Chapter 2
Ethan
The wind cuts hard across the ridge this morning.
It’s sharp enough to sting my cheeks and loud enough to drown out the creak of the woodpile as I heft another log onto the stack.
The air smells like pine sap and cold iron, the kind of early-winter bite that settles deep in your bones if you stand still too long. Good thing I don’t stand still.
I split the next log cleanly, two halves falling away from the axe with a satisfying crack. The sound echoes off the tree line. The only other noise up here is the wind. Everything is quiet and peaceful. Just the way I like it.
I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead, breath puffing white into the air. The sky is a low, heavy gray, promising more snow. I’ll need to check the trap lines before it hits, maybe reinforce the north shed wall, and … Crunch. Footsteps. On my land.
I go still, palm tightening around the axe handle. There’s only one person brazen enough to walk onto my property without an invitation — without even a phone call — and do it like she owns the place. Sure enough, an obnoxiously cheerful voice floats over the snow.
“Ethan Kinkaid! I swear you chop wood more than you breathe!”
I grind my teeth. “Mayor Davidson.”
Janice Davidson crests the slope, bundled in a cherry-red parka that looks like it’s never seen actual forest. She’s waving at me like we’re old friends. We are not old friends.
“What brings you all the way up here?” I ask, leaning on my axe. “Lose a tourist?”
She beams. “I came to see you, actually.”
That’s never good. Janice trudges closer, boots squeaking in the snow. “You look well,” she says, eyeing my chopped wood like she’s judging my stacking technique.
“Mm.”
“And your beard is coming in nicely.”
“Mm.”
“And your cabin …”
“Janice,” I say flatly. “Get to the point.”
She sighs dramatically, then flashes the too-wide, politician smile she saves for situations where she’s about to ask for something unreasonable.
“Well, since you mentioned it…” She claps her gloved hands together. “I wanted to personally invite you to participate in our annual One Magical Match Holiday Charity Auction!”
I stare at her. She stares back, still smiling. The silence stretches. A crow caws somewhere in the distance.
Finally, I say, “No.”
She blinks. “You haven’t even heard the details.”
“I don’t need to. The answer’s no.”
“It’s for the food bank,” she says brightly.
“I donate every year.”
“Yes, and we appreciate that,” she concedes, “but this year we’re adding something special. A Holiday Bride Experience.”
“No.”
“We’re hoping you’ll be our grand finale.”
“Absolutely not.”
Janice plants a mittened hand on her hip.
“Ethan. I am down four eligible bachelors this year. Four. Two shipped out for active duty, one broke his leg, and one ran away to Breckenridge because he ‘needed space.’ I am scraping the bottom of the barrel here for eligible bachelors. You know the townspeople love this event. It’s a big draw. ”
“Sounds like a you problem,” I say, turning back to my woodpile.
She comes closer. “The town needs you! It’s all in good fun. A little festive spirit. You stand onstage for five minutes and let the ladies bid on …”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish!”
“Still no.”
Janice huffs and stomps her foot like a disgruntled reindeer. “Honestly, Ethan. You could use some social interaction. People worry about you up here.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re alone.”
“I prefer it.”
She narrows her eyes. “Is this because it’s Christmas?”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “No.”
She softens a little. Barely. “Ethan … it’s been years.”
“And?”
“And maybe it wouldn’t kill you to come down the mountain once in a while.”
“It might,” I deadpan.
She groans loudly, then tries a different angle. “Okay, look. If you help us out — just this one time — I’ll make sure the council reviews your pending land claim.”
I stop mid-swing. Slowly, I straighten and turn toward her. “What did you just say?”
She lifts her chin, sensing she finally has my attention. “Your dispute over the Larkspur Ridge boundary? You’ve been fighting the town over that for what … five years now?”
“Six.”
“Well,” she says breezily, “if you participate in the auction, I will personally — personally — bring your case up at the next council meeting. I’ll support validating your map survey. And I’ll recommend the town drop opposition and accept your claim in full.”
Cold air whooshes past me, but suddenly I’m warm. Very warm. My parents’ land. The ridge line they walked. The boundaries they marked by hand years ago. The piece of ground every lawyer has tried to tell me isn’t “properly documented.” This land is all I have left of them. And Janice knows it.
“You’re serious?” I ask, voice low.
“As a heart attack.”
She reaches into her oversized purse and pulls out a folder.
“I already have the new draft ready to submit. If you help us, I file this. If you don’t…
” She tucks it back into her bag with dramatic flair.
“Then we continue to argue for another six years. Or ten. You know how slow these things can move.”
My pulse thuds, heavy and slow. This is what I’ve been pushing toward. Waiting for … fighting for.
One stupid auction. One night. For the land that belongs to me.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
Janice lights up like the town Christmas tree. “Wonderful! Oh, Ethan, this is going to be marvelous. The ladies will be thrilled.”
I frown. “I’m not doing anything ridiculous.”
“Of course not.” She hesitates, then adds way too sweetly, “Just wear flannel and a Santa hat.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, you’ll look fantastic. Like a rugged holiday dream.”
“Janice.”
“Nope, too late, you agreed.” She waves her hand as if signing away my sanity. “And don’t worry … you’ll be the featured item.”
“Featured item?”
“Huge draw. Big excitement. Crowd will go wild.” She claps again. “Your package is the Holiday Bride Experience!”
My brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
But she’s already marching back toward the trail like her boots are rocket-powered. “I’ll send details! Don’t be late! And Ethan, thank you. This will mean a lot to the town.”
She disappears over the rise, red parka bobbing until the trees swallow her whole. The woods fall silent again. And I stand there, axe in hand, wondering what the hell I just agreed to.
“Holiday Bride Experience,” I mutter under my breath. “What does that even mean?”
I stop, grip tightening on the handle. Whatever it is, it better be worth my land.
I glance toward the ridge line. For them … for my parents, I’ll do it. But if someone tries to put me in a Santa hat, I’m walking.