Page 3 of Snowbound Mountain Man

"Hunter." Giving me his name, he motions to the cabin next to this one. "If you can't figure the fire out, or if you need any kind of help, I'm right next door. Greg and I... Well, I know he'd kick my ass if I let you fend for yourself. The mountain can be harsh during this time of the year."

Unsure how much of that is true, I nod and finally find the will to move toward the inside of the cabin. "Thank you, Hunter."

He nods again, and with that, I start to close the door. But not before catching the shift in his expression and the way he runs a hand down his face.

Once the door is shut, I press my back into it. Realizing that this place has suddenly become even more complicated, an exhausted sigh escapes my lips.

Can I really do this or am I way over my head?

Chapter two

Hunter

Over the past couple of years, Greg talked about his daughter constantly. She’s his holy grail of topics—and given that she never bothered to visit him, I haven't formed the fondest view of her up until this point.

She's the sole piece of his past he ever shared, always reassuring me she's as sweet-hearted as the career she picked over him. I don't think I'd heard him say a single bad thing about her in the time we'd known each other, despite the circumstances.

The stubborn bastard could’ve at least prepared me a little better if he planned on dragging her up this mountain. A few photos of her bakery’s pastries on social media didn’t do a damn thing to prepare me for Juniper.

If he’d shown me even one picture of her smile, proving that sweetness he claimed, maybe holding a conversation with her wouldn't have felt like trying to catch my breath underwater.

Now I’m useless in my own home, pacing my floor, restless as hell because I can’t stop worrying about whether she’s alright over there in that old cabin by her lonesome.

I saw the wisps of smoke curling from her chimney throughout the hours of the day, and even more once the sun had set, so at least she’s figured out the fireplace enough to survive through her first night.

But that’s only scratching the surface.

Greg’s old cabin is drafty, outdated, and practically begging for a heavy snowfall to knock out the power. For a woman like her to show up out of nowhere in the dead of winter... It’s a miracle I haven't marched through the snow and demanded she let me help in some way.

Greg would probably rise from the dead and haunt me if I didn't look after the one person he cherished most—though right now, I'm pretty sure my own heart is doing most of the pushing.

He'd also kick my ass if he knew what kind of thoughts were going on in my head.

By now, I shouldn't be thinking about her, let alone worrying about someone who isn't my problem.

Cursing under my breath as my eyes fall onto the blinds I've purposely left parted to see through, my gaze lingers on that cabin. From here, I've got a pretty good view of who's on the porch. It's how I caught her trying to get in the first time.

Juniper hasn't stepped out in hours. What is she doing inside of there, anyway?

Does she plan on moving into that cabin, making it her own? Greg would've wanted that.

I don't know if I can handle having a new face hanging around so close, especially one that's so pretty that I lose focus on everything else.

It's a miracle I haven't driven myself crazy with worry.

One whole day has gone by. Surely, if I saw her again, I'd be able to act right, wouldn't I?

Driving myself crazy without an answer, I can't sit back and watch for a minute longer. Getting up, I let my body take charge this time. It moves all on its own.

A man my age should know better, but I'll be damned if I can admit that I have any say in this matter.

Moving toward my front door, I shove my feet into my boots, grab my heavy flannel coat, and step out into the bite of the mountain air. My hands find my shovel before my head can talk me out of it.

Clearing a path from her cabin to that ridiculous little car of hers is just basic neighborly courtesy. That's what I tell myself, anyway. That sedan had no business surviving the drive up here in the first place, and if she tries to take it back down the mountain, she'll slide straight off the ridge.

If she needs to leave, I'll drive her in my truck. I'll make sure she's safe. It's practical. It's necessary. And if it gives me an excuse to hear her voice again... well, Greg doesn't need to know that part.

I throw myself into the work, letting the rhythm of scoop, lift, and throw take over. The snow is wet and stubborn, going so far as to continue falling around me as I work, but I push through it, carving a clean, wide path through the drift. Ten minutes in, the bite of the winter wind doesn't feel so cold anymore. A burning heat spreads across my shoulders, and a line of sweat trickles down the back of my neck, clinging to my shirt beneath my thick flannel coat.