Sugar-Shacked with the Mountain Man (Fall for a Mountain Man #4)

1. Sophie

one

Sophie

My phone buzzes with another text from my boss as I navigate the winding back roads of northern Ontario. Deal better be locked by Friday. Board meeting Monday. Don't disappoint.

No pressure. Just my entire career riding on convincing a stubborn farmer to sell his family's maple operation to Morrison & Associates. The promotion to senior partner, the corner office, the financial security I need. All of it depends on the next forty-eight hours.

The GPS died twenty minutes ago, leaving me with nothing but a hand-drawn map and growing frustration. September in this wilderness is already painting the maple trees in brilliant reds and golds, but I have no time to appreciate the scenery.

"Dubois Maple Farm," I mutter, squinting at the crude directions. "Should be just past the—"

The first snowflake hits my windshield like a cold slap of reality. Snow? In September?

Within minutes, what started as a light dusting becomes a legitimate blizzard.

My designer heels are completely useless as I stumble through rapidly accumulating snow toward what looks like a collection of rustic buildings.

My laptop bag clutched against my chest, I can barely make out the weathered sign: Dubois Maple Farm - Est. 1892 .

The main farmhouse is dark, but smoke rises from a chimney at a smaller building. Fighting against the wind, I push through the storm toward the only sign of life.

The door flies open before I can knock. "What the hell are you doing out in this?"

I find myself staring up at six and a half feet of pure mountain man.

Broad shoulders fill the doorframe, dark hair falls across intense green eyes, and a thick beard covers a strong jaw.

Flannel stretches across a chest that looks like it could fell trees bare-handed.

My professional composure abandons me entirely.

This is not the aging farmer I expected.

"I'm looking for Kane Dubois," I manage through chattering teeth.

"You found him." His voice is a low rumble that seems to vibrate through my bones. "And you're about to freeze to death. Get inside."

He doesn't wait for my response, simply wraps one massive hand around my arm and pulls me into warmth. The space is clearly some kind of workshop—large metal tanks, copper pipes, equipment I don't recognize. But it's warm and dry, and right now that's all that matters.

"I'm Sophia Charles from Morrison & Associates," I say, trying to sound professional while dripping melted snow on his floor. "We have a meeting scheduled to discuss your property."

"The buyout." His voice goes cold. "Yeah, I know who you are."

Kane turns away, stoking a fire in what looks like a massive furnace. The flames cast dancing shadows across the sugar shack, and I can't help but notice the powerful line of his shoulders, how his flannel shirt stretches across his broad back.

"Look," he says without turning around, "whatever corporate bullshit you're here to feed me about 'maximizing potential' can wait. We're snowed in."

"Snowed in?" My voice pitches higher. "It's September!"

"Welcome to northern Ontario, princess." He faces me again, and I have to force myself not to step back from the intensity in his green eyes. "Early blizzards happen. This one's going to dump three feet before it's done."

He moves to the window, wiping away condensation. The world has disappeared into a wall of white. "Road's impassable by now. Won't be getting out until the storm passes and the plows come through."

"How long?" Panic creeps into my voice.

"Four, maybe five days."

I sink onto an old wooden bench, my perfectly manicured fingers running through my damp hair. "This can't be happening. I have meetings. Conference calls. My mother's medical bills depend on—" I catch myself before revealing too much.

"Your mother's what?"

"Nothing. The Morrison account depends on closing this deal quickly."

"Well, the Morrison account can kiss my ass," he interrupts. "And so can you if you think I'm selling my family's farm to corporate vultures."

My temper flares. "Excuse me?"

"This farm has been in my family for five generations. My great-great-grandfather cleared this land with his bare hands, and you think you can waltz in here with your spreadsheets and buy it out from under me?"

"I think you might want to hear the offer before making assumptions about what I'm here to do."

"Lady, I don't care if you're offering Fort Knox. This place isn't for sale." He steps closer, and suddenly I'm very aware of how much space he takes up, how the scent of wood smoke and something purely masculine fills my senses. For a moment, neither of us speaks, the air thick with tension.

"You know what?" I snap, surprising myself. "Fine. Be stubborn. But we're stuck here together whether you like it or not, so maybe we can at least be civil about it."

"Civil?" He barks out a laugh. "How about you civilly explain why your company thinks it can destroy everything my family has built."

"Morrison & Associates doesn't destroy—"

"Bullshit." His green eyes flash. "I've seen what happens to the places your company 'develops.' Strip malls and condos where family farms used to be."

