Page 25 of Her Mountain Rescuer

The front door opens quietly, and a moment later Beau steps into the kitchen. His presence fills the room, strong and steady. I feel instantly calmer knowing that he’s here. He’s my anchor. My rock. He looks at Dad and then at me, his gorgeous green eyes soft with concern.

“I’m here for Hailey,” he says to my dad, his voice quiet, calm. “We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to, Logan. I just want to be here for her.”

Dad’s gaze snaps to Beau, his eyes narrowing. My stomach drops as he studies the man who’s been his closest friend for over twenty years. Beau stands there, unwavering, letting Dad look his fill. Beau comes to stand behind my chair, putting a hand on my shoulder. I glance up at him, and he shoots me a quick, reassuring smile.

I see it, the moment Dad’s expression softens. The tension in his shoulders eases a fraction, and hope flares to life in my chest.

Can he see how much Beau loves me?

I hold my breath. Waiting. Hoping.

Dad looks back down at his coffee, his brow furrowed in thought. It’s hismulling it overexpression, one I’ve seen countless times throughout my life. The silence stretches, but it’s different now. Softer, somehow.

I lean into Beau’s touch, drawing strength from him. Together, we wait for Dad to speak. To acknowledge what’s right in front of him. The coffee maker burbles on the counter, and several seconds pass. I don’t rush Dad, and neither does Beau. I let him take his time. Let him process.

“So…this is really happening, huh?” he finally says.

“It’s really happening,” I say.

More silence. Finally, he sighs, the gust of air loud in the quiet kitchen.

“You hurt her, I kill you,” Dad says, eyes on Beau.

“I won’t,” Beau says quiet but fierce. “Ever.”

Another silence. More mulling over. And then finally, he cracks.

“Okay.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “Okay.”

The oven beeps, telling me that the cinnamon rolls are ready, so I jump up to take them out of the oven. Dad and Beau don’t speak as I drizzle the icing over them, letting it melt and drip.

The sight of the sticky, white ropes coating the cinnamon rolls makes me want let Beau frost me just like this later. I press my lips together, fighting back a smile. Now is not the time for horny thoughts.

I set the plate down on the table, and then pour Beau a cup of coffee, fixing it with a splash of milk, just the way he likes. Our hands brush as I hand it to him, making heat race up my arm. I smile at him, and he smiles back, little lines fanning out around his eyes. He looks delicious this morning, with his light blue Henley clinging to his muscles, his beard neatly groomed.

Oh, who am I kidding? It’s always time for horny thoughts when he’s around.

The sun streams through the kitchen windows, casting everything in a warm, golden glow that seems to match what I’m feeling right now. It feels cozy. A real—if awkward—family breakfast.

Dad takes a sip of coffee, his eyes flicking between Beau and me. But he doesn’t say anything. He reaches for a cinnamon roll and takes a big bite.

“These are good, Hails,” he says, his mouth full.

I grin. “Thanks, Dad.” Bit by bit, things are starting to feel a little less fraught and a lot more normal.

We eat the cinnamon rolls, making cautious conversation throughout. We talk about the weather, about how good the cinnamon rolls are. Beau tells a funny story about rescuing alost goat who didn’t want to be rescued and screamed the whole way back to his farm. I talk about wanting to go for a hike now that my ankle’s fully healed. Dad mentions a good movie he and Kaylee watched.

It’s careful. Measured. But it’s a start.

Halfway through, Beau reaches under the table and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back, and my heart feels so incredibly full. This is what I’ve always wanted. A quiet, peaceful life with the man I love. It’ll probably be a lot less peaceful once children come into the picture, but that’s okay.

I can’t wait, honestly.

I can still see a shadow of hurt, a flicker of concern in Dad’s eyes, but there’s also grudging acceptance there. Gradually, stubbornly, he’s coming to terms with the fact that Beau and I are together, and there’s nothing he can do to change that.

Once we’re finished eating, Dad doesn’t linger, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. He’s about to open it when he pauses. Sighs, and then turns back around.

“Kaylee wants you to come over for dinner on Sunday,” he says, eyes on me. Then his gaze flicks to Beau. “You…can bring him, if you want. Promise I won’t throw any punches.”

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