Duty for the Mountain Man Bonus Scene
EASTON
ONE YEAR LATER
The mountain’s cozy tonight. The smell of sandalwood and vanilla curls in the air.
Fresh snow drapes the pines, the kind that muffles sound and makes the world feel holy.
The fire’s burning low, crackling steady, and the cabin glows gold, warmth surrounded by powdery white.
I never thought I’d get used to this peace. Never thought I’d earn it.
But then again, I never thought I’d have them.
Bud’s snoring at my feet, Penny curled by the hearth like a sentry on duty. And in the middle of it all—Everleigh, hair loose, face soft with the kind of peace that still knocks the air from my lungs.
She sits in the rocker, swaying slow, our baby girl in her arms. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” on her lips, a lullaby.
“Storm’s picking up again,” I murmur, crossing to them. “You’d think this mountain’s got a thing for us and blizzards.”
She smiles up at me, eyes shining in the firelight. “Maybe it’s how the mountain tells us to slow down.”
I brush a finger across our baby Grace’s cheek, impossibly small and warm. “She’s got your nose.”
Everleigh chuckles softly. “And your stubborn chin.”
“Poor kid,” I tease, though my chest aches in the best way.
Grace sighs in her sleep, her tiny fist curling around Everleigh’s flannel sleeve. The same one she stole from me last Christmas. The same one she never gave back.
I kneel beside them, my palm resting on them both. “Hard to believe a year ago, I thought this mountain was my punishment.”
“And now?” Everleigh asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“Now it’s home.” I press a kiss to her temple, then to the baby’s soft head. “You made it home.”
She whispers, “You ready to take her out tomorrow? Her first Christmas snow?”
I grin. “Already packed her snowsuit. The red and white one. Looks like a peppermint.”
“Of course you did,” she says with a quiet laugh. “You big softie.”
“Don’t tell the mountain,” I warn. “It might start expecting me to smile.”
Everleigh giggles, the sound softer but just as sweet as that first night in the cabin. “Too late, Easton. It’s already seen you melt.”
I look at the two of them—my girls—and something inside me just … settles. Like the last missing piece finally locked into place.
Outside, the storm rages. Inside, there’s warmth, laughter, love. Everything I never thought I’d have.
“Merry Christmas, Angel,” I whisper.
She looks up at me through the dim glow with a tired smile so full of love it hurts. “Merry Christmas, Mountain Man.”
The fire pops. The baby stirs. And as the wind howls across the ridge, I realize that for the first time in my life … the storm doesn’t scare me anymore.
Because now, no matter how hard it blows I’ve already found my way home.
Ginger & Roscoe
Ginger Harper is a curvy, innocent teacher desperate for rescue.
Roscoe Vaughn is a morally grey, ex-military mountain man thirsting for a reason to live.
Fate drives them together; survival forges a soul-deep bond.
But once they reach safety and civilization, can they move on together without letting each other go?