Page 26 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

“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 sayingyou’rethe 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 wewere 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.

---