Page 54 of Beastly Mountain Man

“No.”

Her expression warmed.

“I’d like to.”

Those three words meant more than they should have.

My house wasn’t a resort property. It wasn’t polished for guests, and there was nothing there designed to impress her.

She wanted to see where I actually lived.

I took Bear’s leash from my pocket.

“Then let’s go before that glove becomes a problem.”

“I knew you were coming back to the glove.”

“You told me you’d handle it when your fingers got cold.”

“I regret giving you evidence.”

We followed the wooded path.

Snow softened every sound except the crunch beneath our boots. Bear walked ahead, calmer now that he’d burned off most of his morning enthusiasm.

My house appeared between the trees.

Caprice slowed.

The roof was dark timber under white. Smoke rose from the chimney. Two pairs of work boots sat on the covered porch beside a wood rack and the shovel I’d left against the rail.

“This is yours.”

“It is.”

“You built any of it?”

“Parts. My dad helped with some of the early work, and I’ve changed things over the years.”

I opened the mudroom door and let Bear go in first.

Caprice followed.

The house smelled like the woodstove, pine, and the faint remains of morning coffee.

Warmth hit us immediately.

Caprice exhaled.

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Get the wet coat off before it starts running down your back.”

“I was already doing that.”

“I know.”

We stripped out of the outer gear in the mudroom. I hung her coat beside mine, spread the snow pants where they could dry, and put her gloves near the warm-air vent.