Hunter
Chapter Two
Hunter
I pulled into Pine Haven’s parking lot before dawn touched the mountains. My headlights caught a swirling fog that wrapped around the resort like a mother’s embrace—the same fog that used to hide my teenage self sneaking onto the ski slopes before hours, back when Dad was helping Arthur Horton install the lifts. Back when Amelia was Taylor’s quiet friend who’d challenge anyone who claimed girls couldn’t handle the expert runs.
Not the woman who’d been haunting my thoughts since my nephew’s christening three months ago.
I killed the engine but remained in the Mercedes, studying the main building through the mist. Even in the pre-dawn shadows, I caught what investors would label “deferred maintenance”— peeling paint around Victorian trim, shutters hanging slightly askew, fall leaves gathering in forgotten corners. But beneath the wear, I saw what Dad always praised: character money couldn’t manufacture and charm no focus group could design.
My hand brushed the pocket square, and I grimaced at yesterday’s tactical error. The power suit had been CEO armor, as out of place here as my Italian leather shoes. Today I’d opted for dark jeans and a blazer, though “casual” was relative when your entire wardrobe came from Milan. Old habits from a life that felt increasingly hollow lately.
“You’re early.”
Amelia’s voice startled me from my thoughts. She stood framed in the doorway, coffee mug cradled in both hands, backlit by the warm glow spilling from the lobby. She looked like she’d been up for hours, which, knowing her, she probably had been. The sight catapulted me back to summer breaks, watching her help open the resort at dawn. That same quiet determination set to her shoulders even then.
“Thought I’d get a head start.” I climbed the worn steps, each board creaking familiar greetings beneath my impractical shoes. The scent of pine and fresh coffee wrapped around me as I reached the landing. “Nice outfit.”
She glanced down at her hiking boots and practical khakis, a flush coloring her cheeks. Even exhausted, she was beautiful in a way that made me breathless—not the polished beauty of the corporate world, but something real and wild as the mountains themselves. “We’re touring the property today. Unless you’d rather do it in those shoes?”
I couldn’t help but smile. Same old Amelia—quick wit wrapped in quiet defiance. The girl who’d once challenged me to a ski race down Double Black Diamond then refused my help when she wiped out. “I came prepared.” I nodded toward my car, where hiking boots waited. “Though they’re probably not as broken in as yours.”
“Follow me.” She spun around, sending a wave of vanilla and pine past me. “I want to show you something before we start the official tour.”
I fell into step beside her through the lobby, past Sophie at the front desk, who watched us with poorly concealed hope. These people were counting on me—on us—to save more than just a building. The weight of that trust settled heavily as we headed down a hallway I’d somehow missed yesterday.
Black-and-white photographs lined the walls, documenting decades of Pine Haven’s story—not the generic scenic shots that fill corporate resorts, but genuine moments frozen in time. I recognized faces—the Hendersons celebrating their 25th anniversary, now approaching their 50th, and the Parkers’ ski school graduation. Snapshots of memories my family had been part of back when Dad consulted on their first expansion.
Amelia stopped at one particular image, her fingers hovering near the glass. “This was opening day,” she whispered. “Right after my grandfather cut the ribbon.”
I leaned closer, studying the old photograph. A younger version of Arthur Horton stood proudly before the resort, surrounded by what looked like half the town. My throat tightened as I spotted Dad in the crowd, wearing that same confident smile Taylor inherited. The joy on every face was palpable, even through the faded colors and dusty glass.
“Pine Haven wasn’t just his dream.” Amelia’s voice carried an edge of fierce pride that set my heart racing. “It was Evergreen’s first real tourist attraction. Before this, the town was dying. The lumber mill had closed, and families were leaving. This place...” She touched the glass gently. “It gave people hope. Jobs. A reason to stay.”
I turned to study her profile, struck by the passion in her expression. It was the same look she’d worn at Taylor’s wedding, defending Pine Haven against some Silicon Valley exec’s dismissive remarks. “And now?”
“Now?” Her laugh held no humor. “Now we employ thirty-seven people. That’s thirty-seven families, depending on us staying open. And that’s not counting the local businesses we support—the farmers who supply our restaurant, the gift shop that stocks our boutique, the maintenance crews...” She ran a hand through her hair, a gesture I remembered from debate club stress.
“I get it,” I said. “The stakes are high.”
