Grinched By The Mountain Man (Mountain Man Brides For Christmas #11)

Chapter 1

Harper

I flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED and the bell over the door gives a tired little jingle, like it’s ready to clock out for the night, too. “Same,” I murmur, turning the lock.

Outside, snow drifts lazily past the front windows of Fox & Frost. The streetlamps in downtown Cady Springs glow soft and golden against the falling flakes, making the whole town look like it belongs inside one of my own snow globes. Which is kind of my brand, but still.

Inside, everything is quiet and cozy. Fairy lights twine along the shelves.

The air smells like the vanilla candle I was burning, earlier.

But I also pick up a faint hint of epoxy from where I was gluing tiny figurines into place.

On the main display, a dozen finished globes wait beneath a dusting of glitter, each glass dome holding its own little universe.

A couple kissing on a park bench under falling snow. A cabin with a smoking chimney, a golden retriever bounding through drifts. And a tiny Cady Springs town square with the Gazebo and clock tower just so.

I move through the shop on autopilot, turning off the big overhead lights one by one. I leave the fairy lights on in the front window. My mom always said every shop should look a little bit magical from the street at night, even when it’s closed. “It gives people good feelings,” she’d say.

My throat pinches for a second, but I swallow around it. I’ve gotten used to that little ache … mostly.

I turn to the workbench behind the counter where tonight’s main project waits — a custom order.

Inside the globe, there’s a miniature ice-skating pond and two figures of an older couple, bundled up with tiny scarves around their necks.

The man’s hand is reaching for the woman’s, his head tilted toward her like he’s telling a secret.

Their daughter sent me a blurry photo of them from twenty years ago and asked if I could “capture the moment.”

I always say I build memories, not toys. Sometimes people laugh. Sometimes they cry. Either way, they always pay their invoice on time.

I check the alignment of the little figures one more time, nudging the man’s arm a millimeter closer with my tweezers. Better. His hand almost brushes hers now, suspended forever in that almost-touch.

“Perfect,” I whisper, sealing the base with glue.

My phone buzzes against the counter, jittering across a scattering of glitter. I grab it before it suicides off the edge.

RUBY GARLAND flashes across the screen, complete with the little cherry emoji I added because the owner of “Sugarplum Secrets” needed something flirty.

I swipe to answer. “Hey, Rubes.”

“Harper Fox,” she drawls. There’s noise behind her. Music, laughter, and the rustle of tissue paper and bags. “Tell me you’re not still in that shop.”

I glance around at the glowing shelves. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”

She huffs. “It is after six. On a Friday. The only acceptable work at this hour involves lace, silk, or batteries.”

“You are literally at your lingerie shop right now,” I remind her, smiling.

“That’s business and community service,” she says. “This is different. You, my little snowflake, need to get out more.”

“I get out,” I protest. “I go to the hardware store. The grocery store. The post office.”

“You flirt with the mail scale, Harper. That doesn’t count.”

I chuckle, leaning my hip against the counter. “The scale understands me. It never asks why I’m still single.”

“Funny you should mention that,” she says, and there’s a certain tone in her voice. The one that means trouble. “So. You’ve heard about the One Magical Match auction next weekend, right?”

I sigh. “I saw the flyers.”

‘One Magical Match: Cady Springs Annual Holiday Charity Auction’ in bold script, complete with mistletoe graphics and far too many exclamation points.

“I figured you’d seen them,” she says. “Janice practically wallpapered the town.” There’s a pause, then her tone turns sly. “You’re coming.”

“That wasn’t a question,” I point out.

“It wasn’t meant to be. All single women in Cady Springs are requested to attend.” She mimics the mayor’s prim voice. “Her words, not mine.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “Mayor Janice Davidson needs a hobby.”

“She has one,” Ruby says. “It’s meddling.

And tonight, I am her loyal minion.” There’s a rustle, like she’s adjusting a rack of bras.

“Seriously, though. It’s for the food bank.

And it’s going to be fun. They’re auctioning off all sorts of goodies.

Gift baskets. Spa days. A guided snowmobile tour.

A custom tattoo from that new guy in town. ”

“Someone is auctioning off a tattoo? On their body?” I ask.

“No, you weirdo. A gift certificate.” She pauses. “Although now I kind of want to add ‘one free tasteful tramp stamp’ to next year’s list.”

I laugh, the sound easing some of the tightness in my chest. “And there are … dates too, right? With some of the local guys?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “We’ve got a solid male lineup. Beckett’s already taken, obviously, but Janice wrangled some others. There are a couple of ski instructors, a firefighter, one of the brewery owners, that hot farrier from down in the valley …”

“Ruby,” I interrupt, heat prickling my cheeks as I imagine people bidding actual money on a date with a guy they don’t know. “I don’t know if that’s really my scene.”

“It’s not about finding you a husband in front of the gazebo,” she says.

“Although if that happens, I expect to be your Maid of Honor. It’s about raising money for people who need to eat.

And also,” she adds, “you work too much and haven’t had a fun evening out in …

how long has it been? Don’t say a year, or I will drive over there and stage an intervention with a candy cane flogger. ”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, smiling despite myself. “I had fun at the Harvest Festival.”

“You worked at the wreath booth at the Harvest Festival. And then went home to glue tiny trees into globes.”

“That was fun,” I protest weakly.

