When I roll the glass down an inch, a deep voice cuts through the cold air.
“You all right in there?”
And just like that, this Christmas season got a whole lot more interesting.
Chapter 2
Beckett
The storm’s rolling in faster than forecasted. Figures. The weather guys down in Denver never get it right for the high country.
I throttle down the snowmobile and lift my visor. The air bites my face … sharp, clean and real. I love this part ofthe mountain. Just me, the trees, the sound of wind cutting through the pines. No noise, no people, no expectations.
I check one last trail marker, record a quick clip for tomorrow’s upload — something about “pre-storm prep” — then kill the camera. No one needs to see my breath fogging like a dragon or hear the way I mutter to myself.
That’s the difference betweenBeckett Tinderwolf the survival guyon YouTube and me, Beckett Schmidt, a man who just wants to be left alone.
I start the engine again, ready to head back toward my shop, when something catches my eye. Barely noticable tire tracks snake off the main road. Too small for a truck. Delivery van, maybe. Which is insane. No one should be driving this stretch in a snow squall.
I follow the tracks, half out of curiosity, half because if some idiot’s stuck out here, I’ll have to deal with it. Sure enough, a few minutes later, my headlight hits white metal and pink lettering. I blink.
Sugarplum Secrets.
The words curl across the side of a van in candy-pink script, complete with a silhouette of a woman in angel wings. What the hell?
Through the frosted windshield, I spot movement. It’s a woman bundled in what looks like … red velvet? Is that a Santa jacket?
I park a few feet away and kill the engine. When I step off the snowmobile, the snow crunches under my boots. I notice how deep it’s becoming with this gust of old man winter. I knock on the driver’s window. The woman jumps like she’s been electrocuted, then rolls it down a crack.
“You all right in there?” I ask.
I notice her eyes first. They’re a kaleidoscope of color staring at me - hazel I’d say. She’s flushed, breathless, and probably freezing. I’m concerned but intrigued at the same time. She reminds me of a pinup ad for Christmas Eve misbehavior. Like a runaway Santa’s helper who drove the sleigh off-road when it wasn’t equipped.
“I—I think so,” she says, teeth chattering. “I swerved for a deer, and now the van won’t start. And my phone … ” She waves it. “No service.”
“Yeah, welcome to the mountains.”
She exhales in visible relief. “Oh thank God. I thought you were a serial killer.”
I huff a laugh. “You always go worst case scenario first?”
She smiles at that, wide and warm despite the cold. “I’m Ruby.”
“Beckett. You’re not getting that van out tonight. Roads are closing.”
Her face falls. “But my shop …”
I point toward the thickening snow. “Unless your shop’s equipped with a snowplow, it’s gonna have to wait. You can stay with me until you can get help.”
She hesitates, looking back at the mountain of boxes in her van. “Can I at least bring some things? This is all brand new inventory. Some of it I’m worried about freezing.”
I sigh. “We have to hurry and I’m limited in what I can haul. Better make it count. I’ll help.”
I pop open the rear doors and whistle low. Pink boxes stacked to the roof, glittering ribbon, and—yeah—something definitely battery-operated just rolled across the floor. I pretend not to notice.
Ruby groans. “Okay, maybe notallof it.”
“Good call.” I unhook the small collapsible sled I keep behind my snowmobile. “We’ll load the essentials. It can handle about a hundred pounds of cargo. After that, we’re both walking.”
