Page 105 of Grumpy on the Mountain
Footsteps crunch rapidly through the snow behind me, but I'm already at my truck, yanking open the door with enough force to rattle the hinges.
"Get away from the truck, Molly."
"Like hell I will!" She appears at my side, grabbing my arm with both hands. "You can't just—"
"Can't what?" I whirl on her, and the look in my eyes makes her take a step back. "Can't protect what's mine? Can't make sure that bastard never touches another hair on anyone I care about?"
"Beau, please—"
"He used Maisie!" The words explode out of me like artillery fire. "A six-year-old child! He manipulated an innocent little girl to get information aboutyou, aboutus, about everything we've built here!"
Before I can climb into the truck, Sheriff Cooper comes barreling out of the house, his boots sliding in the snow as he rushes to intercept me. His hand clamps down on my shoulder with the grip of a man who's dealt with plenty of hotheads before.
"Now, son," he says in that calm voice he probably uses on belligerent drunks at the tavern. "Where exactly do you think you're headed?"
"To find my brother."
"And where might that be?" Cooper's eyebrows rise. "Because last I checked, his hotel room was empty. Man could be anywhere by now."
The simple logic of his words worm their way into my brain, but the rage is still there, still burning, still demanding action.
"I don't give a shit where he is. I'll tear this entire mountain apart until—"
"Beau." Molly's voice is soft now, pleading. "Didn't you hear the Sheriff? Riley's not even at the motel. Where would you even go to find him?"
More figures emerge from the house behind us.
Charlie, Frank Barrett, even Betty with her flour-dusted apron thrown over her coat. They form a loose circle around my truck, not quite blocking me in, but making it clear I'm not leaving without a conversation.
"Look around you, dear," Betty says gently, gesturing to the rescue lights still sweeping through the neighborhood. "Half this town just spent hours searching for one little girl. You think we're going to let you go off half-cocked into a blizzard to hunt down some city asshole?"
"This isn't your fight," I growl.
"The hell it isn't," Charlie interrupts, his bartender's authority cutting through the night air. "That man came intoourtown. Threatenedourpeople. Usedourkid. That makes it everybody's fight."
Frank Barrett steps forward. "But it doesn't make it a one-man war, son. We do things together here."
Their words swirl around me, logical and caring and completely fucking reasonable. But the soldier in me, the part that's been trained to eliminate threats with extreme prejudice, isn't interested in reason right now.
Especially when it comes to the person I loathe the most.
"Please," Molly whispers, stepping closer. "Let's just go home and think about this. Come up with a plan that doesn't involve you getting arrested for assault. Or worse."
Home.
The word cuts through the rage like a blade, reminding me of what I actually have to lose here. Not just Molly, but this life we've built. This community that's accepted a broken ex-soldier and somehow made him feel human again.
"Fine," I say finally, the word scraping out of my throat like gravel. "We go home. But if he shows his face anywhere near—"
"We'll handle it," Sheriff Cooper promises. "Together. Like family does."
The drive back up the mountain is tense silence punctuated by the sound of snow hitting the windshield and my hands gripping the wheel so damn hard enough to leave permanent impressions.
Molly sits beside me, radiating concern and love and all the things I don't deserve but somehow get to keep anyway.
Every few minutes, she reaches over to touch my arm, my thigh, my hand, like she's anchoring me to the present instead of letting me drift back to darker places.
I glance at her hand on mine and something breaks loose in my chest. Here she is, comforting me when it's her battle, her nightmare, her ex. She's the one Riley stalked across state lines, manipulated a child to find, and yet she's steadying me.
