Page 35 of The CEO and the Mountain Man

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll pair you with Miguel.”

He glowered at me but couldn’t quite hide the fractional quirk of his mouth. “Whatever.”

Clark sent me a grateful look. He hadn’t shaved, and I could tell they’d had a rough night. I couldn’t wait to get him alone and ask him about it.

Because of my concern.

For River.

“First, breakfast.”

I was pleasantly surprised when River piled his plate high with scrambled eggs, home fries, and crispy bacon. He also poured himself a large mug of black coffee. Did he do that just to keep up with his punk aesthetic? Did he take it black when he wore lip gloss and pink shorts?

Silly questions.

Clark, armed with his coffee breakfast, was watching his son like a hawk. He shook his head. “It’s like he can’t accept any sweetness anymore.”

I was standing behind him at his shoulder and dipped low to speak into his ear. “You wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t agreed togive this place another chance. That’s big. I don’t think you need to stress over things like cream and sugar.”

Clark leaned against me, the move undetectable to anybody looking, but I felt it. The press of his body, the heat. The tremble of uncertainty. I wanted to grab his hip. Or slide my arm across his chest. Help him feel grounded. Instead, I patted his arm.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Do you really think so?” he asked, sending me a sideways glance.

“Showing up is half the battle. And he showed up.”

I pointed to the trays of food, and Clark shook his head. “Not a big breakfast person anymore.”

Anymore. Huh.

A lot of folks didn’t eat breakfast, but after all the activities, as well as processing every conceivable emotion, Clark should’ve been ravenous. Was he naturally this trim, or was he not eating?

I was starting to wonder if it was the latter.

I contemplated whether it would be over the line to insist that he eat at least a spoonful of the eggs. Before I could open my big mouth, however, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

My chest tightened. God, I’d do anything to make this better. For both of them.

Clark worked his jaw, biting at his inner lip like he was trying to control his emotional display. I put myself between him and the breakfast crowd.

“You okay?”

He snuck one of the napkins from the sideboard, carefully dabbing at his eyes with a noisy swallow.

“When he’s okay, I’ll be okay.”

Fair enough.

Just as we turned to join River, Miguel walked in. Today, he wore his hair in a loose pile on top of his head and was decked out in a Snow Creek Ranch T-shirt, worn-in Wranglers, andwork boots. Most people here stop at that, but Miguel liked to accessorize. The beaded feather earrings and silver belt buckle made me smile, and he’d gone with burnished silver nail polish this morning.

Miguel was wiry like Clark, but he was a food-first bottomless pit. Swerving to check on River before getting into line told me he cared. Clark and I paused as Miguel stood by the table and smiled down at River. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but River nodded. Miguel then squeezed the back of River’s neck and made his way to the breakfast line.

River flushed as he watched Miguel walk off.

Clark turned to me, his eyes bright. I winked, and we made our way over to the table. As if by unspoken agreement, he and I did not mention their exchange, and instead, silently went about enjoying our chosen breakfasts.

Miguel joined us a few moments later and still beat all of us to the bottom of his plate.