Page 13 of Comforted By The Mountain Man
She searches my face for a long moment. "And if I say yes to dinner but no to the job?"
"Then you've had a free meal and met some decent people. Win all around."
"What do you get out of it?"
The honest answer is too complicated, too raw. That I want to see her smile without that careful mask she wears. That I want to watch Ryder's face light up when someone pays attention to him. That something about her makes me feel useful in a way I haven't felt in years.
"A chance to help someone who needs it," I say instead. "And maybe some decent conversation that doesn't involve my brothers arguing about football."
This time, I’m rewarded by an unguarded smile. "Okay. But just dinner. No promises about anything else."
"Fair enough." I pull my shirt back on, hyperaware of the way her eyes track the movement. "Pick you up at six?"
"We can drive ourselves."
"Sierra." I step closer, noting how she doesn't back away. "It's not charity to accept a ride. It's practical. You don't know where you're going."
She considers this. "Six o'clock, then."
"Six o'clock."
I gather my tools and head for the door, stopping when she calls my name.
"Thank you. For everything."
The gratitude in her voice does something uncomfortable to my chest. "Thank Ryder. Kid's got good instincts about people."
"He likes you. He doesn't usually warm up to strangers that fast."
"Smart kid knows good people when he sees them," I say, then pause. "What about his mother? Does she have good instincts about people?"
Sierra's eyes widen slightly at the implication behind my words. "She's learning to trust them again."
With that cryptic answer hanging between us, I head out to prepare for dinner.
Beckett and Grace'shouse sits nestled against the mountainside like it grew there naturally, all weathered wood and stone with windows that catch the last rays of afternoon sun. Smoke curls from the chimney, and I can see Grace moving around inside the kitchen through the wide windows.
Six months of marriage has been good for my oldest brother. He's still gruff, still carries shadows in his eyes, but there's a lightness to him now that wasn't there before Grace. Like he remembered how to breathe again.
I park next to Nash's mud-splattered pickup and West's practical Subaru. Grayson's military issue Jeep is already here, too, which means I'm the last to arrive. Sierra and Ryder slide out of my truck, and I notice how Sierra's eyes sweep the house and surrounding area, cataloging exits and sight lines like she's expecting trouble.
That hypervigilance bothers me more than I want to admit.
"This is beautiful," she says, but her voice is tight with nerves.
"Beckett built most of it himself," I tell her, trying to ease the tension. "Took him three years, but he's particular about craftsmanship."
Ryder bounces beside us, unaffected by his mother's anxiety. "Is this where Hulk lives?"
"Not my house, buddy," I explain. "This is where my brother Beckett lives. He's the oldest."
"Is he nice?"
"Most of the time."
The front door opens before we reach it, and Grace appears with a welcoming smile. She's gotten more comfortable with our family chaos over the months, no longer the shy girl who could barely speak around Beckett's intimidating brothers.
"You must be Sierra," Grace says warmly, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I'm Grace. Welcome."
