Page 13 of The Mountain Man’s Untamed Bride (Mountain Man Sanctuary #4)

“Roots and Wings”

Scarlett

The August sun beat down mercilessly as I dug my fingers into the rich mountain soil.

Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades, darkening the back of my once-white tank top that I'd sacrificed to the gardening gods.

A full week had passed since Langley's dramatic arrest, and I was still adjusting to this strange new reality—one where I wasn't constantly looking over my shoulder.

"You're supposed to plant them, not interrogate them," Bodhi called from where he was reinforcing the chicken coop.

I sat back on my heels, wiping dirt across my forehead with the back of my hand. "I'm having a philosophical discussion with these tomato plants about their life choices. They're very opinionated about soil pH."

His laugh—that rare, wonderful sound I'd been hearing more frequently—carried across the yard. Colonel pecked at the ground nearby, occasionally cocking his head to stare at me as if critiquing my gardening technique.

The restraining order against Langley had been issued yesterday.

According to the sheriff, he was still in custody pending bail hearings, with additional charges likely forthcoming based on evidence found in his car—including detailed maps of Bodhi's property and what appeared to be a sedative kit that made my blood run cold.

My parents had been notified immediately. Their initial disbelief had quickly transformed into horror when confronted with the evidence of Langley's obsession and the Richardson family's carefully constructed facade of respectability.

I pressed the final tomato seedling into the ground, patting the soil around it with surprising tenderness. Gardening wasn't something I'd ever imagined enjoying, yet here I was, filthy and sweating, feeling oddly satisfied by the simple act of coaxing life from dirt.

"There," I told the plants firmly. "Grow or don't, but I've done my part. The rest is between you and Mother Nature."

My cell phone rang from where I'd set it on the garden bench.

After Langley's arrest, Bodhi had invested in a premium satellite internet system—a significant shift in his off-grid philosophy.

The security scare had pushed him to recognize the need for reliable communication with the outside world.

Now I had decent cell service even out here in the middle of nowhere.

I removed my gardening gloves and brushed dirt from my knees. The conversations with my parents had been evolving from awkward to cautiously hopeful, though we were all still navigating unfamiliar emotional territory.

I grabbed my phone, taking a deep breath before answering. "Hello?"

"Scarlett? Honey, it's Mom and Dad. We're on speakerphone." My mother's voice sounded strained but determined.

"Hi," I replied, perching on the garden bench. "How did the meeting go?"

A heavy sigh came from my father. "That's... that's what we wanted to talk to you about."

Something in his tone made me grip the phone tighter. "Is everything okay?"

"I've stepped down from the ministry," he said, the words seeming to cost him physically. "Effective immediately."

"You what?" I nearly dropped the phone. "But the church is your life!"

"No, Scarlett. You and your mother are my life. The church was my calling, but somewhere along the way, I confused God's work with my own ambitions." His voice broke slightly. "I let public opinion and financial pressure from donors like the Richardsons cloud my vision of what truly matters."

My mother's voice joined in, thick with emotion. "We both did, sweetheart. We were so focused on appearances that we couldn't see what was happening right in front of us."

"I don't understand," I said, genuinely confused. "Why step down? Why not just... do better?"

"Because I need to practice what I've preached for twenty years," my father explained.

"Humility. Repentance. Putting family before ambition.

" A pause. "And because I should have believed you about Langley's character the first time you expressed concerns.

Instead, I dismissed you and prioritized the Richardson donation checks.

That's not the action of a man fit to lead others spiritually. "

Tears pricked at my eyes. "Dad—"

"Please, let me finish." His voice steadied. "You're our only child, Scarlett. Our miracle. After seven years of trying and four miscarriages, when you came along, it was unexpected and felt like divine intervention. We were terrified of losing you, too."

"We hovered," my mother admitted quietly. "We worried. We tried to protect you from everything, including your own choices. But in doing so, we treated you like the child you no longer are instead of the capable woman you've clearly become."

A tear escaped, rolling down my cheek. "I just wanted you to see me. To hear me."

"We see you now," my father said, his voice stronger. "And we're asking for your forgiveness, and for time. We've made mistakes—terrible ones—but we love you, and we hope there's a path forward for our family."

