Naughty With The Mountain Man

Chapter 1

Ellie

If I die out here in the snow, I hope someone at least finds my body with good hair.

The curls took effort this morning. I even used the big-barrel iron and that anti-humidity spray, which—okay, yes, is pointless in a snowstorm, but it made me feel put together.

Now the wind is basically slapping me in the face with my own hood while I lug a suitcase up a mountain in boots that were clearly labeled “fashion, not function.”

This is not how I thought today would go.

Then again, I didn’t think my December would involve mystery packages, veiled threats, and being told—very gently, and with deep concern—that I should leave town for a while.

And here I am.

On a mountain.

Dragging myself toward a cabin owned by a man who thinks eye contact is a threat.

“I am not scared of grumpy mountain men,” I mutter under my breath, nearly tripping over a tree root disguised as a snow drift. “I watch documentaries. I’ve survived a PTA meeting with four Karens. I can handle one broody ex-soldier.”

I just wish he had a doorbell.

The cabin finally comes into view, nestled in the trees like it’s hiding from the modern world. It’s all dark wood and sharp lines, smoke curling from the chimney. Cozy, if it weren’t for the general murdery vibe.

I adjust my scarf, square my shoulders, and march up the steps like this isn’t the most awkward favor I’ve ever called in.

Knock-knock.

Silence.

Knock-knock-knock. “Micah?” I call out, cheerful and breezy like I’m not freezing and internally spiraling. “Hi! It’s Ellie Bright! Your old friend Nate sent me!”

Still nothing.

I glance around for cameras. A sign. A warning. Anything. But all I get is wind, pine trees, and the very strong feeling I’m about to be eaten by a wolf or a man who thinks he’s a wolf.

Then the door swings open.

And whoa.

He’s bigger than a mountain.

Micah Hunt, in the flesh: tall, broad, jaw like he was carved from frost and regrets. He’s wearing a long-sleeve thermal shirt that clings in deeply unfair ways, cargo pants, and the scowl of a man who’s been interrupted while chopping wood with his bare hands.

His voice is low and gravelly. “You’re not Nate.”

“Nope,” I chirp. “I’m the Christmas present he didn’t warn you about.”

Micah just stares at me. No expression. No smile. Definitely no Christmas spirit. He steps back wordlessly, like I’m a problem he’ll deal with later.

I wheel my suitcase in. “Thanks for the warm welcome! You really roll out the red carpet for your guests, huh?”

“This isn’t a bed and breakfast,” he mutters.

“It’s fine,” I say brightly. “I brought snacks. You don’t happen to have peppermint hot cocoa and wi-fi, do you?”

He gives me a look that could melt the snow off a roof. “You’re joking.”

“A little.”

He shuts the door behind me and the silence settles thick around us. I take in the cabin—high ceilings, a stone fireplace, weapons on the wall (comforting?), and a large dog curled up by the fire. The dog lifts its head, looks at me, then promptly decides I’m not a threat and goes back to sleep.

“Good boy,” I whisper.

Micah crosses his arms. “You were supposed to stay with Nate.”

“Nate said you’d keep me alive.” I smile sweetly. “Besides, you’re so festive.”

His eyes narrow. “This isn’t a vacation, Ellie.”

I know that.

God, I know that.

I swallow the nerves, the tightness in my chest that hasn’t gone away since the third note showed up at my office mailbox.

“I got another package yesterday,” I say, softer now. “It had a broken partridge ornament and a receipt with my home address scrawled across it. Someone’s watching me. Someone who knows I work with kids who’ve seen too much. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Micah’s face doesn’t change, but I see something flicker behind his eyes.

He nods once. “You’ll stay here. You don’t go anywhere without me knowing. If something happens, you say my name first and loud.”

My heart thuds, not with fear, but something I can’t name yet. “Okay.”

“Don’t touch the weapons. Don’t let the dog fool you—he bites.”

I glance at the dog. He’s snoring.

Micah rubs a hand down his face like he’s already exhausted by my existence. “You hungry?”

“I could eat,” I say, because my coping mechanism is snacks and sarcasm.

He heads to the kitchen, and I drop my bag, heart still racing. I’m not sure if it’s leftover adrenaline or the fact that the grumpiest man I’ve ever met just offered me food.

Maybe both.

I look around the cabin again, this strange safe haven in the middle of nowhere, and tell myself this is fine. This is temporary. This is just a pit stop while we figure out who’s sending creepy holiday threats and why.

Still…

Something about the way Micah moves—with control, with quiet intensity—tells me he doesn’t do anything halfway. Not protection. Not grudges. And definitely not whatever it is I feel flickering between us like kindling.

Christmas just got complicated.