She finally met my eyes, and the intensity there hit me like an avalanche. “Do you? Yesterday you talked about corporate retreats and modernization like this was another business makeover. Pine Haven isn’t some startup you can reinvent overnight, Hunter. People’s lives depend on us getting this right.”
The conviction in her voice struck deep. This was why I’d volunteered—not just because her father asked, because of my complicated feelings, but because I knew Amelia would fight with everything she had to save this place just like Dad would have.
“Show me,” I said. “Everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I need to understand exactly what we’re working with.”
She studied me for a long moment, searching for something in my expression. The early morning light caught the gold in her hair, and I forced myself to focus on the business at hand. Finally, she nodded. “Let’s start with the ski slopes. They’re our biggest liability right now.”
The next three hours were a crash course in resort management and Pine Haven’s heart. Every problem Amelia pointed out came with a story that made spreadsheets and profit margins feel hollow. Outdated ski equipment that had taught three generations of local kids. Unreliable snow machines that still somehow managed enough powder for the annual charity race. The restaurant’s staffing issues complicated by loyalty to a chef who’d worked there for twenty years.
“The spa facilities are decent,” she explained as we crossed the frost-covered grounds. Her boots crunched against the morning-stiff grass. “We upgraded those five years ago, but compared to Crystal Mountain’s new wellness center...” She gestured toward the competing resort looming on the opposite peak.
But I saw something else—potential screaming from every corner. The location was incredible, with views that could rival any luxury resort in the country. The staff we encountered greeted Amelia with genuine warmth that no corporate training manual could replicate. And despite its problems, Pine Haven had what marketing couldn’t manufacture: soul.
When we returned to her office, my mind was already forming a plan. Not just a business strategy, but a vision for what Pine Haven could become while preserving its heart.
“Sit,” I said, pulling out my laptop. The familiar weight felt strange after hours of touring rustic charm. “I want to show you something.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow but settled into her chair. The morning light streaming through her window caught the shadows under her eyes, reminding me why we were here. I pulled up the presentation I’d been working on since yesterday—since that moment after the bank meeting when I’d glimpsed real fear behind her professional mask.
“This is a preliminary marketing strategy.” I turned the screen toward her, watching her expression carefully. “We focus on what makes Pine Haven unique—its history, community connection, authentic charm. But with a modern twist.”
I clicked through the slides, each crafted to preserve Pine Haven’s soul while securing its future. “We position the resort as the anti-corporate retreat. A place where families can disconnect from technology and reconnect with each other. Where corporate teams find genuine team building experiences, not just trust falls in conference rooms.”
“And the costs?” Her voice remained carefully neutral, but I caught the slight tremor in her hands—the same tremor she’d had delivering her valedictorian speech.
“I’m doing this as a favor to your father,” I said, meeting her gaze steadily. The real reason—that I couldn’t bear to watch her lose this place—stayed locked behind my teeth. “No fees, no contracts. Just me helping an old friend of my father’s.”
She stood abruptly, pacing behind her desk like a caged thing. “I can’t accept that.”
“Why not?”
“Because!” She spun to face me, eyes flashing with that fire I remembered from high school debates. “Because you’re Hunter Miller, CEO of Miller Marketing. Your time is worth thousands per hour. Because this isn’t just a quick fix—it’s a month-long commitment at minimum. Because—”
“Because you’re too proud to accept help?” I challenged, standing to face her. The moment felt eerily similar to that dance at Taylor’s wedding when she’d refused to admit she was exhausted from running the resort alone.
She flinched as if I’d struck her. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I moved closer, drawn by some force I couldn’t fight. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, close enough to catch that subtle pine and vanilla scent that always made me think of her. “Amelia, I’m not here as a CEO. I’m here as someone who cares about this place. About...” I caught myself before saying ‘you.’ “About what it means to the community.”
The tension between us crackled like static before a storm. For a moment, I thought she might argue further. Then her shoulders slumped slightly, and I saw the exhaustion she usually hid so well.
“Fine,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. “Partners. But I want everything in writing—what you’re proposing, what you expect in return, all of it.”
I held out my hand, ignoring how my pulse quickened. “Deal.”
She took it, her smaller hand warm in mine. The contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with business partnerships. I remembered another handshake years ago when she’d congratulated me on getting into business school, neither of us knowing how our paths would cross again.
“I’ll have the paperwork drawn up by tomorrow,” I said, reluctantly letting go. “In the meantime, we should start on that recovery plan for the bank. Thirty days isn’t much time.”
