Page 17 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

I followed him outside, back into the snowstorm, every step feeling like a reluctant surrender.

This was just another disaster. Another thing I couldn’t control.

And the worst part?

I had the sinking feeling that this one-night stay wasn’t going to go the way I planned.

CHAPTER FOUR

Garrett

Storms didn’t rattle me.

I’d lived through enough of them. Blizzards, blackouts, equipment failures, power lines down halfway up the ridge. You learned to plan, to prep, to keep a calm head when the sky turned dark and the wind started screaming.

What you didn’t do was panic.

So when the clouds rolled in that afternoon, heavy with snow and bad timing, I was out behind the cabin with Beckett, double-checking the generator and hauling in the last of the firewood.

We had enough fuel to get us through the weekend, food packed up tight, backup batteries for everything from the flashlights to the old CB radio in case cell towers went out.

“You secure the shed?” I asked, nodding toward the lower slope.

“Yeah,” Beckett muttered. “Braced the door and tied down the tarp. Chainsaw’s inside.”

“Good.”

I reached for another log and stacked it near the door, flexing my fingers out of habit. Cold made them stiff, even after all these years.

Didn’t stop me from doing the work, though. Wouldn’t ever.

Beckett adjusted his coat collar, then looked at the sky. “You think we’ll get hit hard?”

“We’ll be fine.” I kept my voice even. Reassuring. “Storm tracker’s saying six to eight inches by morning. Not ideal, but we’ve seen worse.”

He gave a sharp nod and didn’t say more. Beckett didn’t talk unless he needed to.

That was what I liked about him. He understood the value of quiet.

The rumble of Asher’s truck snapped my focus toward the long drive that cut through the trees.

I straightened, wiped my hands on my jeans, and frowned. He’d been gone longer than I liked.

When Lucy called earlier and asked us to check on her friend, I’d figured it was just a quick favor. A simple knock, a wellness check, maybe deliver a Thermos of soup or something.

What I hadn’t expected was the passenger.

Or the way she made my chest go tight the second she stepped out of the truck.

I’d barely seen her—hell, the snow was coming down in thick sheets now, wind carving lines across the windshield—but the second Asher opened her door, Ifelther. That sounds crazy, I know. But I did.

She stepped down onto the snow-packed gravel like she wasn’t sure if she was arriving or escaping, boots crunching, oversized coat swallowing her narrow frame. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, and strands of it whipped around her face as she looked up at the cabin.

Not scared. Not excited either. Just wary.

And cold.

Her cheeks were pink from the wind, her jeans still wet around the cuffs, and her mouth set in a flat line that said she wasn’t used to needing help and hated the hell out of it.

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