11. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Beau
Molly buckles the belt over her chest, politely waving to the gaping expressions of Stone River's most annoyingly nosey old ladies out the window.
"Thank you for saving me from the knitting inquisition," Molly says as I pull away from the curb, leaving Etta and Mabel standing on the sidewalk like two generals who just watched their battle plans crumble. "I swear those two were about to tackle me."
I can't help the snort that escapes.
"They would have, too. Last year they cornered Frank Barrett outside the hardware store. Poor bastard ended up with a beanie covered in tiny hammers."
Molly's laugh fills the truck cab, the sound wonderfully bright, and I feel something loosen in my chest.
She settles into the passenger seat, tucking one leg underneath her, and I steal a glance as she pushes blonde hair away from her face.
She's wearing dark jeans that hug every curve like they were custom-made for her body. Knowing where she's come from, the world she's left behind, maybe they are.
She's also got a soft pink sweater that makes her eyes look like sunlight filtering through forest leaves. The light streaming through the windshield catches the gold threads woven through the knit, making her practically glow beside me.
Jesus Christ.
My jeans are suddenly uncomfortably tight, blood rushing south so fast it makes me dizzy. I grip the steering wheel harder, grateful she's looking out the window at Main Street instead of noticing the very obvious evidence of what she does to me.
"So apparently," she continues, completely oblivious to my downstairs predicament, "the entire town thinks we're some kind of romantic rescue dream team now.
Sheriff Cooper cornered me at Betty's and told me those hikers we helped last night couldn't stop gushing about the 'romantic mountain couple' who saved their vacation. "
I choke out a weird noise that comes from the back of my throat.
Because those words hit different this morning.
Last night, in the aftermath of that kiss, everything felt possible. In daylight, with the weight of our history pressing down, now…
I'm not so sure.
The taste of her lips, the way she'd melted against me, her fingers clutching my jacket, at the time it seemed like a door finally cracking open.
Now in the harsh light of day, with the weight of our history pressing down—her past with Riley, my own darkness, the years of silence between us—doubt creeps in like morning frost, settling cold and hard in my chest, making me question if someone as broken as me deserves even a moment of the warmth she radiates so effortlessly.
I keep driving, my knee bouncing nervously as we pass the clock tower at Town Hall.
"Does that bother you?" I ask. "Being linked to me like that?"
She turns to study my profile, those green eyes sparkling in the cab of my truck. "Being associated with you romantically?"
I nod, not trusting myself to say more.
"Beau." Her voice is soft and wonderfully patient. "No. It doesn't bother me. Should it?"
Relief floods through me so fast I almost miss the stop sign at the junction of First and Third.
"It's just that most people find me difficult to be around. Difficult to talk to."
"Difficult?" She laughs, and there's something wickedly playful in it. "You? The man who rescues stranded families in blizzards and builds furniture that makes grown women weep? Never."
The sarcasm in her voice coaxes something dangerously close to a smile from me.
"Alright, alright… Smart ass."
"One of my many charms," she says, grinning. "So what's the plan, Mr. Grumpy? Where are you kidnapping me to?"
"I hadn't really thought it through." I counter, navigating past the last of Main Street's morning bustle. "What were your plans for the day?"
The question seems to catch her off guard. She goes quiet, fingers playing with the hem of her sweater.
"I… Um, I don't know," she admits finally.
"I literally don't have anything to do. And that's..." She pauses, letting out a self-deprecating laugh.
"For the first time in years, I can choose what I want to do with my day, and I have absolutely no idea what I actually want.
That probably makes me sound like a complete basket case. "
The admission makes me bite my lip to stop from cursing at the world.
The idea that Molly—brilliant, curious, vibrant Molly—has been denied even the most basic freedom of choice for so long that it feels foreign to her makes something dark and violent unfurl in my chest.
What the hell is wrong with people? Not even people… What is wrong with my FAMILY?!
"How about I give you the real Stone River tour?" I offer, trying my hardest to smile. "Not the sanitized tourist version that ends at the community center and calls it a day."
