Page 78 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
As I head upstairs to my room, I can't shake the cold dread that follows me. Daniel knows about all of us now. It's only a matter of time before everyone else does too.
I absently wipe the same spot on the bar counter for the third time, my mind replaying Daniel's disgusted face in the parking lot. It's been five hours since he left after his conversation with Griff, but I can't shake the feeling of exposure, of violation.
The few customers scattered around the bar tonight seem to sense my mood, keeping their drink orders simple and their small talk to a minimum. I'm grateful for the space to breathe, but the quiet only gives my anxiety more room to echo.
"You're going to wear a hole in that counter," Vanna says, sliding up beside me with a stack of clean glasses.
I startle, nearly dropping my rag. "Sorry. Just making sure it's clean."
She gives me a look that says she's not buying it. "That spot was clean ten minutes ago when you wiped it the first time. And the second time. And now the third."
I sigh, tossing the rag into the sink behind the bar. "Just distracted, I guess."
The bar is unusually quiet for a Tuesday night. Only a handful of regulars occupy the tables—a couple of older men playing chess in the corner, a woman drinking a beer while reading a paperback, and Reynolds, who's been nursing the same club soda for an hour. No sign of Griff, Buck, or Ford. They must be in the kitchen.
Vanna leans against the counter, crossing her arms. "This about Daniel showing up today?"
I shouldn't be surprised she knows. News travels at the speed of light in Flounder Ridge. "How did you hear about that?"
"Buck told me."
Of course he did. I twist a strand of hair around my finger nervously. "It's just... the way Daniel looked at all of us. Like we were scum of the earth."
"And?" Vanna prompts, clearly sensing there's more.
"He already posted about me and Griff on social media when he was up here before." The words tumble out in a rush. "Made me look like some desperate slut who jumped from son to father. What's he going to say now that he's seen me with all three of them? Everyone I know back home will think I'm?—"
"Does it matter what they think?" Vanna interrupts, her eyebrows raised.
"Of course it matters," I say, my voice rising slightly before I catch myself. "These are people I have to see again eventually. Friends, former colleagues. They're already laughing at me because of what he posted before."
Vanna's quiet for a moment, her expression softening. "Look, these three are good men. The best I know. But they've been hurt before."
Something in her tone makes me stop. "What do you mean?"
She glances around the bar, then lowers her voice. "You're not the first, you know. They’ve shared someone before."
My stomach drops. I knew that, of course. Buck had mentioned they'd "had practice" the first time we were all together. But hearing Vanna confirm it makes it more real.
"Her name was Miranda," Vanna continues. "She came to town about three years ago. Photographer from Seattle, taking pictures of the mountains for some magazine." Her mouth twists. "Beautiful. Talented. Had all three of them wrapped around her finger within a month."
I try to keep my face neutral, but something must show because Vanna's eyes narrow slightly.
"They were happy," she says. "All four of them. It was weird at first for everyone in town, but people got used to it. They were discreet, respectful. And Miranda—she seemed to genuinely care about all of them."
"What happened?" I ask, though a part of me doesn't want to know.
Vanna's eyes cloud. "She got pregnant. Of course they didn’t know whose baby it was, and none of them cared. They were all excited, making plans." She takes a deep breath. "Then at four months, she lost the baby."
"Oh god," I whisper, a hand going to my mouth.
"It was bad," Vanna says, her voice dropping lower. "She fell into a deep depression. The boys did everything they could—took time off work, took care of her, gave her space when she needed it." She shakes her head. "Then one day, they woke up and she was gone. No note, no goodbye. Just... vanished."
The weight of the story settles over me. I imagine Griff, Buck, and Ford waking to find the woman they loved—the mother of their child—gone without a trace.
"They were devastated," Vanna continues. "Griff wouldn't talk for days. Buck started knitting those baby hats as some kind of... I don't know, therapy maybe. Ford buried himself in books." Her eyes fix on mine, suddenly intense. "It took them a long time to get past it. A long time before they'd even look at another woman the way they look at you."
The implication hangs in the air between us.