The accusation hits uncomfortably close to home.

Isn't that exactly what happens? Isn't that exactly what I help make happen?

The thought makes my chest tight, so I push it away.

"Look, I'm just here to do my job," I say, trying to sound professional.

"If you don't want to sell, that's your choice. But I still have to present the offer."

"Not tonight, you don't." Kane turns back to the fire, dismissing me. "Tonight we survive. Tomorrow we can go back to being enemies."

Enemies. The word shouldn't send a little thrill through me, but it does.

I look around the space more carefully. It's rustic but well-maintained, with the evaporator dominating one wall. Despite myself, I'm curious.

"This is where you make the maple syrup?"

He glances over his shoulder, surprise flickering across his features. "Yeah, it's the sugar shack. Though we're in maintenance season now. Won't start tapping until late February."

"It's not what I expected."

"What did you expect? Some quaint cottage with gingham curtains?"

I flush because that's not far from what I imagined. "Maybe."

"This is a business, not a tourist attraction.

Takes forty gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup.

Takes time, patience, and a hell of a lot of work.

" There's pride in his voice, and something else.

Love, maybe. The kind of deep connection to something that I've never felt about my job, no matter how successful I've been.

"Must be satisfying," I say quietly.

"It was." His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the hostility fades.

"Until companies like yours decided to turn working farms into shopping centers.

" He notices me shiver. "You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia," he says, his voice gentler.

"There's some dry clothes in the storage room. They'll be too big, but they're warm."

I hesitate. "I'm not changing in front of you."

"Wouldn't dream of it, princess."

The nickname shouldn't affect me, but there's something in the way he says it that makes me squeeze my thighs together ever so slightly.

He shows me to a small storage room, pulling out a flannel shirt and work pants. When he hands them to me, our fingers brush, and I feel a jolt of electricity that has nothing to do with static.

From the way his breath catches, he feels it too.

"I'll just..." I trail off, staring at our joined hands.

"Yeah," he says roughly, pulling away. "I'll be out here."

In the storage room, I peel off my wet business suit, my heart pounding. This is insane. I'm attracted to a man who wants to throw me off his property. A man who represents everything I've been taught to see as backward and unprofitable.

The flannel shirt smells like him—pine and woodsmoke and something clean and masculine. When I pull it on, the soft fabric caresses my skin, and I have to bite back a sound at the sensation.

When I emerge, Kane nearly drops the wrench he's holding. The flannel hangs almost to my knees, sleeves rolled up multiple times. The work pants are cinched with a belt and cuffed.

"Better?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"Better," he agrees.

I move closer to the evaporator, holding my hands out to the warmth. The firelight dances across my face, and I can feel Kane watching me. "How long have you been running this place?" I ask.

"Since my dad died three years ago. But I grew up here. Been working the farm since I could walk." He moves closer, drawn by the fire's warmth. "What about you? Always wanted to be a corporate shark?"

I laugh, surprised by the sound. "Corporate shark? Is that what you think I am?"

"Aren't you?"

I'm quiet for a long moment, staring into the flames. "I used to think I was good at my job because I was helping people. Finding buyers for struggling properties, helping families get out of debt. But lately..."

"Lately what?"

"Lately I wonder if I'm just really good at destroying things people love."

The admission hangs between us, honest and raw. Kane steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

"And what do you love, Sophie?" he asks quietly.

The question catches me off guard. What do I love? My career? My condo in Toronto? My carefully controlled life? Looking up into his green eyes, feeling the warmth of the fire and the unexpected safety of this rustic space, I realize I don't have an answer.

"I don't know," I whisper. "I don't think I've ever really thought about it."

His expression changes, the hostility fading entirely. "That might be the saddest thing I've ever heard."

Before I can respond, he reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The simple touch sends shivers down my spine, and suddenly the space between us feels charged with electricity.

"Kane," I breathe.

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm in trouble."

"Why's that?"

"Because I look at you and I want things I shouldn't want. From someone I'm supposed to be fighting."

His hand slides from my hair to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin. "What kind of things?"

I should step away. I should remember why I'm here, what Mom's medical bills require of me. Instead, I lean into his touch. "I want to know what you taste like," I admit. "I want to feel your hands on me. I want to forget about everything except this moment."

He sucks in a breath. "Sophie..."

"I know it's crazy. I know we're supposed to be enemies. But I've never wanted anything the way I want you right now."

For a heartbeat, we hover on the edge. Then Kane's control snaps, and he crushes his mouth to mine.