Page 5 of Trouble with the Mountain Man
"I want my daughter to have opportunities. Good schools, activities, a future that doesn't involve small-town limitations."
Something dark and protective rises in my chest. This bastard walked away from the most incredible woman I've ever met, and now he wants to dictate her choices?
"Silver Ridge is a good place to raise a child," Maple says firmly. "Ally is happy here."
"For now. But what happens when she gets older? When she wants more than this dead-end town can offer?"
I've heard enough. I stride to the front door and knock, hard enough to rattle the frame.
Maple opens it, her face flushed with anger and unshed tears. Behind her, I can see her laptop open on the kitchen table, Derek's face scowling from the screen.
"Sorry to interrupt," I say, not sorry at all. "I need to discuss the electrical work with you."
"Of course." Maple steps back, relief evident. "Derek, this is Flint Miller, our contractor. Flint, this is Derek, Ally's father."
Derek's image leans forward, trying to get a better look at me through the laptop camera. "Contractor. I see."
The dismissal in his tone sets my teeth on edge, but I keep my expression neutral. "The electrical box needs to be moved as part of the foundation work. Safety issue."
"How much will that cost?" Derek asks, as if he has any right to know.
"Already included in the estimate," I reply, looking only at Maple.
"Estimate?" Derek's voice sharpens. "How much are you paying for this work?"
"That's between Ms. Webster and me," I say before Maple can answer.
Derek's face twists into a scowl. "I'm her daughter's father. I have a right to know how my child support is being spent."
"Child support that barely covers groceries," Maple snaps. "And this is being paid for with my savings."
"Money you're wasting on a house that should be condemned."
That's it. I step closer to the laptop, making sure Derek gets a good look at me. "This house has good bones. Stone foundation, solid frame, quality materials. With proper maintenance, it'll stand for another century. Sometimes things worth having require work to preserve them."
My eyes find Maple's as I speak, and I see understanding flash across her face. We're not just talking about the house anymore.
"Flint's right," she says, straightening her shoulders. "This house is worth saving. And this is my decision to make."
Derek's expression turns ugly on the screen. "I see what's happening here. You're being taken advantage of by some local yokel who—"
"I think this conversation is over," Maple interrupts, her voice steady despite the emotion I can see simmering beneath the surface.
"Maple—"
She closes the laptop with a sharp click, cutting him off mid-sentence. The silence that follows feels like a victory.
Maple sags against the doorframe, suddenly fragile. "I'm sorry you had to witness that."
"Don't apologize. He's an ass."
A laugh bubbles out of her, surprising us both. "He is, isn't he? I don't know what I ever saw in him."
I can think of several things I'd like to say about what Derek saw in her—beauty, strength, the kind of warmth that makes a house feel like home. Instead, I ask, "You okay?"
"Getting there." She looks up at me, and something shifts in her expression. "Thank you. For what you said about the house. About things worth preserving."
"I meant it."
