Page 30 of The Mountain Man's Untamed Bride
"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 theRichardson 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.