"It's time for you to spread your wings and fly," my mother added. "Even if that means flying far from us for a while. We've done our job—better in some ways than others—but now your life is yours to live."

I caught myself smiling through the tears. "I'd like that. The time, I mean. I think we all need it."

After promises to speak again soon and tearful goodbyes, I hung up, feeling lighter than I had in years.

I wasn't naive enough to think everything was magically fixed, but for the first time, I felt like they were truly seeing me—not as an extension of themselves or the church, but as a person with her own path to walk.

The screen door creaked, and Bodhi appeared, hesitating at the threshold. "Everything okay?"

"My father stepped down from the ministry. He's... they're both trying to make amends. It's a start."

Bodhi crossed to where I sat, his calloused hand surprisingly gentle as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Takes courage to admit when you're wrong."

"Something we Montgomerys aren't exactly known for," I admitted with a watery laugh.

His gaze roamed over my face, lingering in a way that made my skin tingle despite my emotional state. "You've got..." He brushed his thumb across my cheekbone. "Dirt. Everywhere, actually."

"I was going for the 'one with nature' aesthetic." I glanced down at my filthy attire—my dirty tank top, torn jeans, mud-caked boots, and not a speck of makeup. My hair was piled in a messy bun that had more to do with practicality than style. "I'm sure I look like a disaster."

"You look beautiful," he said simply, with such conviction that my breath caught.

Our eyes locked, and the atmosphere between us changed. He was looking at me like I was wearing La Perla lingerie instead of my dirt-covered clothes. The intensity in his gaze made my heart race, and I suddenly became acutely aware of how close we were standing.

"I should shower," I gestured toward the bathroom. "Plants have ways of making you pay tribute in soil form."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Use all the hot water you want. Solar tank's full."

Such a simple offering, yet in Bodhi's world of careful resource management, it felt significant—like being handed the keys to a Ferrari.

After a blissfully hot shower, I emerged to find Bodhi had started dinner—fresh trout from his promised "river delivery service" and vegetables from his established garden beds. We ate on the newly reinforced porch, watching the sunset paint the mountains in shades of gold and crimson.

As darkness settled, Bodhi built a fire in the stone pit he'd constructed near the cabin. The night air carried the scent of pine and wood smoke, the perfect antidote to the day's lingering heat. Stars emerged overhead, more brilliant than any Atlanta sky could offer.

I settled onto the log bench, wearing just a thin cotton dress against the still-warm evening air. He joined me, passing a mason jar of his homebrewed beer.

"What happens now?" he asked, his profile lit by the dancing flames.

I took a sip, considering. "I should probably figure that out. Go back to Atlanta. Or somewhere." The words felt empty even as I spoke them. "Start over."

"Or stay," he said quietly, not looking at me.

My heart stuttered. "Stay?"

"Here. With me." He poked at the fire with a stick, sending sparks spiraling upward. "If you want."

"Bodhi—"

"I know it's not what you're used to," he continued, words coming faster now. "No fancy restaurants or shopping malls. But with the new satellite system, you'd at least have decent connection to the outside world. A chicken that judges your life choices. But..."

I waited, hardly daring to breathe.

He finally turned to me, firelight reflecting in his eyes. "These past days with you... even with all the chaos and danger... I've felt more alive than I have since before Afghanistan. You brought color back to a world I'd been seeing in grayscale."

"I set your kitchen on fire and broke your coffeemaker," I reminded him, deflecting with humor as emotion threatened to overwhelm me.

"You did," he agreed with a slight smile.

"You also stood up to your stalker ex-fiancé, planted tomatoes like you've been farming for years, and made me laugh for the first time in longer than I can remember.

" His hand found mine, fingers intertwining.

"I don't want to go back to silence when you leave. "

I stared at our joined hands, marveling at how right they looked together—my manicure-free fingers engulfed by his work-roughened ones.

"So..." I swallowed hard. "About that virginity situation. It's still... situated."

He choked on his beer, coughing as I patted his back with mock innocence.

"Scarlett," he said when he recovered, voice deeper than before. "That's not why I'm asking you to stay."

"I know." I met his gaze directly. "But it's a compelling fringe benefit."

His laugh rumbled through the night air. "You're impossible."