Knocked up by the Mountain Man (Silver Ridge Mountain Men)

10. Beau

10

BEAU

T ruth be told, the lie slipped out smoothly.

It’s not about the animals or about buying new livestock. I just need to get close to Clara again, to figure out what the hell is going on with her. Why has she changed so much? Why does she seem so guarded, and so different from the girl I once knew? And the one biggest question of all, why had she married someone else…

As I walk towards my father’s room, a knot tightens in my stomach.

Every time I see him, he seems to be deteriorating more. The powerful man who once ruled this ranch with an iron fist is now a frail shadow of his former self. It should be a relief, but instead, it just makes everything more complicated.

I knock softly and push the door open. The air inside is heavy with the smell of medicine and old books. My father is sitting by the window, staring out at the pastures.

“Beau,” he says, his voice gravelly, turning his head slowly to look at me. “Everything ready for the trip?”

“Yeah, just about,” I reply, stepping closer. “Wanted to check on you first.”

He chuckles, a dry, raspy sound. “I’m fine, boy. It’s not me you should be worrying about.”

His words hit a nerve. “What do you mean?”

He looks at me with those piercing blue eyes, the same eyes I see in the mirror every morning. “I see you becoming more ruthless, more like me every day. Is that what you want? To be feared? Because that’s what it takes to run this place.”

A chill runs down my spine. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want people to fear me.”

My father’s gaze sharpens, scrutinizing me as if trying to pierce through the layers of my thoughts. He sighs heavily, a sound filled with both resignation and a hint of disappointment.

“Then you’ll fail,” he states bluntly, turning his attention back to the window. “This world doesn’t run on kindness, Beau. Especially not this ranch. If you can’t command respect through fear, you’ll be trampled. This isn’t the right place for a weak man. I’ve spent all my life trying to teach you that, and for what?”

I clench my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to argue. He doesn’t understand, and maybe he never will.

But I have to try.

“I can be firm without being feared,” I insist, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “There has to be a way to lead without becoming someone everyone despises.”

He laughs again, a hollow sound that seems to echo in the small room. “A fantasy,” he says, shaking his head. “This ranch was built on hard work and a firm hand. Your dreams of a kinder way will get you nowhere.”

I hate that he might be right. I mean, when I think about the last three years, and how much I’ve tried to please him, well… I probably am changing too much. Becoming too much like him, even if that’s never who I’ve wanted to be.

The room feels even smaller as my father’s words hang heavily in the air. The weight of his expectations presses down on me, mingling with my own fears and doubts. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and step closer to his chair.

“I respect everything you’ve done,” I say quietly, “but times are changing. People are changing. Maybe it’s time we change too.”

He scoffs, the sound a mixture of derision and sadness. “Change, huh? You think this place can survive by being soft? By letting people walk all over you?”

I kneel beside him, meeting his eyes levelly. “It’s not about being soft. It’s about being smart. Building alliances, earning trust. Fear might keep people in line, but respect, real respect, will make them follow you willingly. And isn’t that what we want? A loyal team, not a scared one?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifts back to the window, to the vast expanse of land that has defined our lives. For a moment, the only sound is the creaking of his old chair and the distant lowing of cattle.

“You always were a dreamer,” he finally murmurs, his tone softer, almost wistful. “Maybe I pushed you too hard, tried to mold you too much in my image.”

I swallow hard, the unexpected tenderness in his voice cutting deeper than his harshest criticisms. “I want to make you proud, Dad, but I have to do it my way. I have to be true to myself. Now, I really do have to get going or I’ll be late for this trip.”

As I turn to leave my father’s room, his voice, gruff and unyielding, stops me in my tracks.

“Why is another Ryder kid on my ranch?” The question hangs in the air, heavy with disdain. I clench my jaw, feeling the familiar churn of disgust. It’s not just that he doesn’t like them; he doesn’t knows them… only their uncle. “I’ve seen her, walking around like she owns the place. Just like her low life brother and her piece of shit uncle. You aren’t doing a good job of hiding her.”

“Dad, Clara and Wyatt aren’t like him . I don’t need to hide her because she’s the vet specialist, helping with the horses.”

His glare intensifies, cutting through the dim light of the room. “A Ryder can’t help with anything. You’ve seen that with Wyatt. They’re both like their uncle.”

I just about resist the urge to roll my eyes. “No, you’re wrong…”

“And how would you know that, Beau? The whole family’s trouble. That uncle of theirs, he’s a Goddamn disgrace. The embarrassment of Silver Ridge.”

I take a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure. “That uncle isn’t here. He’s not Wyatt, and he sure as hell isn’t Clara.”

Dad scoffs, a sound that echoes with years of hardened judgment. “Doesn’t change the blood running through their veins. You know what he’s like. Losing his house was just the start. He’s been leeching off women ever since, bouncing from one to another in this town and the next. No one even knows where the bastard is now, but we can be sure that he’s drunk as a skunk and taking advantage of someone.”

His words claw at me, each syllable dripping with scorn. It’s true, the uncle is a well known drunk, a parasite who has worn out his welcome in more places than I can count. But that doesn’t define Wyatt or Clara. Just because they were raised by him after their parents died, doesn’t make them anything like that. Why is my father being so closed minded?

“Dad,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady, “Wyatt doesn’t even talk about him. Clara probably doesn’t either. They’re different.”

He snorts, a sound of pure disbelief. “Different? They’re Ryders. That’s all that matters. The dad was a drunk as well. That’s what killed him.”

“Depression killed him. After he lost his wife.”

Dad sneers. “Depression is just an excuse to be lazy.”

Anger flares in my chest, but I force it down. I can’t lose my temper now. Not here. Not with him.

“Depression is real,” I say, my voice tight. “It took their father from them. And it’s not fair to judge Wyatt and Clara for things they had no control over.”

My father’s gaze hardens. “Life isn’t fair, Beau. Never has been. You can try to see the best in people, but out there, on the ranch, you can’t afford to be naive.”

I grit my teeth, he’s not entirely wrong. The world is harsh, especially out here. But there has to be more than just harshness. There has to be room for understanding, for compassion.

“Maybe so,” I say quietly. “But I don’t want to judge them. Not Wyatt, not Clara.”

He sighs, the sound heavy with years of disappointment and weariness. “You’ll learn, Beau. One way or another, you’ll learn.”

I leave his room, the tension still coiled tightly in my chest. The conversation leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, a reminder of the gulf between us. My father’s world is one of black and white, strength and weakness.

But I refuse to believe it’s that simple.