Page 71 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
Buck emerges from the kitchen, plates balanced up his arm like a pro, while Ford charms a group of hikers who've wandered in from the trail. Working alongside all three of them makes the air feel charged, like there's an electrical current running just beneath the surface of every interaction.
"Two more beers for table six," I tell Griff as I slide behind the bar.
He nods, grabbing frosted mugs from the freezer. "You holding up okay?" he asks, sliding the beers toward me.
"Never better," I reply, and I mean it. Despite the chaos, there's something about this place that feels right. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
I deliver the beers and turn to find Ford at my elbow, close enough that I catch the subtle scent of his deodorant. "Need anything from the back?" he asks, and there's a depth to his question that makes my stomach flutter.
"Just some napkins," I say, suddenly aware of how our arms brush when we pass each other.
Buck catches my eye from across the room, giving me a wink that sends heat curling through me. How is it possible to wantthree different men this much? Each touch, each look from any of them leaves me flushed.
The door swings open, and a hush falls over the bar. I turn to see what's caused the sudden quiet and nearly drop my tray.
Reynolds stands in the doorway, but not the Reynolds I've come to know—the disheveled dude with bloodshot eyes and wrinkled clothes. This Reynolds is... transformed. His normally unruly hair is combed neatly, his face freshly shaved. He's wearing dark jeans that appear to have been ironed and a clean blue button-down shirt that actually fits him properly. But the most shocking part isn't his appearance—it's the woman beside him.
She's petite with shoulder-length brown hair and kind eyes that crinkle when she smiles up at him. Her hand rests comfortably in the crook of his arm, and the way she leans toward him speaks of genuine affection.
"Well, I'll be damned," Buck mutters, appearing at my side. "Does Reynolds have a date?"
"I think so," I whisper back, watching as Reynolds leads the woman to a small table in the corner. He pulls out her chair for her, and the gesture is so unexpectedly gentlemanly that I can’t look away.
"Who is she?" I ask.
"No idea," Buck says, shaking his head in wonder. "But he's sober. Look at his eyes—clear as day."
Vanna approaches their table, her usual cool efficiency replaced by barely concealed curiosity. I inch closer, pretending to wipe down a nearby table, straining to hear their conversation.
"Evening, Reynolds," Vanna says. "Nice to see you. And who's your friend?"
The woman extends her hand with a warm smile. I can't catch her name over the bar noise, but Reynolds beams with pride as he introduces her, sitting up straighter in his chair.
"Just a glass of white wine for the lady," he says, his voice steadier than I've ever heard it. "And I'll have a club soda with lime."
Vanna's eyebrows shoot up, but she nods and returns to the bar.
"Club soda?" Ford echoes in disbelief when Vanna relays the order. "Are we sure that's actually Reynolds?"
"He's wearing a belt that matches his shoes," Griff adds, equally stunned. "I didn't even know he owned shoes that weren't work boots."
We all take turns finding excuses to pass by their table, each of us unable to resist catching glimpses of this new Reynolds. He leans forward as his date speaks, genuinely interested in what she's saying. She touches his hand as she laughs at something, and his face lights up in a way I've never seen before.
"They're cute together," I say to Ford as he helps me load a tray with fresh drinks.
"They are," he agrees. "Good for him. Everyone deserves someone who makes them want to be better."
His eyes linger on mine as he says it, and I can’t help but wish I could kiss him right now.
An hour later, Reynolds approaches the bar, his date waiting by the door. He puts down enough cash to cover their drinks plus a generous tip.
"We're heading out to eat at my place," he announces, a nervous pride in his voice. "Made beef stew this morning. It's been in the slow cooker all day."
"You cook?" Buck asks, unable to hide his surprise.
Reynolds smiles shyly. "Used to, before... you know. Trying to get back to it."
"Well, don't let us hold you up," Griff says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You don’t want to keep your lady waiting.”
