Page 3 of Ryder (Heart River Valley: Montana Protectors #3)

Dana

The sound of rushing water fills my ears as I stare at the rapidly spreading puddle in the bakery basement.

The metallic tang of a burst pipe mixes with the lingering sweetness of morning pastries, creating a surreal contrast that makes my head spin.

Above me, the ancient floorboards creak ominously.

“Please tell me there’s a shut-off valve somewhere.

” Ryder’s voice echoes off the damp walls as he splashes through the ankle-deep water, flashlight beam dancing across exposed pipes.

The musty basement air can’t quite mask his familiar scent of leather and cedar, and my traitorous heart does its usual flutter.

“Elise said it’s behind the storage shelves.” I point, trying to focus on the crisis at hand instead of how his wet T-shirt clings to every muscle. “But I can’t reach it without moving everything, and there’s all the festival prep ingredients up there, and—”

“Breathe, sugar.” His hand lands warm on my shoulder, steady and grounding. “We’ll figure it out.”

The gentle squeeze of his fingers sends tingles down my spine, and I fight the urge to lean into his touch. This isn’t the time to get distracted by how safe he makes me feel, or how his voice gets all soft and warm when he calls me sugar.

A loud crack from above makes us both jump.

“That’s it.” Ryder’s hand slides down to the small of my back, guiding me toward the stairs. “You’re not staying down here. It’s not safe.”

“But the ingredients—”

“Can be replaced.” The steel in his voice brooks no argument. “You can’t.”

More creaking overhead punctuates his point. Water continues to pour from the broken pipe, the sound mixing with the hum of the industrial freezer and the distant drip of other leaks I really don’t want to think about.

The morning sun streaming through the bakery windows feels surreal after the basement’s darkness. Half-eaten pastries sit abandoned on tables where customers fled the flood. The maple-brown surface of my beloved hardwood floors is already starting to buckle in places.

My throat tightens. I’ve put everything I have into my time here. Every early morning, every burned batch, every recipe perfected... this is my home. My choice. My proof that walking away from my family’s expectations was worth it. Elise and everyone else welcomed me with open arms.

“Hey.” Ryder’s thumb brushes my cheek, and I realize I’m crying. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?” I gesture at the mess, hating how my voice cracks. “The festival’s in three weeks. We have orders to fill. I can’t just—”

The bell over the door chimes as Jake bursts in, tool belt already strapped on. “Plumber’s on his way. Elena’s calling Rachel. How bad?”

“Basement’s flooding, floor’s compromised.” Ryder hasn’t moved his hand from my back, and I try not to lean into the warmth. “We need to clear out anything valuable before the whole thing goes.”

Jake nods, already moving toward the kitchen. “On it. Dana, what needs saving first?”

The question snaps me back into action. With Elise trusting me to run this place while she’s gone, it’s my responsibility. I can fall apart later.

“Freezer contents.” I switch into crisis mode, mentally cataloging priorities. “Then the specialty flours in the pantry. The mixer’s on wheels, we can roll it out. And there’s a box of vanilla beans from Thailand that cost more than my car.”

“The ones Ryder special ordered?” Jake’s innocent tone doesn’t match his smirk.

“What?” I turn to Ryder, but he’s suddenly very interested in examining the water damage.

“Focus, people.” Elena appears in the doorway, phone in hand. “Rachel’s on her way. Garrett’s bringing the truck. And...” she gives me an apologetic look, “the plumber can’t come until tomorrow.”

The implications hit me like a wave. No plumber means no quick fix. No quick fix means no baking. No baking means…

“You can’t stay here tonight,” Ryder says, as if reading my thoughts. “The whole floor could go.”

“I’ll be fine. The apartment—”

“Is right above a flooding basement with compromised support beams.” His jaw has that stubborn set I recognize from when he’s protecting Rachel. “Not happening.”

“He’s right,” Jake cuts in, emerging from the kitchen with an armload of supplies. “Besides, you’re going to need somewhere to bake all these orders. Somewhere with a proper kitchen, plenty of counter space...”

“Like the guest house at Ryder’s ranch,” Elena adds innocently. “The one with the professional-grade appliances Rachel told me he installed recently.”

My heart stumbles. Stay at Ryder’s place? With his crooked smile and his terrible jokes and his tendency to make me forget all the reasons I shouldn’t want him?

