."

"Had to fix a plumbing emergency," I explain, then turn to make introductions. "Everyone, this is Sierra Martinez and her son Ryder. They're staying in the old Fletcher cabin."

Beckett rises from his chair, offering Sierra a polite nod. "Ma'am. Welcome to Eden Ridge."

"Thank you," Sierra says, and I notice how she keeps Ryder close to her side, one hand resting protectively on his shoulder.

Grayson offers a brief military style greeting, filled with politeness and proper manners. Nash gives a casual wave from where he's leaning against the mantle, studying Sierra with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. West, predictably, is the most welcoming.

"Hey there, Ryder," West says, crouching down like Grace did. "That's a pretty cool Hulk you've got there."

Ryder beams and launches into an explanation of all of Hulk's powers while West listens with exaggerated amazement. Sierra watches this interaction with something like wonder, as if she can't quite believe strange men are being kind to her son.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Grace asks. "Wine? Beer? Sweet tea?"

"Sweet tea sounds perfect," Sierra says, and Grace leads her toward the kitchen with Ryder trailing behind, still chattering about superheroes.

As soon as they're out of earshot, my brothers close ranks.

"She's running from something," Grayson says without preamble. "The way she scanned the room, checked the exits. That's survival behavior."

"Could be an abusive ex," Nash adds. "Seen it before. Single mom with a kid who jumps at shadows."

"Maybe we should mind our own business," Beckett suggests, though his tone says he's noticed the same things.

"Asher offered her a job," West says, grinning. "At the distillery. Doing books."

Three pairs of eyes turn to me. "Did you now?" Grayson raises an eyebrow.

"She's got experience. We need help. It seemed logical."

"Since when do you make hiring decisions without consulting the rest of us?" Nash asks.

"Since Ezra started drowning in paperwork and complaining about it every family dinner for the past month," I shoot back.

"Point taken," Beckett concedes. "But we should probably discuss terms, pay scale, that kind of thing."

From the kitchen comes the sound of Grace's laughter mixed with Ryder's excited chatter. Sierra's voice is quieter, more reserved, but I can hear her responding to Grace's questions with careful politeness.

"She seems nice enough," West observes. "Kid's definitely a charmer."

"Kid's also been through something," Grayson says. "Watch how he positions himself between his mother and any potential threats. That's learned behavior."

"All the more reason to help them," I say firmly. "Whatever happened before, they're here now. In our town, on our land. That makes them our responsibility."

"Since when are you the protector of strays?" Nash asks with a smirk.

Since this morning, when I held a naked, terrified woman in my arms and wanted to promise her she'd never have to be afraid again.

"Since always," I lie. "Just ask Beckett how many injured animals I dragged home as a kid."

"That's different," Beckett says. "Animals don't have complicated pasts and dangerous ex-boyfriends."

"We don't know she has a dangerous ex-boyfriend."

"We don't know she doesn't," Grayson counters.

Grace's voice carries from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

We file into the dining room where Grace has set the table with her good china and the silverware that belonged to our mother. Sierra helps carry dishes, moving efficiently like she's used to working in kitchens, while Ryder trails behind, asking Grace about everything he sees.

"This is fancy," Ryder announces as we take our seats. "Are you a princess?"

Grace laughs, a sound that still makes Beckett's face soften every time. "Not a princess, sweetheart. Just someone who likes pretty things."

"Mama likes pretty things too, but we don't have fancy plates."

Sierra's cheeks flush. "Ryder..."

"It's okay," Grace says quickly. "Pretty things aren't what make a home special. It's the people in it."

The kindness in her voice seems to ease Sierra's discomfort and dinner begins with the usual Hunter family chaos. West tells stories that make Ryder giggle. Grayson discusses the timber business in terms a four-year-old can understand. Nash talks about the animals he's seen on his property.

But it's when Ezra asks Sierra about her bookkeeping experience that I see her walls go up again.

"Just basic stuff," she says, the same non-answer she gave me earlier. "Small business management. Nothing too complicated."

"What kind of business?" West asks with genuine curiosity.

"Import export," Sierra replies quickly. "Very boring."

"Import export can be complex," Grayson observes. "Lots of international regulations, customs paperwork, tax implications."

"I mostly handled the domestic side," Sierra says, and takes a large bite of chicken that prevents further questioning.

I catch the look Grayson shoots Nash. They've both noticed the evasion, the careful way she deflects specific questions. But Grace, bless her, seems to sense Sierra's discomfort and smoothly changes the subject to gardening and whether Ryder might like to help plant vegetables.

"Can we grow carrots?" Ryder asks excitedly. "Hulk needs to eat vegetables to stay strong."

"We can grow whatever you want," Grace promises. "Maybe your mom can help too."

"Mama knows about gardens," Ryder says proudly. "She grew tomatoes and herbs in pots at our old place. They were really good."

"Where was your old place?" West asks innocently.

Sierra's hand tightens on her fork. "California."

"Whereabouts in California?" Grayson follows up. "I spent some time stationed at Camp Pendleton."

"Northern California," Sierra says, which contradicts what she told me earlier about Southern California.

The lie hangs in the air for a moment before Grace, clearly sensing the tension, stands abruptly. "Who wants dessert? I made apple pie."

"Me!" Ryder shouts, his enthusiasm breaking the awkward moment.

"Sierra, would you mind helping me clear?" Grace asks. "Ryder, want to watch some cartoons while the grown-ups finish talking?"

As Grace efficiently removes Sierra from the interrogation zone, I make a mental note to thank my sister-in-law later. But I also file away every inconsistency in Sierra's story, every careful deflection and nervous tell.

Whatever brought Sierra Martinez to Eden Ridge, it's bigger and more complicated than she's letting on. And despite every instinct telling me to keep my distance, I find myself wanting to know all her secrets.

Even if they destroy the careful peace I've built in my life.