Chapter 2
Chapter Two
RED
Late afternoon light spills through the windows.
I lose my fingers in Bear's coarse fur, nearly dozing, when I hear the low rumble of a car engine approaching the cabin. I know it’s coming to my cabin because no one else lives up on this godforsaken mountain, so whoever it is has no damn business being up here.
Tourists, I bet ya.
I rise from my warm seat by the roaring fire, cursing whoever has disturbed me and Bear.
After a day of hunting, we’ve earned our rest. I peer through the curtains to see a rust bucket of a car parked across from my cabin, and a curvy ass bent over the passenger side, red velvet stretched tight across it.
Christ.
“What the hell?” I rub my eyes to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.
It's a woman in what appears to be a Santa costume, the red velvet stark against the snow. Despite myself, my gaze lingers for a moment before I pull back slightly from the window, irritation mixing with something I haven’t felt in a long time.
What is a woman doing up here?
Dressed as…
Santa?
The woman rises, clutching two wrapped gifts topped with big red bows, balancing like a deer on ice as she positions the ridiculous Santa hat on her head.
She slips and wobbles as she makes her way toward the cabin, and my heart rate increases.
What the fuck is she doing here? Don’t people have anything better to do?
I stomp to the door, irritation sweeping through me when I hear her knocking.
Why can’t everyone leave me in peace?
Every Christmas my niece comes and tries to play happy families, but I’m not interested.
I learned that lesson the hard way—let people in, and they leave. Or worse, they stay too long, and you watch them get hurt. Either way, you end up alone, so I might as well start there.
If it was up to me, I’d never see anyone again as long as I lived.
I’ve seen enough to last me a lifetime.
My breath catches at the images that haunt me, and I shake my head, teeth grinding at the thought of this unwanted visitor having triggered them.
I rip open the door as she stumbles forward, nearly losing her balance. She catches herself, adjusting her costume with embarrassment. My eyes remain fixed on her face.
Fucking hell.
"Dammit!" She steadies herself, flustered.
Then she opens that cherry-red mouth and starts belting out “Jingle Bells.”
Fuck. This.
Slam.
The closed door effectively silences her cheery if slightly off-key voice, and I stalk back to my seat by the fire, trying to fathom what I just saw.
Acres of creamy cleavage that matches those thighs, and wide eyes that resemble the reflection of the lake in deep winter.
Jesus, that body… I’ve got no business thinking about it. Not at forty years old and her standing there in striped socks and a damn Santa dress.
I shake my head, refusing to entertain the idea of getting horny over some woman trying to deliver gifts I haven’t ordered.
To my disbelief, she raps on the door again.
Even in this weather, she’s still trying to do her job.
“Red, I’m here to deliver gifts. Could you please open the door? It’s freezing out here.” Her voice is melodic, and the wind tries to help me by carrying it further away. If only it could lift her too.
I hate that she knows my fucking name.
“Go away!” I snarl, annoyed that she hasn’t left already. Most people get the message when I either don’t answer or slam the door in their face.
Why did I answer anyway?
Maybe she intrigued me, that’s all. Maybe it’s been too damn long since I’ve had a woman on my porch, not that I want one. Regardless, I don’t like the way my body’s reacting to her at all.
I don’t have time for this—not for Christmas carols or whatever gifts she’s bringing.
The wind howls, rattling the cabin walls hard enough to make me glance at the window. Snow is coming down in sheets now, the kind that blinds a man in seconds. My gut clenches.
I can’t leave her out there.
Goddamn it.
I drag a hand down my face. She’s still out there. A city girl with shiny shoes, bare legs, and clearly no sense whatsoever, standing on my porch in the middle of a mountain storm.
I force myself to remain in the chair by the fire, Bear thumping his tail against the rug as if he doesn’t give a damn about intruders. The dog’s loyal, sure, but he doesn’t understand people. He doesn’t understand how they worm their way into your life and rip it apart.
How they leave unexpectedly and without warning.
I shut my eyes, willing her to leave. To get back in her car, crank the heater, and drive her ass back down the mountain before the road ices over.
But then I hear it.
A muffled thud, then a curse carried by the wind. The sound of her shoes—or whatever the hell she’s wearing—scraping against the porch.
I mutter another curse and push to my feet, cursing whoever sent these stupid gifts and the singing Santa girl.
Part of me still wants her gone—wants the quiet and isolation I've made for myself.
But beneath that, something stirs at the thought of her alone in the storm.
A pull I haven't felt in years, an instinct to protect that I've tried to bury along with everything else.
I don't want to care, but I can't seem to stop myself.
When I rip the door open again, and she's hunched against the storm, clutching the gifts to her like they're her lifeline, snowflakes caught in her long, thick lashes. Her lips are trembling, skin flushed red raw from the cold.
“Sir—” Her teeth chatter, but her voice still has that ridiculous cheer in it. “It’s—it’s really bad out here.”
No shit.
“So go fucking home.”
She gapes at me, then squares her shoulders. “No, not until I’ve given you these gifts.”
Well, fuck me. Some people have zero sense.
Behind her, the world has turned white. My truck’s already half-buried up to its wheels. No way she’s getting that rust bucket off the mountain tonight.
I snatch the gifts from her trembling hands and scowl at her.
“Go.” I slam the door, not wanting to hear another word from that pretty little mouth.
Unable to stop myself, I peer out the window, watching as she attempts to stomp back to her car, slipping and sliding as she goes.
Finally, she reaches her car, and fuck me, she climbs in from the passenger side.
I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with the driver’s door, but I’m too pissed to care.
I step back and leave her to it, tossing the stupid gifts on the table.
Then I hear the faint whir of an engine that will never turn over. It sounds like it’s screaming for me to get out there and help her, and I wait, praying it starts.
It doesn’t.
I bite back a growl. This is the last thing I need.
It takes her longer to make it back to my door, but I rip it open before she can knock, fury keeping me warm against the icy chill.
“Get inside.” I hate every word as it leaves my mouth.
Her wide eyes blink at me. “What?”
“Inside.” I shove the door open wider and jerk my chin toward the fire. “Before you freeze your foolish ass solid.”
She hesitates, hugging herself, then steps past me into the warmth, bringing with her a scent of vanilla, sugar, and something distinctly feminine.
Bear leaps up to greet her, his tail wagging like she’s Santa herself, the traitor.
“Hi, big guy.” She smiles at him, kneeling to scratch behind his ears as if she’s known him all her life.
She’s shivering violently, and I wonder what possessed her to drive up the mountain on her own, wearing barely anything, without even checking the weather forecast—bringing gifts I don’t even want.
What the hell is wrong with her?
"Don't get comfortable." I cross to the stove and start building up the fire. "The storm should pass by soon. You'll be gone after that."
She looks up from Bear, her smile faltering. "Right. Of course."
Bear snuggles into her lap, and she leans in, stealing his warmth.
I should tell her to get up, and to keep her distance. But she's shaking so hard her teeth are chattering, and even I'm not enough of a bastard to pull a half-frozen woman away from the only heat source besides the fire.
“Thank you."
I don't respond; I just turn back to the fire and wait for her to disappear into the bathroom.
This is temporary. The storm will pass, then she will leave, and my life will go back to normal.
Well, that's the plan.