Page 1 of Snowbound Mountain Man

Chapter one

Juniper

Specks of snow fall delicately against the glass, only to be swept away by a sudden, punishing gust of wind. It’s a bitter little clash—and one I recognize all too well. My mind has been waging the exact same war since I turned onto this long winding mountain road.

My head pounds in sync with every turn, forcing me to squint through the whiteout. I can't even blame the strain of concentrating; this headache is entirely on me and my brilliant decision to down enough liquid courage to make this drive survivable the night before.

Driving along twists and turns, I have to be even more careful with how much ice is clinging to the asphalt. I should've checked the forecast before coming out here, but with how full the sky is looking, I wouldn't be surprised if a snowstorm broke out any minute.

That would be my luck. Mother Nature would want to be the one to add another reason why I shouldn't be on this mountain.

Heck, why I shouldn't be in Willowbrook Ridge at all.

Wanting to get to my destination before it gets to that point, I pray my GPS stops stuttering and gets me there in one piece.

After a few soft prayers and slight creaks from my tight grip on the steering wheel, my device alerts me that my destination is approaching. It leads me to a community of cabins paired with a weather-worn sign. Mistwood Peaks is spelled out in large blocky letters, with a greeting welcoming all those who pass by.

I'll admit, from the view from my seat, this place looks nice. Quaint and peaceful in ways I didn't expect.

Where I came from, peace and quiet were a fantasy. You couldn't go twenty minutes without a blaring car horn, a screaming match on the pavement, or the endless drone of city traffic.

Always wondering why people would be interested in living here, out in the middle of nowhere, I'm starting to have a clue.

Is this really the place my father ran off to live through the remaining years of his life?

While I knew he'd become a recluse, I pictured he'd found a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, planting himself deep within the trees so no one would be able to find him.

Instead, he'd been living in a community of cabins, a shared space with at least ten other plots. The nearest cabin isn't even a hundred feet away.

Returning my gaze to my father's home, I pull the key from my pocket and clutch it hard enough to feel the grooves biting into my palm.

I can do this. I have to. I'm on a time limit here. My vacation away from Lincoln Heights won't last a lifetime. All I've got is a week to tie up some loose ends before I can return to my normal.

I can easily put this uncomfortable moment behind me once I can get this cabin back on the market and sold to the next buyer. I can.

Not like Dad is around anymore to make this any more unsettling.

Trying to shake away the nerves living in my limbs, I approach the snow-covered porch. Without anyone here to shovel it, there's a solid foot waiting for me. Looking around and not seeing a shovel anywhere, I do the best I can with my boot and push what I can out of my way so I can make it up without risking injury.

Like everything else on this mountain, there's a layer of ice to crunch through, too.

With a few grunts and pure determination, I'm able to make a path to the front door. Adding the maintenance outside to my already long list of things to do, I shove the key inside and try to turn the handle.

It doesn't budge.

They'd warned me the deadbolt could be a little sticky, but this key isn't doing me any favors. Is there some kind of trick to it?

"What do you think you're doing?"

A voice appears behind me, sudden enough to make me jump and drop the key in my hand. It falls into the snow, promising my already reddened fingers a bad time.

Wonderful.

Scooping down to pick it up, I swipe the remaining flakes clinging on before looking over my shoulder.

There's a man standing at the foot of the steps I'd just cleared.

It's a miracle I don't drop the key again once I start taking him in. Forget about answering his question; I can barely find my tongue.