Amelia nodded, her professional mask sliding back into place. But as she turned to her computer, I caught something in her expression—vulnerability, maybe. Or fear. The same look she’d had when I’d caught her after that ski slope fall all those years ago.
I had a feeling we were both in over our heads and not just with saving the resort.
“Let’s break down the immediate priorities,” I said, settling into the chair across from her. My laptop screen glowed with spreadsheets and projections, but I found myself distracted by the way she tucked her hair behind her ear—a nervous habit she’d had since debate club. Some things never changed, even if everything else had.
“First thing has to be the ski equipment,” she said, pulling up her files. Outside her window, I could see the slopes where I’d learned to ski, where Dad had taught Taylor and me proper form. “Winter season starts in three months, and we can’t afford another disaster like last year.”
I nodded, making notes while ignoring how the morning light played across her features. “What’s your current rental inventory looking like?”
“Fifty pairs of skis, thirty snowboards, all at least four years old.” She grimaced, and I remembered how Pine Haven used to pride itself on having the valley’s best beginner equipment. “The boots are even worse.”
“And your competitors?”
She pushed back from her desk, frustration clear in every line of her body. “Crystal Mountain got all new equipment last season. They’re offering custom fittings, high-end demos...” Her voice carried the same edge I’d heard whenever she talked about them at family gatherings.
I ran quick calculations in my head, already mapping out industry contacts. “Here’s what we do. Instead of competing head-to-head with Crystal Mountain’s inventory, we focus on families and beginners. Quality starter equipment, excellent instruction, package deals that include lessons.”
“With what money?” She challenged, but I caught the spark of interest in her eyes—the same look she’d get before presenting a winning argument.
“I know suppliers who owe me favors. We might work out a revenue-sharing arrangement instead of upfront purchases.” I paused, watching her process this. “The key is positioning. We’re not trying to be Crystal Mountain. We’re offering something different—a more personal, less intimidating experience for new skiers.”
Amelia leaned back, studying me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. “You’ve thought this through.”
“It’s what I do.” I shrugged, trying to maintain professional distance. “Marketing isn’t just about flashy ads. It’s about understanding what makes a business special and building on that.”
“And what makes Pine Haven special?” Her tone was challenging, but I heard the genuine question underneath.
I met her gaze steadily. “You do.”
The words hung between us, heavy with implication. A slight flush colored her cheeks, reminding me of how she’d looked during that last dance. She glanced down at her papers, but not before I caught the flash of something vulnerable in her eyes.
“I mean,” I continued, forcing my voice to stay professional despite my racing heart, “your connection to this place, your dedication to the staff and community—that’s what sets Pine Haven apart. We need to make that part of the brand.”
“Hunter...” She sighed, and I could hear the weight of our history in that single word. Years of almost-moments at family gatherings, of conversations that ended too soon. “This will not work if you—”
“If I what?”
“If you keep...” She gestured vaguely between us, not quite meeting my eyes. “This. The compliments, the intense looks. We need to keep this strictly professional.”
I leaned forward, choosing words with the same care I used in board meetings. The smart move would be to agree to maintain that safe distance. But I was tired of playing it safe where Amelia was concerned. “And if I don’t want to?”
Her eyes snapped to mine, wide with surprise. “What?”
“Come on, Amelia. We can’t pretend there isn’t something here.” My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced myself to continue. “Every time I see you at family events, every dance at weddings, every casual conversation—there’s always been this... tension.”
“Stop.” She stood abruptly, moving to the window where morning light painted her silhouette in gold. “We can’t do this. Not now. There’s too much at stake.”
I followed, keeping a careful distance, though every instinct urged me closer. Through the window, I could see the ski slopes where we’d first met, where I’d watched her grow from Taylor’s shy friend into the force of nature she was today. “You’re right. The resort has to come first. But Amelia...” I waited until she turned to face me. “We can’t ignore this forever.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, a defensive gesture that tugged at my heart. I remembered seeing her stand just like this at her mom’s funeral, wanting to comfort her but not knowing how.
“I’m not ignoring anything. I’m being practical.” Her voice wavered slightly. “This partnership—whatever this is—has to work. Pine Haven needs it to work.”
“It will,” I assured her, fighting the urge to reach out. Dad’s voice echoed in my memory: Sometimes helping means knowing when to step back. “I promised to help save the resort, and I will. But I won’t pretend I don’t feel what I feel.”
A knock at the door made us both jump. Sophie appeared, mercifully oblivious to the charged atmosphere. “Ms. Horton? The contractors are here about the snow machines.”
