Page 11 of Beastly Mountain Man

“Good morning,” she said when I answered. “I have what I believe is our second legitimate problem. The rear door will close, but only if I put significantly more enthusiasm into it than a luxury rental door should require.”

I smiled and started back toward the truck. “Don’t keep forcing it. I’m already on Upper Ridge, so I can be there in a few minutes.”

“I only did it once. That was enough to establish that brute force was not improving the relationship.”

Bear shook himself beside me, collar tags ringing over the phone.

Caprice heard them. “Is Bear with you?”

“He is. I can leave him in the truck while I’m inside.”

“Bring him. I’ve decided to forgive him under close supervision.”

By the time I reached her cabin, Caprice was waiting at the front door in a cream knit sweater and dark trousers, with her hair smooth and her makeup light enough that I probably wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t already spent too much time noticing her face.

She looked past me toward Bear.

“He may enter.”

Bear accepted the invitation immediately and walked inside without hesitation.

The breakfast tray on the dining table held the remains of eggs, toast, fruit, and coffee beside Caprice’s open laptop. She had eaten enough that I didn’t have to wonder whether work had replaced breakfast entirely, but one piece of toast sat abandoned beside her notebook as if it had lost a scheduling dispute.

“The door is back here.”

She led me through the great room to the rear deck. The view had changed since the night before. Instead of black glass reflecting the room, the windows showed dark pines under a flat gray sky and a mountain ridge already disappearing into cloud.

I opened and closed the door a few times before finding the point where the latch met the frame.

“Nothing’s broken,” I said. “The cold shifted things just enough that the latch is catching high. See this bright mark along the top edge?”

Caprice came closer, bending slightly so she could follow where I pointed. “Now I see it. I stared at this for at least ten minutes and concluded only that the door hated me.”

“You were looking at the whole door. I knew where to look for the wear.”

“That explanation is much kinder than the one I had prepared for myself.”

I glanced at her, but she had already turned her attention back to the latch.

I took the cordless driver from my tool bag and loosened the plate enough to move it a fraction. Caprice stayed beside me, interested but wisely out of the path of the tool.

“Is that technically a drill?” she asked.

“It can drill. I’m using it as a driver because I’m turning screws.”

“So I was close enough for civilian purposes.”

“You were.”

“Excellent. My tool identification skills have doubled since yesterday.”

I laughed and went back to the latch.

After I tightened the plate, I opened and closed the door again. The latch slid home cleanly.

Caprice tried it herself, first slowly and then at normal speed. “That is ridiculously satisfying.”

“You can enjoy a door working properly. There’s no rule against it.”