Her entire face lights up, her smile making her eyes brighter. "Really? You'd do that?"
"Consider it an expanded version of my rescue services," I say, and the delighted laugh she gives me feels like a gold medal around my neck.
Without warning, she reaches across the center console and squeezes my thigh, her fingers warm through the denim. The gentle touch sends heat shooting straight to my already straining cock, and I have to bite back a groan.
"Thank you," she says softly, settling back but staying closer than before. Close enough that every breath I take is flavored with her.
I'm so fucked.
The road to Lone Pine Lookout winds through some of the most spectacular terrain in the county, and I find myself stealing glances at Molly as she takes it all in.
Dense stands of pine and fir line both sides of the narrow mountain road, their branches heavy with fresh snow that sparkles as we drive past in the morning sun.
Every few hundred yards, the forest opens to reveal glimpses of the valley below. Patches of meadow and farmland spread out like a quilt, bisected by the silver ribbon of Stone River running through the middle.
Molly has migrated closer to me without seeming to realize it. Every time I shift gears, my knuckles brush her knee, and each contact sends electricity racing up my arm.
"God, it's just so beautiful here," she breathes, pressing closer to the passenger window as we round a bend that reveals a stunning vista just off the road. "I mean, I knew the mountains were pretty from Sienna's pictures, but this is like... this is like something out of a fairy tale."
"Wait until you see the view from the top."
The road opens suddenly into a small parking area, revealing the weathered wooden railings of Lone Pine Lookout.
A single giant pine stands exactly where it has for the past century, its gnarled branches reaching toward the sky like arthritic fingers.
The forest service has built a low stone retaining wall along the cliff edge, and rustic wooden benches face the panoramic view, making it the perfect place to show Molly everything.
I park near the trail head and kill the engine. We climb out and instantly the fresh mountain wind carries the scent of pine resin and snow, and somewhere in the distance, a red-tailed hawk cries as it circles from above.
It's beautiful, but all of that fades to background noise when I see Molly's reaction to the view.
She walks to the railing like she's in a trance, her soft pink lips parted in wonder, one hand pressed to her chest like she's trying to contain her heart.
The entire Stone River valley spreads out below us in a breathtaking panorama that never gets old.
"No matter how many times I've seen it, it's still picture perfect every time."
"It really is. I wish I had my phone," Molly smiles, not taking her eyes off the view. "It's so perfect."
I follow her gaze to the rolling hills covered in pristine snow, how they stretch to the horizon, broken only by dark swaths of forest and the meandering curves of the river.
Stone River Mountain's township nestles in the heart of it all like a jewel in a setting, smoke rising from dozens of chimneys, the church steeple catching the morning light.
Tiny figures move along the cleared streets, cars no bigger than matchboxes navigating between buildings that look like they belong in a miniature Christmas village.
"Oh my God," she whispers, gripping the railing so hard her knuckles are white. "Beau, this is... I don't even have words."
I move to stand behind her, close enough that when the wind picks up, strands of her hair catch against my face, carrying that intoxicating scent that's becoming as essential to me as oxygen.
Close enough that if I leaned forward just a few inches, I could press my lips to the curve of her neck where her pulse flutters like a trapped butterfly.
"That's the whole valley," I say, my voice coming out lower and rougher than usual. "Every light you see down there represents someone's home, someone's life, someone's dreams."
I point over her shoulder toward the cluster of buildings that make up the town center.
"I grew up with military in my blood, so I understood what it meant to protect, to serve for the people of this country. But I never really understood what that meant until I came here."
She leans back, and suddenly she's pressed against my chest, all soft curves and gentle warmth.
I breathe her in, my arms come up to bracket her against the railing, caging her in without quite touching. I have to fight every primitive instinct I possess not to wrap them around her completely and never let go.
"Show me," she says, tilting her head back to look at me. "Show me what you've built."
For the next few minutes, I point out cabins and houses scattered throughout the valley. Each one represents weeks or months of my life, pieces of my soul hammered into wood and stone and dreams made as I tried anything and everything to forget my previous life of blood, death and trauma.