Page 9 of Ryder (Heart River Valley: Montana Protectors #3)

Dana

The knock comes just after dawn, while I’m elbow-deep in practice batches for the competition. I open the door to find Ryder holding a worn wooden box and wearing an expression I’ve never seen before—nervous, almost shy.

“Morning.” His voice is soft. “Got a minute?”

“Always.” I step back to let him in, trying not to think about last night. About kisses and interruptions and the way my heart cracked when he dismissed my dreams so casually.

He sets the box on the counter with careful reverence. “This was my grandmother’s.”

“Oh?” I wipe my hands on my apron, curious despite myself.

“She taught me everything I know about baking. Which isn’t much,” he adds with a self-deprecating smile. “But more importantly, she taught me what it means to pour your heart into something. To create with love.”

My throat goes tight as he opens the box, revealing carefully preserved recipe cards in elegant handwriting.

“Ryder...”

“These aren’t just recipes,” he says quietly. “They’re stories. Family history. The kind of legacy that matters more than any trust fund or social status.”

I catch my breath at his pointed words. He’s been paying more attention than I thought.

“And I thought...” He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’d like to add your own recipes. Your own stories. Because you’re family now, Dana. Not just to me, but to this whole town.”

Tears prick my eyes as I trace the careful notations on a yellowed card. “Are you sure? This is... this is precious.”

“So are you.”

The simple sincerity in his voice makes me look up. His eyes hold mine, steady and sure.

“I was an idiot last night,” he continues. “Making light of something that matters to you. Truth is, watching you bake... it reminds me of her. That same passion, that same joy in creating something special.”

“Ryder...” But I can’t find words past the lump in my throat.

“That’s not all.” He grabs his truck keys. “Come with me?”

Outside, a delivery truck is pulling up to the guest house. Elena waves from the passenger seat, grinning like a cat with cream.

“What did you do?”

His hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady. “Just a little something to help with the competition. Since my kitchen isn’t exactly professional grade.”

The next few minutes are a blur of equipment being unloaded. A professional stand mixer. Proof boxes. Specialty baking tools I’ve only dreamed of using.

“I can’t accept...” I start, but Elena cuts me off.

“Yes, you can. Because this isn’t charity—it’s an investment. We believe in you.”

I turn to Ryder, finding him watching me with that soft expression that makes my knees weak. “Why?”

“Because you deserve to have people believe in your dreams.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Because watching you light up when you talk about baking is the best part of my day. Because...”

He trails off as my fingers find his shirt collar, pulling him down to my level.

“Because what?” I whisper against his lips.

His answer is a kiss that tastes like promise and possibility and something that feels an awful lot like love.

This kiss is different from last night’s heated urgency. Slower, deeper, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into the press of his lips against mine. His hands frame my face with a gentleness that makes my heart ache, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn’t realized were falling.

I melt into him, tasting coffee and morning sunshine. One of his hands slides into my hair while the other curves around my waist, pulling me closer until I can feel his heart pounding against mine.

“Sugar,” he breathes against my mouth. “You have no idea...”

“Show me,” I whisper, and feel him shudder.

Somewhere behind us, Elena clears her throat. “And that’s our cue to leave. Jake, help me with this last box.”

I vaguely register the sound of the delivery truck pulling away, but I can’t focus on anything except the way Ryder is looking at me. Like I’m something precious. Something worth protecting.

“I mean it,” he says softly, tucking another strand of hair behind my ear. “Every word. Every gift. You deserve it all.”

“Even the recipe box?” My voice wavers. “That’s... that’s family history.”

“Exactly.” He brushes his lips across my forehead. “And you’re family. Or at least...” His voice goes rough. “I want you to be.”

The weight of that admission hangs in the morning air between us. This isn’t just about the competition anymore. This is about belonging. About choosing each other. About trust.

I pull him down for another kiss, trying to pour everything I’m feeling into it. His hands tighten on my waist as I press closer, needing him to understand what this means to me. What he means to me.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.

“So,” he manages, resting his forehead against mine. “Does this mean you forgive me for being an idiot last night?”

I pretend to think about it. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re planning to help me test all this new equipment.”

His answering grin is pure sin. “Only if taste-testing is involved.”

“Always.” I run my fingers through his hair, loving how his eyes darken. “Though your technique needs work.”

“That so?” He nips at my bottom lip. “Guess you’ll have to teach me.”

“Guess I will.”

This time when he kisses me, it tastes like possibility. Like future. Like home.

“We should probably start unpacking this equipment,” I murmur against his lips, even as my fingers tighten in his hair.

“Probably.” His hands slide lower on my waist. “Or...”

“Or?”

“Or I could show you just how serious I am about us.”

The heat in his voice makes me shiver. “The equipment...”

“Will wait.” He presses a kiss behind my ear that scatters my thoughts. “This won’t.”

“Ryder...”

“Let me take you to bed, sugar.” His voice is rough velvet against my skin. “Please.”

The need in that single word undoes me. I nod, unable to form words as he scoops me up like I weigh nothing.