“Harper.” There’s a low warning in her voice now, equal parts older sister and best friend. “You moved back here to have a life. Not just a business. You can’t hide forever and your mom wouldn’t want you to.”

That lands exactly where she knew it would. I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You fight dirty.”

“I fight effectively.” She softens. “Come on. You can sit with me and some of the other ladies. And if you really hate it, we’ll sneak out early and I’ll buy you cocoa with extra whipped cream.”

I stare at the twinkle of fairy lights reflecting off the glass domes in front of me. Little worlds caught mid-snowfall. Perfect and still. I’ve spent a lot of my life watching other people’s moments from the outside. Capturing them in glass, preserving them for strangers.

Maybe Ruby has a point. Maybe it’s time I let myself be … part of something. Even if it’s just a ridiculous small-town auction with too much mistletoe.

“And,” Ruby adds, sensing the waver in my resolve, “do you have any items you could donate? Janice is begging for more variety. She’s trying not to auction off ‘dinner with the mayor’ again because last year someone paid fifty bucks just to ask her about the potholes on Spruce Lane.”

I laugh. “That must have put her on the spot.”

“You could do a custom globe,” Ruby says. “‘Capture your favorite holiday memory with Fox & Frost’ or something. People would eat that up.”

An idea comes to life. A certificate for a custom piece. Or maybe a limited edition globe with the Cady Springs town square under glass. The gazebo. The big spruce tree they decorate every year. Tiny people milling around.

“You think anyone would bid on that?” I ask quietly.

“I know they would,” Ruby says firmly. “Your work is magic, Harp. People love that they can hold their memories. Touch them. Shake them up and watch them sparkle.”

My chest warms. “Okay. I’ll … I’ll do a donation. Maybe two. I’ll work on something this weekend.”

“And you’ll come,” she presses. I hesitate, thinking.

I’ll clap politely, I’ll donate, I’ll sip cocoa … but I am not lifting a paddle. Not even to scratch my nose.

I take a breath and think of the way my mom’s eyes used to shine when she dragged me down to the square for events like this. How she’d say, “Community is the closest thing to magic we have in real life.”

“Yeah,” I say, exhaling. “I’ll come.”

Ruby squeals so loudly I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Yes! Victory! I knew I could wear you down.”

“You’re very pushy for someone who sells silk teddies and edible undies,” I tease.

“First of all, my pushiness is a public service. Second of all, you should be thanking me when you suddenly find yourself bidding on some hot guy in flannel.”

Heat flares in my cheeks again. “I won’t be doing that, Ruby.”

“Okay, we’ll see. Just try to stay open to the idea of having fun,” she corrects.

I can practically hear her wiggling her eyebrows through the phone.

“Who knows? Maybe the mountains have a man with your name on him.”

“Yeah,” I say lightly. “And maybe he got lost in a snowstorm and forgot to show up.”

“You never know,” Ruby says. There’s something almost knowing in her tone. “The mountains are weird that way.”

Before I can answer, the bell over her shop door jingles faintly through the line. “Okay, gotta go. Customer just walked in. I’ll text you details about the auction time. Love you!”

“Love you,” I say, but she’s already hung up. The call drops and the shop feels extra quiet without all her enthusiasm.

I set the phone down and let my gaze roam over the shelves again. Over the tiny cabins and snow-dusted trees, the frozen skaters and bundled couples.

I flip off the last of the lights behind the counter, leaving only the front display glowing. On impulse, I walk over to the window and stand there, looking out at Cady Springs through the wreath of evergreen branches framing the glass.

Across the street, the town square is already half-dressed for Christmas. The big evergreen in the center waits in silhouette, branches dark and full. In a few days, they’ll light it up. People will gather with hot cocoa and carols. Families. Couples. Kids tugging at mittens.

Last year, I watched from my apartment window above the shop, too raw from grief to be part of it. The lights below had blurred through tears I’d pretended were from the cold.

This year… maybe I’ll stand with everyone else. Even if it’s awkward. Even if my heart still feels a little bruised around the edges.

I reach up and trace a slow, absentminded circle on the glass with my fingertip, like I’m outlining a snow globe around the view.

“Okay,” I murmur to my reflection, my breath fogging the pane. “Holiday auction. No big deal.”

My reflection raises an unimpressed brow back at me. My blue eyes look huge, shadows smudged beneath them from too many late nights working. My dark hair is twisted into a messy bun, a dusting of glitter still catching on the baby hairs at my temples.

I look like someone who makes magic for other people and forgets to ask for any of her own.

“Well,” I tell myself, squaring my shoulders. “Maybe it’s time to change that.”

I turn away from the window and head back to the counter. I find a blank tag and a thin silver ribbon, then pick up one of the empty glass globes from the shelf.

“Fox & Frost Custom Snow Globe Experience,” I write in looping script on the tag. “Design your very own holiday memory.”

It feels … hopeful. I tie the ribbon around the neck of the globe and set it gently in the center of the main display, right between the kissing couple and the tiny cabin.

“There,” I tell it quietly. “You’re going to go have an adventure for a good cause.”

I add one more thing to my to-do list: Find something to wear that makes me look like the kind of woman who belongs at a magical Christmas auction.

I lock the cash drawer, slip my phone into my coat pocket, and take one last look around the shop before heading for the door.

Fairy lights. Snow globes. Sparkle and a peaceful stillness.

“For the food bank,” I remind myself. “For mom and … something new.”