“I don’t have any other options. And I’ll have you know, this car has over one hundred thousand miles on it. It has kept me safe for the past eight years!” She looks smug. But all it takes is one look at her bald tires to see that those miles she’s proud of are going to cost her.
Not on my mountain.
“Look. I’m sure it has a great safety record. But I don’t even know how you made it this far up the mountain with those bald tires. It’s snowing, and it’s forecast to continue. The snowplow driver is off this week, so it’s real simple. You want to go to the cabin? Fine. But you can’t get there in that car. I can take you in my pick-up. It has four-wheel drive and a plow on the front.”
That shakes her a little. Pausing, she spins in a slow circle, taking in the ranch and all the tractors, the barn, the wooden fences extending from the ranch house on either side into the forest. She lets out a little breath, a small cloud escaping her pretty red lips. “It’s beautiful. I have to say, I didn’t really expect snow.” She bites her lower lip, and I have to physically grab my belt to keep myself from reaching out to smooth her lip.
“It’s called Mt. Frost for a reason. It gets the first, and most, snowfall in the state. Has for over a hundred years. This year is predicted to be particularly bad.” I should move. Go get the truck keys. But my boots are frozen to this spot. To her presence.
And just when I think, Okay, asshole, enough is enough, my sons come rushing outside and tackle Dr. Holly Doughty.
Well, Cliff does. Todd is right behind him, trying to prevent his little brother from knocking the beautiful, unprepared scientist to the ground. He almost succeeds.
Chapter 2
Holly
My brain is literally on fire. The sweetest little boy has his arms wrapped around my waist and is blabbing something about being a lady scientist. Words like, “honor,” “cool,” “totally awesome,” “snowflakes,” and “Santa,” all come tumbling rapid-fire out of his mouth. The two of us almost go down with his enthusiasm. But I catch myself against my trusty car. See, take that; my car will take care of me.
All the while I’m still trying not to internally short-circuit at the gruff ranch-hand-slash-mountain-man who has insulted my car. When the other boy, must be his brother, pulls the kid off of me, the kid puts his hand out for me to shake. “My name is Cliff. I’m your biggest fan.” Flabbergasted, I shake his small, hot hand. I’m not a huge fan of children, but this one certainly has won me over fast. My first fan! What will my co-workers say?
His brother also puts his hand out. Tall, straight-backed like his dad, I caught him shaking his head at Cliff’s behavior. He looks embarrassed, but a ranch boy through and through. “Todd,” is all he says. I shake his hand, too. By the time I’m able to put my half-frozen hands in my sweater pockets, I realize the man has disappeared. The roar of a deep engine scares me, andthen an old, giant, red pickup truck, complete with a shiny metal blade on the front that reminds me of a guillotine, comes out from the barn and rumbles up next to my Civic.
The man hops down, hitches his thumb over his shoulder, and says, “Boys, get her stuff and put it in the bed. We’re taking her to the cabin.” I don’t know what Todd’s reaction is, because I still can’t tear my eyes away from this man, in his tight Wranglers and green and yellow plaid button down that promises lots of muscles underneath, if only I could unwrap him like a present. But Cliff shouts a “hurrah!” and runs to my car, sliding on the shoveled driveway in his snow boots. Without asking, he opens the back door and pulls out my backpack. It’s almost as big as him, but he gets it on his back, then attempts to pick up the big plastic tote. Hand out to steady him, I needn’t have worried. The teen arrives and takes it from him, mumbling something that sounds like, “show off.”
Rolling my lips to keep from smiling, I pop the trunk and grab my purse out of the passenger seat before shutting the door. This is not what I expected. Certainly not what I had planned. But clearly my research was lacking on several fronts.
I don’t do flustered. I’m a frickin’ astrophysicist, for crying out loud. I study the vast expanses of the universe, yet somehow, this winter trip up a mountain has me completely overwhelmed and at a loss for words or actions.