“That’s...” Absolutely terrifying. Completely inappropriate. Exactly what I’ve been dreaming about for months. “I couldn’t impose.”

“It’s not imposing if I’m offering.” Ryder’s voice is gruff, but his eyes are soft when they meet mine. “Come on, sugar. Let me help.”

Another crack echoes from below, followed by an ominous rushing sound. The decision is pretty much made for me.

“Okay.” I take a shaky breath, trying to ignore how my skin tingles where he’s still touching me. “Okay, but just until the repairs are done.”

“’Course.” But something flickers in his expression, something that makes my pulse skip. “Now let’s save this kitchen before the whole place floods.”

As if on cue, a pipe groans somewhere in the walls.

Right. Focus on the crisis. Not on how good Ryder looks all competent and commanding. Not on how I’m about to be living in his space, seeing him every day, probably running into him fresh from the shower…

This is fine. Everything is fine.

I’m only going to be staying with the man I’ve been half in love with for months, trying not to reveal exactly how much he affects me.

What could possibly go wrong?

Sunset paints the Montana sky in shades of pink and gold as Ryder’s truck turns onto the ranch road.

My personal recipe book—the one filled with family secrets and hard-won techniques—sits safely in my lap, while my few boxes of belongings rattle in the truck bed.

It feels strange leaving Hearts & Grinds behind, even temporarily.

The morning’s disaster keeps replaying in my head: Elise on the phone after she and Rhett just landed in the Dominican Republic, insisting insurance will cover it and not to worry, Mrs. Henderson’s understanding but disappointed face when I called about the festival orders, the sight of my workstation underwater…

“Stop thinking so loud,” Ryder says, his voice warm in the cab’s comfortable quiet. “Whatever you’re worrying about, we’ll figure it out.”

“I’m not worried.” I’m lying and we both know it. “I’m strategizing. The festival committee—”

“Will understand. And if they don’t, they can take it up with me.”

I clutch my recipe book tighter. “It’s not just that. All the specialty tools are back at the bakery. My proof boxes, my pastry rings... I can’t exactly produce festival-quality goods with basic kitchen equipment.”

“Hey now,” he shoots me that crooked grin that always makes me forget how to breathe. “I’ll have you know this kitchen has the finest measuring cups money can buy.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “My hero.”

“Damn straight.” His eyes flicker to me. “Though if you really want to thank me, I wouldn’t say no to more of those cinnamon rolls. You know, once we figure out the equipment situation.”

“You never say no to cinnamon rolls.”

“Why would I? Best thing in three counties.” He pauses. “Well, almost the best thing.”

Before I can process that, we’re pulling up to the guest house. I’ve been here before for family dinners with Rachel, but never alone with Ryder. Never in a way that feels so... intimate.

The small house glows welcoming in the dying light, all warm wood and big windows. A wraparound porch supports hanging baskets of late-summer flowers, their sweet scent mixing with sage and prairie grass on the evening breeze.

“Kitchen’s fully stocked,” Ryder says as he kills the engine. “Though, uh, you might want to check what’s actually in there. Rachel stocked the basics, but I’m guessing your definition of ‘basic’ is a little different than ours.”

The mental image of Ryder Winston, six feet of pure masculine confidence, puzzling over the difference between pastry flour and all-purpose makes me smile despite everything.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you the basics.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “You know, in case of pastry emergencies.”

“Pastry emergencies?” His laugh is low and rich.

“That a technical term?” “Very technical. Right up there with ‘cookie catastrophes’ and ‘muffin mishaps.’” He’s still chuckling as he grabs my boxes, and I let myself admire the way his shoulders move under his shirt.

Just for a moment. Just because I’m tired and stressed and he’s being so sweet.

The guest house kitchen is gorgeous . Gleaming stainless steel appliances, yards of granite countertop, a center island that would have been perfect if it wasn’t missing all my usual tools.

Late evening light streams through windows that overlook rolling pastures, and somewhere in the distance, a meadowlark calls.

I set my recipe book on the counter, running my fingers over its worn cover. “This is... really beautiful. But I don’t know how I’m going to make this work.”

When I look up, Ryder is watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. “We’ll figure it out,” he says softly. “Whatever you need.”

Our eyes meet across the kitchen, and for a moment everything else falls away. No flood, no crisis, no complicated reasons why this is a terrible idea. Just me and Ryder and the soft Montana twilight wrapping around us like a blanket.

Then his phone buzzes, shattering the moment.