Page 14 of Road Trip With Her Daddy Protector

Reluctantly, I nod. “Okay. I promise.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead—a benediction and a brand. “Good girl.”

Heat blooms across my skin. We sit in silence a while longer, watching stars prick the sky open. Eventually Gus stands and reaches for my hand. “Bed?”

My pulse flutters. “Bed.”

Upstairs,he follows me intomyroom. Night air through the window ruffles the curtains. Gus closes and latches it, then does the same with the one across the hall. Satisfied, he returns and draws me into his arms.

“As much as I’d love to stay, I should bunk in the loft,” he murmurs against my hair.

I clutch his shirt. “Stay.”

A beat of hesitation, then he nods, stripping down to a white tee and flannel pants. I change into one of his shirts—soft cotton that hangs mid-thigh and smells like cedar and soap—then crawl beneath the quilt. The mattress dips under his weight as he joins me.

Wrapped in Gus’s embrace, surrounded by mountains older than memory, I could almost believe Tyler Cole is just a bad dream. But before sleep claims me, a question whispers through the dark.

“Gus?”

“Hmm?”

“If he finds us… promise you won’t face him alone.”

His arms tighten. “We’ll face him together, sweetheart. And we’ll win.”

With that vow settling over us like armor, I finally drift to sleep—knowing that wherever this road leads, Gus and I will walk it side by side.

8

Gus

Three quiet days pass in a blur of mountain air, shared coffee mugs, and the soft, stolen kisses that make the cabin seem like the safest place on earth—almost. Lola laughs more now, easy and unguarded, and every time I catch the sound drifting down the hall it buries itself under my ribs like a permanent brand.

But peace is fragile. It only takes one vibration in my pocket to remind me why we’re here.

I’m on the porch sanding a rocking-chair arm when the satellite phone buzzes. The caller ID readsMason.I step to the railing, eyes sweeping the treeline before answering.

“Talk to me.”

“Tyler Cole’s off the grid,” Mason says without preamble. “Ditched his condo two nights ago. Plate reader caught his Camaro north on I-75, then nothing. He’s ghosted.”

A low curse rumbles in my chest. “He’s coming.”

“That’s our read. You want us to converge?”

“Negative,” I say, gaze sliding to the open front door, where I can hear Lola humming in the kitchen. “I need him here—alone. Keep the team in reserve. I’ll call in the cavalry when it’s done.”

Mason pauses. “Copy that. You sure about this, boss?”

“It’s the only way to end it clean.” I lower my voice. “All the bread-crumbs are in place—burner phone ping, credit-card trail to Dahlonega, fresh prints on Lola’s old apartment mail slot. He’ll follow the map I drew.”

“Roger. We’ll stay dark. Send the flash if things go sideways.”

The line clicks dead. I breathe out slowly, sliding the phone back into my pocket. Every step I’ve taken since Florida has funneled Tyler toward these mountains. My mountains. Here, the terrain fights for me.

Footsteps on the porch. Lola emerges, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Sunlight catches her hair, turning the strands to ribbons of honey. “Everything okay?”

I force a smile. “Just Mason, checking in. Still no sign of Tyler.” Not a lie—just not the whole truth.

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