24. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Molly
"I'll be there as soon as I can," Beau says into the phone.
When he hangs up, I'm already moving toward my coat by the door.
"I'm coming with you."
"No." The word comes out like a door slamming shut. "You're staying here."
I freeze with one arm halfway into my jacket sleeve, staring at him like he's lost his mind. "Excuse me? That's my niece!"
"It's not safe, Molly."
He's already racing around the cabin, still holding his gun, checking the magazine like he's actually preparing to use it.
It's like I'm watching him transform into someone else entirely.
Beau the soldier, not the grumpy cabin builder.
Like he's preparing for combat rather than a search party.
His jaw is set in that hard line I've come to recognize when he's slipped into that other part of himself, the part that survived whatever horrors he never talks about.
"Riley's out there somewhere, and now Maisie's missing. I need to know you're secure while I handle this."
Handle this.
Like I'm some fragile piece of china that needs to be wrapped in bubble wrap and stored safely on a high shelf.
Gee. Why does that feel familiar?
"Beau, stop." I yank my jacket on properly, zipping it up so fast it nearly breaks. "I'm not staying here cowering in your cabin while my family needs help!"
"You're not cowering," he says, not even looking at me as he checks his phone. "You're being smart. Riley's dangerous, and—"
"And what? I can't handle myself?" The words explode out of me with a force that surprises us both. "You think I'm too weak? Too stupid? Too helpless to be useful in a crisis?"
That gets his attention. His darkened eyes snap to mine, and I see the surprise flicker across his face.
"That's not what I—"
"It's exactly what you meant," I interrupt, and suddenly three weeks of suppressed fears and insecurities are pouring out of me like water through a broken dam. "You want me to stay here like a good little girl while the big strong men handle the dangerous stuff."
"Molly—"
"No, Beau. No. "
I step closer, my heart pounding but my voice getting steadier with every word.
"Do you know what Riley used to say to me? When anything even slightly challenging happened in our lives?"
I can see him trying to interrupt, but I'm not finished. Not even close.
"He'd tell me to 'let the adults handle it.
' That I should stay home and 'do what I'm good at' while he took care of the real problems." My voice is getting stronger, more confident, fueled by every moment of growth I've experienced since arriving in this mountain paradise.
"He made me believe I was incapable of handling anything more complex than picking out throw pillows. "
Beau's gone very still, his eyes locked on mine. Because this is my moment. My chance to prove that I'm not the same broken woman who threw her phone out a car window and hoped my old life would follow with it.
"But you know what I've learned since I've been here?
" I continue, my confidence building with every word.
"I'm not helpless. I'm not weak. I got myself out of that toxic relationship.
I drove across three states to build a new life.
I learned to operate your massive death-trap truck without killing us both.
I got a fucking job doing something that actually matters, something that helps people! "
The truth of it hits me like lightning. I did all of that. Me.
"And you know who taught me I could do those things?" I step closer, close enough to see the conflict warring in his expression. "You did, Beau. By believing in me. By encouraging me. By showing me that I'm capable of more than I ever thought possible."
His shoulders are tensing like he's fighting some internal battle.
"So don't you dare stand there and tell me to hide in your cabin like some damsel in distress while my six-year-old niece is missing and my family needs help.
" My voice drops to something fierce and determined.
"Because that's exactly what Riley would do.
That's exactly how Riley would handle this.
You're not him, Beau! You're not Riley!"
For a moment, we just stare at each other in the light of his cabin. Snow has started falling outside the windows, fat flakes catching the light like something out of a fairy tale.
But there's nothing magical about this moment—it's raw and real and absolutely crucial.
Finally, Beau moves.
He reaches out and pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me so tightly I can barely breathe. His face buries in my hair, and I feel the tension drain out of his massive frame like air leaving a punctured tire.
"You're right," he mutters against the top of my head, his voice rough with emotion. "Christ, Molly. You're absolutely right."
I melt into his embrace, feeling the rightness of this moment settle into my bones.
This is what partnership looks like. This is what real love feels like.
Not control disguised as protection, but trust disguised as teamwork.
