Page 22 of Daddy of the Mountain

Safe. The word echoed in my mind, heavy and light all at once. I hugged the doll tighter, resting my chin on my knees. Safe. That sounded . . . nice.

I felt light, but heavy, too. Like I was drifting into a dream.

Chapter 6

My dreams, that night, were sweet. Rabbits danced through them. The smell of talcum powder and rose water.

It was the first time in five years that I hadn’t woken up from a nightmare. I could scarcely believe it.

I hadn’t even meant to fall asleep. But it was like something called to me, something told my little brain that it was time to let go, time to heal. So I slept. All the way through the damn night.

My fingers brushed against wood—smooth, carved—the doll Silas had given me last night. It was still there, nestled against my chest like some kind of secret. I held it tighter for a second before setting it aside.

My ankle felt much better. The pain was almost gone. Progress, I thought. The quilt bunched around me shifted as I sat up, wincing when the movement tugged at my injury.

Silas was already up. He crouched near the stove, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light from the small flame he was coaxing alive. His hands moved with quiet precision: feeding the fire, adjusting the kettle perched on top. He didn’t look at me right away, but he must’ve heard the creak of the bed.

"Morning, Daddy," I rasped, my voice scratchy with sleep.

He glanced over his shoulder, brown eyes locking on mine. There was something there—not quite soft, not quite hard. Something that made my chest feel tight. The kind of look that said he remembered everything about last night too. The story. The doll. The way we’d let our walls drop just enough to touch something real.

"How’s the ankle, sweetheart?" His voice was low, rough, like gravel under boots.

My heart pounded. He’d called mesweetheart. "Better," I said quickly, shifting to prop myself up more. "Not great, but better."

His frown deepened. He stood, unfolding to his full height, and crossed the room in three strides. The floor groaned under his weight.

"Don’t move it too much," he said, eyeing the offending foot like it might rebel if left unchecked. His hand hovered near my leg, not touching, just . . . there. Close enough to feel the heat of him.

"I won’t," I said, trying to sound casual. But his attention made my skin prickle. Not in a bad way.

"Good." He stepped back, arms crossing over his chest. The sternness in his tone softened, just a little. "So. We need to talk. Set some rules for today. If we’re going to try this DDlg thing."

"Rules?" My brows shot up.

"Yeah." He gave me that look again. Serious. Heavy. "To keep you safe. And relaxed."

“You’re always so serious, Daddy.”

Something flickered in his expression—protective, maybe even tender—but it vanished as quickly as it came.

“Not always.”

A plate of eggs and toast sat in front of me, steam curling up in the cool air of the cabin. I poked at it with my fork, more focused on the man across from me than the food. Silas leaned back inhis chair, one big hand wrapped around a mug of coffee. His other hand rested on the table, fingers tapping out some muted rhythm against the wood.

"First rule," he said, voice steady, low. "You don’t put weight on that ankle. Not unless you absolutely have to."

I nodded, swallowing a bite of toast I could barely taste. “Got it.”

"Second." He shifted forward, setting the mug down with a soft clink. Those brown eyes of his pinned me like a hawk sighting prey. "No going outside alone. You hear me? Snow might be slowing, but you’re not steady enough to handle it."

"Okay," I murmured, but something in me bristled. My fingers gripped the edge of my plate. He wasn’t wrong, not really, but the idea of being confined, relying on him for everything—it made my skin itch.

"Don’t just ‘okay’ me, young lady. This isn’t negotiable." His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking beneath the scruff of his beard. "If you need somethin’, you call for me. Don’t go tryin’ to get it yourself."

"Fine," I said a little sharper than I meant. His gaze flicked up, sharp as the edge of a blade, and I softened my tone. "Really. I understand. You’re right."

"Good." He leaned back again, arms crossing over his broad chest. The tension eased from his face, just a fraction. "Last one’s optional."

---