4. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Molly
The wind howls like it's auditioning for a horror movie soundtrack as Beau yanks open the passenger door of his truck.
"Get in," he grunts, snow already coating his broad shoulders like a second layer.
I eye the massive vehicle with what I hope passes for cool confidence rather than complete terror. Seriously. This truck is a beast of steel and power.
The massive tires, caked with mud and ice, stand taller than my knees. The step up is practically at my chest height, and in these ridiculous boots, I'm one wrong move away from a humiliating face-plant.
"Right… get in. Sure . Absolutely," I mutter, grabbing the handle and attempting to haul myself up with something resembling dignity.
My foot slips on the icy running board, and I let out a mortifyingly high-pitched squeak as I start to fall backward. Before I can embrace my inevitable reunion with the cold, hard ground, a warm, solid hand presses against my lower back, steadying me with irritating ease.
" Christ. Be careful," Beau mutters, his breath warm against my ear.
His hand spans practically my entire back, and I'm suddenly, acutely aware of how big he is. Not just tall, but substantial in a way that makes me feel almost delicate.
I scramble the rest of the way into the seat, my heartbeat doing a salsa rhythm in my chest.
"Thanks. I swear I can usually manage basic human movements like climbing and walking."
His only response is the slamming of my door.
"Fair enough."
Inside, the truck is surprisingly clean. Not showroom clean like Riley's cars were. They always smelled like expensive leather and that pretentious cologne he insisted on spraying everywhere.
But this lived-in clean.
There's a worn comfort to the seats, and it smells like the forest. Not like the artificial pine of those little tree air fresheners, but the real deal. Like Beau has somehow managed to trap the soul of an entire forest inside this fortress on wheels.
Beau appears at the opposite door and yanks it open. He shoves the keys in the ignition and starts the engine.
"Crank the heaters. I'll hook up your car," he says gruffly, disappearing back into the swirling white chaos outside.
I flick the heat dial all the way up and quickly shed my useless coat, laying it over my legs. My sweater is damp from melted snow, and I feel more than see Beau's eyes briefly flick toward me.
Through the sidemirror, I watch him moving, muscles flexing beneath his flannel as he secures chains to my poor, deceased vehicle. I press my thighs together and blame the sudden warmth on the truck's clearly excellent heating system.
Good lord, they do not make men like this in the city.
I don't know what it is about this man, but I can't tear my eyes away from him.
I just love how his beard has streaks of gray that should not be sexy but somehow are. And the crinkled weather lines around his eyes speak of a life actually lived, instead of being preserved in boutique moisturizers and facial treatments.
The rugged man is all hard angles and rough edges. Nothing like the polished, manicured men I'm used to dating. And his size... there's something primal about how much space he takes up, how his shoulders strain against his shirt, how his thighs flex as I watch him work around this enormous truck.
He's pure man. Right down to the vehicle he drives.
When Beau finally slides into the driver's seat, he brings a blast of cold air and tiny snowflakes that melt instantly in his dark beard. The cab suddenly feels much smaller, like the oxygen has been replaced with his presence.
He plants his foot on the gas, revving the engine and the entire chassis rumbles to life with a deep, satisfied purr.
"Thank you so much for doing this," I say, filling the silence as he navigates carefully through the worsening storm. "Seriously, you're saving my life. I don't know what I would've—"
He cuts me off with a grunt, eyes never leaving the road. "Just doing what anyone would do."
I can't help the laugh that escapes me.
"Pretty sure 'anyone' wouldn't haul my disaster of a car through a blizzard, but okay, Mountain Man. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
His jaw tightens, but I swear I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, the truck moving steadily through snow that's now piling up in earnest.
Sinking back in the warmth of the seat, I steal glances at his face. There's something naggingly familiar about him that I can't quite place.
"So," I venture, "have you lived in Stone River long?"
He shrugs those big round shoulders. "Long enough."
"It seems nice. Picturesque. Like a Christmas card or something," I try again.
"Mmm." His eyes never leave the road.
"Do you like it here? I mean, compared to other places?"
"It's quiet. Usually. "
"I've always been more of a city girl myself, but I can see the appeal of—"
He cuts me off with a sideways glance that's so intense it actually makes my words die in my throat. It's not angry, exactly. It's concentrated. Penetrating.
"Chatty, aren't you?"
This time I definitely see his lips quirk. "No."
I can't help but feel like we're trapped in our own private snow globe. Just me, my disaster life and this gorgeous grump who clearly wishes I'd stop talking but keeps stealing glances at me when he thinks I won't notice.
Soon enough, we pull up to a weathered building with closed garage doors and a neon "CLOSED" sign glowing through the snow.
"Wait here," he orders, and before I can respond, he's out in the storm again, unhooking my car with the same efficient movements.
I peer outside at stacks of tires that are piled haphazardly against one wall, partially covered in white powder, and an ancient tow truck that sits abandoned in the lot, looking like it might need as much help as my car.
A collection of rusty parts and metal signs advertising motor oil brands from decades past give the place a time-capsule feel, as if we've driven right into the 1950s.
I watch Beau through the frosted window, the way his shoulders move beneath his jacket, the confidence in every motion. I'm not typically the kind of woman who goes weak-kneed over brawn, but there's something about the pure competence in his movements that's undeniably...stirring.
Get it together, Molly. Your man-picker is broken, remember?
When Beau climbs back in, bringing another swirl of snow and cold, I've composed myself enough to offer a smile.
"So, onward to Sienna's?"
He nods, putting the truck in gear. "Better hurry. Roads are getting worse."
As if to prove his point, the truck twists on the road before his capable hands correct our course. I grip the door handle, suddenly very aware of how dangerous the weather has become.
"Maybe we should go back to the café?" I suggest. "I could wait it out with those lovely old ladies."
