Page 27 of Mountain Man Grinch
A distant engine stops him mid-thought. We exchange apprehensive glances.
“You ready for this?” he asks as a door slams and boots clomp up the porch.
“Grimshaw!” a deep voice howls.
My heart jumps in my chest, echoed by the nervous dance Gus does at the yelling. I pull him into my lap, rising.
The door isn’t even fully open before a fist flies through it. Mateo pushes through, no coat, hair a mess, wedding ring glinting despite having just clocked my mountain man in the jaw. He looks wild—part avenging angel, part frantic big brother.
Davin takes it with a dark growl, gripping his jaw. “Easy, McGregor. She’s okay.”
Mateo’s whole body shakes, eyes surveying me wildly. He’s so angry or terrified—I can’t tell which—that he looks sick. I run into his arms, sobbing and clutching him tightly.
He snarls at Davin, and Davin eyes me, like he’s trying to wrap his head around everything.
“Fuck, Arielle… I tried to get here… I couldn’t get a flight into Sacramento for the life of me. Had to jump the rental counter…. Baby girl, I thought?—”
He pulls back, cups my face, checking every inch like I’m breakable. He’s rambling in Spanish now, and I’m answering. The whole time Davin just stares, clutching his jaw.
Finally, I say in English, “I’m okay. Davin kept me safe.”
Mateo’s eyes glint with rage. He turns slowly. Not yelling. Not posturing. Just lethal silence.
“You had one job,” he says, with the kind of voice control that sends a shiver down my spine.
“And I did it,” Davin answers, steady.
The air crackles between them like a storm about to break.
“You also … took liberties.”
“I took responsibility.”
Tension sizzles. I raise a hand, clutching my cousin’s upper arm.
“Mateo,” I plead.
He doesn’t listen, stepping forward again. Davin is a rock wall, unmoving, face unreadable.
I push between them. “Mateo, stop. Davin saved my life. Twice. Maybe more. And I … Ilovehim. Don’t make this ugly.”
Davin exhales sharply, eyes glistening. “And I love you, Princess.”
“Well, isn’t this just great!” Mateo rages, eyeing Davin fiercely. His face softens when it turns to mine. “Prima, he’s too old for you.”
“He’s what I want,” I say more firmly.
My words wallop him. So much that he steps back, shifting his weight and eyeing us both critically. His hands ball at his sides.
“Please,” I repeat. “Davin’s a good man. The best.”
He studies us both, face ambivalent. “But are you sure?” he asks in Spanish.
“Yes, mi primo. More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”
His fists relax, and he shoves a hand forward toward Davin. “Fine. Then, you’re family now. God help us all.”
Davin grips his hand, shaking hard. “Won’t let anything hurt her, McGregor, though this is the first and last time I’ll let you punch me without a fight.” He says it calm and easy, like he’s talking about the weather.