"I'm sorry. I'm just… I'm scared," he admits quietly, his hands fisting in my jacket. "I'm fucking terrified that something will happen to you. That I'll lose you. Just after I've found you again. That I'll fuck this up like I've fucked up everything else."
"Hey."
I pull back to look at him, holding his bearded face in my trembling hands.
"You're not going to lose me. We're going to find Maisie together, we're going to deal with Riley together, and we're going to come home together. Okay?"
He nods, leaning into my touch like I'm his anchor in a storm.
"Okay," he says finally. "Let's go get our little girl."
The drive down the mountain is like navigating through a snow globe that someone's shaken too vigorously. Fat flakes swirl in our headlight beams, and the road is already getting slick, probably too dangerous to be driving.
But Beau's truck handles the conditions like it was born for this weather, and so does he.
"Is this how bad storms get up here?" I ask, watching the world disappear into white outside my window.
"It can get worse. But it's bad enough." Beau's knuckles are white on the steering wheel, but his voice is steady. "We've got time before it gets dangerous. Mountain weather moves fast, but it's predictable."
As we round the bend onto Sienna's street, my jaw drops.
It looks like half of Stone River Mountain has descended on my sister's modest neighborhood.
Trucks and SUVs line both sides of the street, their headlights creating cones of illumination in the swirling snow. People move between vehicles with the kind of organized urgency that speaks of a community that takes care of its own.
"Holy shit," I breathe, staring at the controlled chaos. "Is that the Sheriff's car?"
"And Charlie's truck from the tavern," Beau confirms, pulling up behind an impromptu command center. "Frank Barrett's here too by the looks of it. That's his car. And see Betty's little sedan with the mismatched bumper?"
I nod and as we get closer to Sienna's house, I can see more familiar figures moving through the falling snow.
Linda from the general store is carrying a thermos of something warm. Doc Greene has appeared with a medical bag, because apparently even search parties require professional preparedness in this town.
And threading through it all like golden ribbons are the lights of official Mountain Rescue vehicles, their emergency beacons painting the snow in alternating shades of red and blue.
"It's beautiful," I whisper, and I mean it.
Not the snow, though that's gorgeous too. But this—this immediate, unquestioning rally of an entire community around one little girl. This is what family looks like when it's chosen instead of assigned.
We park and hurry through the snow toward Sienna's front door, which is standing wide open in the freezing weather, spilling urgent voices into the winter night.
The moment we step inside, I'm hit by a wall of warmth, coffee fumes, and competing conversations.
Sheriff Cooper is standing in the living room with an official notepad, accepting a steaming mug from Betty with the grateful expression of a man who's been out in the cold for too long.
"—checked the playground twice," someone is saying.
"—went through every store on Main Street," adds another voice.
"—even looked in the old church basement," contributes a third.
Sienna appears from the kitchen, her face pale with worry. She's holding her phone like a lifeline, and when she sees us, relief floods her features.
"Oh, thank God you're here," she says, pulling me into a hug that smells like anxiety. "Jamie's got every available rescue team out searching. They're being so thorough, but—"
"Where exactly has she been searched for?" Beau interrupts, instantly cutting to the chase.
I can see him shifting into tactical mode, processing information that might have been missed.
"Everywhere," Sheriff Cooper answers, looking up from his notepad. "The treehouse was the first place we checked, obviously. Then the playground, the school, the bookshop, the café. Every place a kid might wander to."
"What about the outskirts?" Beau asks. "The trails, the lookout points?"
"Jamie's teams are covering those now," Cooper confirms. "But with this weather moving in..."
He doesn't finish the sentence, but we all understand. A six-year-old lost in a mountain snowstorm is everyone's worst nightmare.
"This is all my fault," Sienna says suddenly, her voice cracking. "David's in Denver again, and I was distracted, trying to get dinner ready and return work calls, and she was just playing in the backyard like always, and then she was just... gone."
Betty appears beside her with a fresh mug of something that smells like hot chocolate and her usual maternal comfort. "Now, you stop that talk right now, Sienna Wright. You're a good mother, and children wander. It's what they do."
"But with that man in town—" Sienna starts.