Page 8 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER SIX

Beckett

The storm hadn’t let up.

Wind howled through the trees like a wild thing, and snow pressed thick against the windows, turning the whole damn world white. I stood at the kitchen sink, mug of black coffee in hand, staring out at nothing.

No one was going anywhere today.

Which meant I was stuck here.

I’d planned to leave early, head to Lucy’s cabin before anyone else woke up. Figured I’d fix the pipe, patch the leak, keep my hands busy.

Do something useful. Something that didn’t involve sitting in awkward silence or pretending I hadn’t completely pissed Riley off last night.

I hadn’t meant to upset her. I’d just said the wrong thing. Like I always did.

I’d thought I was helping, honestly. Trying to make her see it wasn’t the end of the world. That all of it—the internet scandal, the comments, the fall from whatever shiny pedestal she’d been standing on—would pass.

People forget. Attention spans are short. I’d meant it to be a comfort.

But that wasn’t how it landed.

She’d looked at me like I’d punched her in the gut. Then she was up, angry and flushed and storming off to bed, leaving Asher trying to smooth things over with that shit-eating grin of his and a bottle of whiskey that definitely didn’t help.

Now all I could think about was the fire in her eyes. The sharp edge to her voice. The way her scent had lingered in the air long after she was gone.

The stairs creaked behind me.

I didn’t turn.

“Morning,” Asher called out, voice too damn loud for how early it was.

“Barely,” I muttered into my mug.

He wandered into the kitchen like we weren’t snowed in with a ticking time bomb upstairs. Hair a mess. Wrapped in one of those fancy robes Mom gave him. He looked ridiculous.

“Storm’s still going,” he said around a yawn. “Road’s buried. We’re not leaving.”

“Figured.”

“Well, lucky us,” he said, opening the fridge. “We’ve got heat, coffee, and enough unresolved tension in this cabin to fuel a Netflix drama.”

I shot him a look. He grinned.

“I’m not saying you’re the tension,” he added. “Just eighty percent of it.”

I stared out the window, jaw tight. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“I know,” he said, softer this time. “You never do. But you’ve got all the subtlety of a chainsaw.”

“She was spiraling.”

“She was venting, Beck. That’s different.” He pulled out some eggs and a block of cheese, setting them on the counter like we were having a normal morning. “You told her her life falling apart wasn’t that deep.”

“I didn’t say it like that.”

“You kind of did.”

I ran a hand down my face and exhaled. It sounded more like a growl than a breath. “I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I thought, if she could see the bigger picture…”

“She didn’t need the bigger picture last night,” he said, cracking an egg. “She needed someone to listen. Maybe let her cry into her drink a little. Not get judged for it.”

I clenched my jaw. Didn’t respond. Because he was right. And I hated that.

“She’s not mine to fix,” I muttered after a beat.

“True,” Asher said, smirking as he stirred the eggs. “But you’re brooding like a man who wishes she was.”

The front door opened with a gust of wind and the unmistakable stomp of boots.

Garrett.

He stepped inside, dusting snow off his shoulders like it was just another Tuesday. His beard was coated with frost, and he moved with that same quiet command he always had. Like he could hold the whole damn mountain together with one hand and a roll of duct tape.

“Power’s still good,” he announced, pulling off his gloves. “I checked the backup generator just in case.”

Asher raised a spatula in salute. “Our hero.”

Garrett shot him a look and then turned to me. “Did you try to leave this morning?”

I shook my head. “Didn’t even make it to the truck.”

He grunted and set his gloves on the drying rack, as the stairs creaked again.

This time slower. Hesitant.

I didn’t turn right away, but I knew it was her.

Riley padded into the kitchen, wrapped in one of the Wolfe flannels from the laundry closet, sleeves hanging past her hands. Her hair was a messy halo of waves, and her hazel eyes squinted like she’d just come back from the dead.

“Shit,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her temple. “What fresh hell is this?”

Asher grinned, way too chipper. “Welcome back to the land of the living, sunshine.”

She blinked at him. Then at me. Then at Garrett. Her eyes narrowed.

“That explains the testosterone fog in the air.”

Garrett’s brow ticked. “You could’ve said good morning.”

“I could’ve. But I haven’t had coffee, my head is splitting, and my phone has zero service, which means the world probably thinks I joined a cult.”

Asher snorted. “More like escaped one.”

Riley turned back to Garrett. “Do you own oat milk? Or is this cabin anti-latte?”

Garrett blinked. “You want what now?”

She sighed and rubbed her temple. “Right. I forgot I’m in a man cave with three flannel-clad lumberjacks.”

“Technically, Beck’s wearing thermals today,” Asher offered.

“Your brother judged me last night,” Riley muttered.

Garrett looked at me, hard. “What’d you say?”

“Not enough,” I said flatly.

Riley raised a brow. “Not what it felt like.”

Garrett stepped in then, that tone of his dropping to steady authority. “Riley, we’re all stuck here. No one’s coming or going until the storm eases up. I suggest we all try not to kill each other.”

“And maybe avoid unsolicited life advice,” she added pointedly.

Garrett didn’t flinch. “Then don’t act like the world owes you answers just because it stopped clapping.”

Asher winced. Riley froze, those hazel eyes sharpening.

“You don’t know me,” she said, voice suddenly quiet. “So don’t pretend you do.”

“I know your type,” Garrett replied, calm but unwavering. “Used to controlling the story. The second it cracks, you fall apart and expect someone else to pick up the pieces.”

She let out a cold laugh. “Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Wolfe.”

“Just call it like I see it.”

“That’s funny,” she said. “You all talk a big game about being real, but the second someone’s messy or loud or hurting, you want her quiet. Palatable.”

The room went still. Even Asher shut up.

I stepped forward before it could get worse. “We’ve got coffee,” I said, quieter now. “I’ll make a fresh pot.”

She didn’t look at me. Just kept her arms wrapped around herself like a shield.

“Do you have oat milk?” she asked again, sarcasm barely covering the fatigue.

“No,” I said, crossing to the fridge. “But we’ve got vanilla creamer.”

I set it down in front of her without another word.

She stared at it, then finally, finally , looked at me.

“Okay,” she said. “You can stay.”

A breath caught in my chest.

“Good,” I replied, turning away before I revealed anything more. “It’s my house.”