When the ranch hand takes another tote from me, I snap myself out of my funk and ask, “Is Mr. Noel here today?” He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything as he walks away to set the tote in the bed of the pickup. The boys whisper to each other, then punch each other, then end up on the ground rolling in the snow. All it takes is one short, sharp whistle from the ranchhand, and they’ve stopped and scrambled to standing, brushing the snow off their pants.
My poor, well-worn and loved Civic now sits empty and abandoned in the driveway. All my gear takes up a fraction of the space in the pickup. I’m impressed. “Do I need to move my car out of the way?” I ask, not wanting to be a burden in any way. No one answers me. I’m beyond grateful that Mr. Noel let me rent his cabin for almost nothing so I can complete my research. I’ve been dying to see this comet since we became aware of it in 2022. This is a once-in-a-millennium experience. I want to be as close as I can possibly get to it.
“I’ve never driven a pickup truck before. I suppose it’s a lot like a Civic, right?” I ask, unsure of what is next. Do I just drive myself up the mountain in a truck? Yee-haw, girlie. This weekend is full of firsts.
Ranch hand—why don’t I know his name—snorts at me like I’m telling jokes. Great. Real professional. “We’ll take you up, ma’am. Make sure the power is on, show you how to use the generator; you’re probably going to need it. My sister, Anna, loaded the fridge for you, so you should have plenty to eat while you’re there.” I nod along to what he’s saying, trying not to drool over his thick lips as they say things like generator. Part of me wants to jump this ranch-slash-mountain man who is tall, muscular, and gruff. Another part of me wants to pack my car up and slide back down this mountain, away from things like generators.
I am a scientist. I can do sciencey things! I can do hard things! I will not make a fool of myself drooling over this grumpy dude. Shaking my head a little to release the haze I seem to be in, stand up a little taller, and say, “Okay, thank you.”
I’m almost at the truck door when Cliff slams into me and the side of the truck. “Ha! Beat you!” he yells, his cheeks red from the cold and excitement. He yanks the door open and climbs over the passenger seat to the backseat, leaving a giant pile of snow on the seat. Before I can wipe it off, Todd is there, his hand randomly jerking at the seat then back again. Turning to look at him to figure out what is happening, I can see the awkwardness on his face.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says, then pulls the lever to make the seat swing forward so he can climb in beside his brother. They look so much alike, it’s startling. I don’t look anything like my siblings. It takes me a few moments to figure out how to get the seat back down. It clanks loudly into place. I ignore the fact that he and his dad called me ma’am. That’s what people call my mother! Not me.
“And he says this is safer than my car,” I mutter under my breath. It sounds like the truck could rattle apart just from the seat latching. Foot on the running board, I hoist myself up into the monstrous truck, slam the door—again, the truck shakes—and fix my seatbelt.
We sit there. In awkward silence. Keeping my eyes glued on the snowy road ahead of us, I wrack my brain to figure out what the hell to say to engage with these children. I work with adults. Occasionally, I teach college-aged students, and snuggle my sister’s baby on the weekends…no words required. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to a child or a teen for more than one minute. Hopefully, this will be a short truck ride.
“How long to the cabin?”
“An hour when the roads are clear,” Todd, the teen, says. I bite my lip to stifle a groan. I jump as the truck makes a giant, reverberating thud. Cliff giggles. “It’s Dad,” Todd assures me.
Eventually, the ranch hand opens the door. The wind whips inside, and my cheeks feel raw against the cold already. His scent —leather, pine, and sandalwood—wafts in before him, and I clench my thighs together to stop my body from reacting to the scent of him. He’s got a baking pan covered in foil in one hand—he passes it to me while he gets situated. The bottom of the pan is warm, and it smells cheesy and spicy, whatever it is. My stomach growls, and while that’s embarrassing, it’s completely appropriate, unlike whatever is happening between my legs.
“Ready?” he asks as the truck roars to life. He’s watching me, and my cheeks flush, liking the way his eyes feel on me.
I nod, then open my mouth, and shut it again.
He doesn’t move, just quirks one eyebrow at me. “I’m not driving you up the mountain in the snow if you’re not ready.”