“Thank you, Sophie.” Amelia’s professional mask slipped back into place with practiced ease. I wondered how often she’d hide her fears behind that smile. “I’ll be right there.” She turned to me, her voice carefully neutral. “We should table this discussion and focus on the recovery plan.”
I nodded, stepping back to give her space. “Of course. I’ll start making calls about the equipment while you deal with the contractors.”
She paused at the door, one hand resting on the frame. “Hunter?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For wanting to help. Just... Please don’t make this more complicated than it needs to be.”
As she left, I sank into my chair, running a hand through my hair. Too late for that, I thought. I’d made it complicated when I volunteered for this job, knowing I wouldn’t maintain a professional distance, not from her.
The next few hours passed in a blur of phone calls, each connection reminding me of Dad’s favorite saying: ‘Build relationships, not just deals.’ Jake Robertson answered on the first ring, the familiar sounds of his family’s equipment business carrying through the line.
“Hunter Miller,” he laughed. “Taylor mentioned you were back in Evergreen. Pine Haven, right?”
“News travels fast.”
“Small town. Even smaller when it comes to Pine Haven.” His tone shifted, growing serious. “My kids learned to ski there, you know. Before Crystal Mountain started their aggressive expansion.”
Perfect opening. “About that equipment upgrade, you mentioned last month...”
By the time Amelia returned, I had good news to counter what I could read in the shadows under her eyes.
She dropped into her chair, the morning’s tension momentarily forgotten in the face of more immediate problems. “The snow machines are worse than we thought. Two are completely beyond repair, and the others...” She rubbed her temples, a familiar gesture that made my hands itch to help. “Let’s just say we need a miracle.”
“How does a fifty percent discount on new equipment sound?”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
I tried not to look too pleased with myself, though seeing hope replace defeat in her eyes made my heart lift. “Remember Jake Robertson? From high school? He’s running his family’s equipment business now. When I explained the situation, he offered us a deal.”
“That’s...” She blinked rapidly, fatigue briefly replaced by surprise. “That’s incredible. But even at half price, we’re still talking about—”
“Two hundred thousand, minimum,” I finished. “I know. But I have an idea about that, too.”
She leaned back, wariness creeping into her expression. “Why do I feel like I won’t like this?”
“Because you’re stubborn and hate asking for help?” The words came out more fondly than I’d intended, reminding me of all the times Taylor had said the same thing. I cleared my throat and continued, “The town depends on Pine Haven, right? So why not let them invest in it?”
“What do you mean?”
I pulled up a new document I’d been crafting since watching the morning staff interact with guests. “Community investment shares. Local businesses and residents can buy in, becoming stakeholders in Pine Haven’s success. They get annual dividends once we’re profitable, plus perks like discounted stays and priority booking.”
“A community ownership program?” She moved to look over my shoulder at the proposal. Her proximity sent my pulse racing—she smelled like pine needles and something floral that reminded me of summer evenings on the deck. “That’s... actually brilliant.”
“Try not to sound so surprised,” I teased, turning to face her. It was a mistake. We were too close now, her face inches from mine. For a moment, I forgot about business plans and investment strategies, lost in the flecks of gold in her eyes—the same way I’d forgotten them during that last dance.
She stepped back quickly, color rising in her cheeks. “The bank might go for this. It shows community support and provides immediate capital.”
“And keeps Pine Haven’s character intact,” I added, focusing on the screen instead of how my hands still tingled from her nearness. “No corporate takeover, no losing what makes this place special.”
Something shifted in her expression—softened, maybe. “You understand what this place means to people, don’t you?”
“I understand what it means to you.” The words came out heavy with everything I couldn’t say.
Walking to my car later that evening, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d complicated everything. The wise move would be to step back and maintain professional distance. But watching the sunset paint Pine Haven’s windows gold—the same view that had captivated me as a teenager—I knew one thing for certain: I was exactly where I needed to be.
Even if it meant breaking every rule we’d just set.
I pulled out my phone, thumbing to the photo Taylor had sent last week—Amelia at the christening, caught in a rare moment of unguarded laughter. The same light had been in her eyes earlier when discussing the community investment plan.
Dad always said some risks were worth taking, even if they meant getting hurt. Looking back at Pine Haven, at the woman who’d haunted my thoughts long before her father called for help, I finally understood what he meant.
This wasn’t just about saving a resort anymore. Maybe it never had been.