Page 45 of Grumpy on the Mountain

"Oh, excuse me. My mistake." She's grinning, that playful light back in her eyes. "Though I have to say, for a hermit, you're awfully good at this whole tour guide thing."

I look across and notice how close she's gotten to me.

The truck cab suddenly feels smaller, more intimate, charged with the same electricity that sparked between us last night under the stars.

"You know… if you want to drive, just ask," I tease, glancing down at her with raised eyebrows. "You're practically sitting in my lap, Mol."

She laughs. "Me? Drive?! Yeah, right."

"What?" I throw back, laughing. "Why not? Can't handle something this big?"

"Of course I can't drivethis," she says, gesturing wildly at the dashboard. "Look at it—it's enormous! It's like a tank with cup holders. And these mountain roads with all the ice and snow..."Her voice gets smaller. "My little sedan barely made it up here before it died a dramatic death at the town line. Riley always said I was a terrible driver, and honestly, after what happened to my poor car, maybe he was right."

The throwaway comment is so unexpected and devastating that I slam on the brakes without thinking. The truck skids and screeches on the snowy road before coming to a complete stop in the middle of the empty mountain lane.

"BEAU!" Molly shrieks beside me, holding on for dear life. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Our bodies jerk forward as the momentum of the sudden halt comes to a sudden stop. The truck is twisted sideways, rubber-scented smoke wafting around the vehicle.

"That's not—" I start, then stop, trying to process what she just told me. Trying to control the rage that's suddenly flooding through my system like molten metal. "Jesus, Molly. Are you fucking serious right now?"

She shrugs and nods, a frown creasing her perfect features.

I'm out of the truck before I can think better of it, my boots hitting the pavement hard enough to jar my teeth.

My brother. My own fucking brother made her feel like this. How many other skills did he undermine? How many times did he chip away at her confidence while pretending to protect her?

Molly climbs out of the passenger side, looking uncertain in the middle of the empty road, snowcapped peaks rising around us like silent witnesses to my sudden rage.

"Beau, I know you're trying to be nice, but I really did almost slide off the road three times getting here—"

"Because you were driving an inappropriate vehicle in bad weather," I say, cutting her off and forcing myself to take a breath before I take it out on her.

She's clearly been through enough, and I won't allow another minute of her living her life like this.

"You wanna learn to drive? You're driving. Right now. Today."

Her eyes go wide with panic, and she takes a step back.

"No, no, no, I can't. I'll roll it down the mountain! I'll crash into a tree! What if I hurt someone? What if I—"

She starts pacing back and forth in front of the truck, her hands twisted together, her breathing quick and shallow.

The sight of her fear—fear that was programmed into her by my bastard brother—makes me want to put my fist through something.

Preferably Riley's fucking face.

Instead, I step into her path, forcing her to stop her frantic pacing. When she looks up at me, her eyes are bright with unshed tears, and something in my chest cracks wide open.

"Hey," I say softly, all my anger instantly replaced by something more tender, more protective. "Look at me."

She meets my eyes, and I see trust there alongside the fear.

I reach up and cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. Her skin is cold from the mountain air but warms under my touch, and I can feel the rapid flutter of her pulse against my palms.

"I'll be right here with you," I promise, my voice low and steady and full of every vow I'm not ready to put into words. "Just like we were last night. Up there on those mountains, you helped me.Yousaved those tourists. Not just me."

Molly nods, my hands still holding her.