That actually gets a snort out of him.
"Etta and Mabel? Fuck. They would have your entire life story, and probably your head measurements, before the storm lets up."
"Hear measurements?"
He scoffs what might nearly be a laugh. "They make everyone beanies. It's complete ridiculous."
"Awww…" I coo, which earns me an eyeroll from Mr. Grumpy. "I think that's sweet."
"It's not sweet. Last year mine had pine trees. Year before that, wolves." He shakes his head, the scowl deepening across his brow. "They've got a whole system worked out. And God help you if you don't wear it when they see you around town."
I bite my lip to keep from laughing at the mental image of this mountain of a man being scolded by a little old lady over knitwear.
"So what you're saying is, the big bearded man is afraid of two grandmas with yarn?"
His eyes cut to mine, but there's a grudging humor there. "You won't be laughing when they get their hooks in you. Literally."
"Well, at least I found something that actually gets you talking."
We turn onto what I assume is the main road out of town, but Beau abruptly slows, leaning forward to peer through the windshield.
"Shit," he mutters, leaning forward in his seat.
"What is it?"
"Tree down. Blocking the road."
Through the snow, I can just make out the dark shape of a fallen pine stretching across our path.
"So...back to the café?" I ask hopefully.
He shakes his head. "There's another way around. Longer, but it'll get us there."
He reverses the truck, throwing his arm over the headrest behind me, the heat of his body opening up as he watches behind us. My heart pounds watching him expertly steer us in these conditions, turning onto a narrower road that winds up into the trees.
The incline is steep, and I find myself bracing against the dashboard as we climb.
"You know," I say, desperate to fill the silence with something other than the howling wind. "You actually look really familiar. I knew a Beau once—my ex's brother. He was a quiet guy, though. Kept to himself most of the time."
His hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. "It's a common enough name."
"I guess... Riley was the opposite of quiet though. God, he could talk for hours about himself. I spent too long nodding and smiling until I realized I'd forgotten what my own voice sounded like—"
"Watch out!" Beau suddenly barks, and the truck bounces as we hit a deep pothole.
My hand shoots out instinctively, grabbing for support—and lands squarely on his thigh. A very firm, very warm thigh.
Oh my god.
I snatch my hand back like I've been burned, heat rushing to my face.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to—I was just—the hole—"
"It's fine," he growls, slamming the gearstick down with a force that makes the engine roar loudly.
As I'm trying to compose myself, I notice something has slid out from under the center console, somehow coming dislodged by that bump we just hit.
It's a small box with what looks like a medal inside. Military issued, from the glimpse I catch before Beau swiftly tucks it back out of sight.
"Were you in the military?"
His entire body hardens, jaw clenching. "I don't talk about it."
The finality in his tone shuts me up, but instead of being put off, I feel a strange protectiveness toward this gruff stranger. Whatever happened to him in uniform left more than just the physical scars visible on his neck.
"Sorry," I say softly. "I tend to ask too many questions. I don't stop until—"
" Stop ."
I bite my lip. "Someone tells me to."
Beau reaches across me to adjust the heater, his arm brushing mine.
"Cold?" he asks, the blatant attempt at changing the subject working.
"No, I'm fine. Toasty, actually. Your truck has better heating than my last apartment."
"It's reliable," he says, and I get the distinct impression he's talking about more than just the vehicle.
We drive in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes, the storm gradually lessening as we wind through residential streets. Finally, Beau turns onto a quiet road lined with small, charming homes.
My heart leaps when I spot a blue house with a crooked mailbox. Exactly as Etta and Mabel described, although it's most certainly not fixed.
"That's it," I say unnecessarily as Beau pulls up to the curb.
Before he can even put the truck in park, the front door flies open and a tiny human tornado in pajamas and snow boots comes barreling out.
" AUNT MOLLY !" Maisie shrieks, her high-pitched child's voice carrying even through the closed windows of the truck.
Sienna appears in the doorway behind her, wrapped in a cardigan. "Maisie! Get back inside right now!"
Beau kills the engine and turns to me with an unreadable expression. "We're here."
"Thank you," I say, suddenly reluctant to leave the warm cocoon of his truck. "Seriously. You saved me from becoming a very fashionable ice sculpture."
He nods once, then climbs out and comes around to my side. The door swings open, and he offers a hand to help me down. His fingers wrap around mine, engulfing them completely, and that same electric current zips through me.
My boots hit the snow, and I wobble on shaky legs.
Beau's hands instantly find my waist and for one heart-stopping moment, we're standing close enough that I can see the flecks of green in his gray eyes.
The moment shatters as Maisie plows into my legs.
"AUNT MOLLY! AND BEAU! MOM! IT'S BEAU! BEAU IS HERE TO FIX MY TREEHOUSE!"
Sienna steps out onto the porch, shock written across her face. "Molly?! What are you doing here? And with Beau Callahan of all people?"
And that's when it hits me.
Callahan. Beau Callahan.
I freeze, my brain suddenly making connections at lightning speed. Callahan. As in Riley Callahan. As in...
"Wait," I say slowly, turning to stare at the mountain of a man beside me. "Callahan? As in... Riley's brother Beau?"
Something that might be pain flickers across his face before it settles back into that stoic mask. "Surprise?"
Suddenly, my fresh start gets exponentially more complicated.
Because the quiet teenager who used to disappear whenever I came around, the boy who once fixed my bike chain without a word and walked away before I could thank him, has somehow transformed into this mountain of a man who makes my heart race in a way Riley never did.
Holy shit.
I'm standing in the snow, looking between my sister's shocked face and the guarded expression of my ex-fiancé's brother, suddenly realizing one horrible, inconvenient truth:
I've never been so instantly attracted to anyone in my entire life.