Page 11 of Her Grumpy Mountain Man

Maddox shuts the door. “Not how I planned to have that conversation.”

“I thought you handled it well.” I step closer.

“Did I?”

“You asked me to stay.” I slip my arms around his waist. “That was my favorite part. But what about tomorrow?” I ask, lifting my head.

His gaze holds mine. “You can stay tomorrow, too.”

“I don’t mean just sleeping here.”

“I know.” He brushes his thumb along my cheek. “Neither do I.”

There are practical things waiting for us to discuss—my belongings, his work, and a hundred ordinary details—I want those conversations. But they can wait—what I need to say to Maddox can’t.

“I love you, Maddox.” I pause to take a breath. “I’m not saying it because you protected me.” I smooth my hand over his shoulder. “I love being with you. Even when we’re doing nothing—especially then.”

He lowers his head until his forehead rests against mine. “I love you, too. So you’re staying?” His smile is small and hopeful.

“I’m staying.”

He kisses me once more, then rests his cheek against my hair. We need to add another log to the fire, find our clothes, and decide how to spend the day. But for another minute, we stay by the door, holding each other, lost in the knowledge that we have the rest of our lives together.

Epilogue – Maddox

Ten Years Later

The shirt hangs in a frame in my office. The words, Last Man Standing, are still legible. Beneath it, Ava's original drawing fills the question-mark space—one wild-haired stick woman beside an improbably broad stick man, drawn the morning we admitted our love for each other. We added the four smaller stick figures later, one after each child arrived.

“Were you really the last?” Lucy, our oldest, asks from the chair opposite my desk.

“I was.” I close the file on my laptop.

“Did Mommy win?” She points toward the shirt.

“We both did.” I reach for the picture she made for me—mountain, a log cabin, and six figures holding hands cover the piece of paper.

Our children are eight, six, four, and two, and I have learned that surviving Navy SEAL training does not prepare a man for four simultaneous requests to play different games. I have also learned that no sound is better than their voices filling the cabin when I come home.

The company I own with my SEAL brothers occupies a low brick building near town. Seven founders, the same seven men who once had no idea how much their lives could change. Rafe handles clients, Hollander oversees technical security, while Jack, Jude, Riker, and Trace each work within their specialty, and I oversee protective operations.

We now have employees, a sensible schedule, and more drawings taped to our office walls than anyone can count. We still argue. Still show up. Still trust one another when it matters. We always will—we’re family, that’s what we do.

I look through the glass beside my door and see Ava arriving with our other three children. Ben rides on her hip, and a leaf is caught in her hair. Their stop at the park apparently involved fieldwork.

Lucy slides off the chair and runs toward her brothers. I get up as my wife reaches the doorway.

“Your son has brought a rock collection.” She shifts Ben higher on her hip. “Please show appropriate enthusiasm.” She smiles at me.

“All my enthusiasm is appropriate.” I kiss her, then take Ben as he reaches for me.

“Debatable.” She brushes her fingers over my cheek.

I catch her hand and kiss her palm. Ten years have not diminished the effect she has on me. We kept the cabin, adding more room as needed, but our original cabin still stands in the center.

“Uncle Jude says you need a new shirt.” Noah stops beside the desk with a bag of rocks in his hand.

“Uncle Jude should focus on his own wardrobe.” I settle Ben against my shoulder.