Up next in Maple Peak Mountain Men… #2
“No,” she said, wiping beneath one eye. “No, the reception is very much not around here.”
His gaze sharpened slightly, taking in her face.
“You hurt?”
“Only emotionally.”
The corner of his mouth moved again.
“I meant physically.”
“Oh.” She looked down at herself. “I don’t think so. Unless humiliation counts as an injury.”
“Not unless it’s bleeding.”
“Then I’m fine.”
He stepped closer and glanced at the car.
“You alone?”
“Yes.”
His eyes came back to hers.
“You have a phone?”
“No service.”
“Figures.”
He looked at the road, then the sky.
Snow collected on his shoulders.
Sophie hugged her arms around herself, suddenly aware that the faux-fur cape was more decorative than useful.
The man noticed immediately.
His brow lowered.
“You’re freezing.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
The bluntness should have annoyed her.
Instead, it made something inside her settle.
Maybe because he did not sound controlling.
He sounded accurate.
There was a difference.
He moved toward her car and crouched near the front tire.
Sophie watched him assess the snowbank with quiet competence.
Quiet competence was wildly attractive.
This was not useful information after running from her wedding.
He stood.
“Car’s not coming out without a tow.”
“Of course it isn’t.”
“You can wait in my truck while I call it in.”
“That sounds very reasonable.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve had an unreasonable day.”
His eyes flicked to the dress.
“Bride or bridesmaid?”
Sophie raised one finger.
“Please don’t ask if I’m the bride.”
He looked at her for a long second.
“Wasn’t planning to. Seemed obvious.”
She blinked.
Then laughed for real.
Not hysterically this time.
The sound surprised them both.
“I’m Sophie,” she said.
“Jace.”
“Just Jace?”
“Jace Wilder.”
Of course his name was Jace Wilder.
Of course.
Men named Jace Wilder did not sell insurance or argue about fondant. They chopped wood, rescued stranded women, and probably owned at least three axes for non-murder reasons.
Sophie gathered her torn skirt and tried to step forward.
Her bridal heel slipped immediately.
Jace moved fast.
One second he was standing by the car. The next, his hand was around her waist, steadying her before she landed face-first in the snow.
Warmth shot through her despite the cold.
His hand was large.
Solid.
Careful.
“You’re wearing two different shoes,” he said.
“I’m aware.”
“One of them has ducks on it.”
“Yes.”
“Any reason?”
“My getaway driver had strong footwear opinions.’
“You had a getaway driver?”
“No. That would have required planning.”
Jace looked at her.
Then he shook his head once, like he had already accepted she was a problem and was deciding what category.
“Come on.”
He bent and picked up her bouquet from the snow.
Sophie stared.
“You’re saving the bouquet.”
“Looks like it’s been through enough.”
That did something strange to her chest.
Which was ridiculous.
It was a bouquet.
He opened the passenger door of his truck and helped her up.
The dress made the process deeply undignified. Satin got through under her knee. The veil tried to wrap around the steering column. One layer of tulle refused to enter the vehicle.
Jace stood there patiently while she wrestled with it.
“I’m usually more graceful,” she said.
“Sure.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I’ve got limited evidence.”
“Fair.”
He reached in, gathered the last of the dress with surprising gentleness, and tucked it safely inside so he could close the door.
The truck cab was warm and smelled like pine, leather and cold air.
Jace climbed in, started the engine, and pulled out a radio.
He spoke briefly to someone about the car, the mile marker, and the snow conditions. His voice was low and steady.
Sophie watched his hands on the wheel.
Rough hands.
Capable hands.
Hands that picked up her bouquet from the snow like it mattered.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
She tried to shake the thoughts and looked out the windshield instead.
Snow swept across the road, erasing tire tracks.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“My cabin.”
Her eyes widened.
Jace glanced at her.
“Unless you prefer the truck.”
“No. Cabin is good. Cabins are… cabin-shaped.’
Another tiny mouth twitch.
“It’s ten minutes from here. Storm’s getting worse. You need dry clothes and heat.”
Dry clothes.
Heat.
A cabin with a strange mountain man.
The rational part of Sophie’s brain gently raised a hand.
The rest of her, exhausted from running, cold, embarrassed, and emotionally scraped raw, only noticed that for the first time all day, someone seemed less interested in managing her and more interested in making sure she did not freeze.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Jace’s gaze moved briefly to her face.
“You’re welcome.”
Her phone buzzed faintly from somewhere in the dress.
Somehow it had signal again.
Then another buzz.
Then another.
Sophie closed her eyes.
Jace noticed.
“Groom?”
“Among others.”
“You want to answer?”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
Simple words.
No pressure.
No lecture.
No demand for an explanation.
Just permission.
She let out a shaky breath.
“I’m not usually this dramatic.”
Jace glanced at the wedding dress.
Sophie sighed.
“Fine. Recently, there’s been evidence.”
He drove in silence for a moment.
Then he said, “You running from him or from the wedding?”
The question was quiet.
Not nosy.
Not judgmental.
Sophie looked down at her ring.
“I’m not sure yet.”
Jace nodded once, as if that answer made sense.
Most people would have pushed.
He didn’t.
The road narrowed as they climbed between dense pines. A warm light eventually appeared through the storm.
His cabin sat tucked among the trees, built of dark logs with a stone chimney and a wide front porch dusted in snow. It looked sturdy and isolated and exactly like the kind of place a woman in the middle of a nervous breakdown might accidentally fall in love with.
Not the place.
The safety.
Obviously.
Jace parked close to the porch and turned off the engine.
Before Sophie could reach for the door, he was already outside, coming around to help her down.
“I can manage,” she said automatically.
He looked at her shoes.
“Can you?”
She followed his gaze to the duck boot and bridal heel.
“I can emotionally manage.”
“That’s different.”
He offered his hand.
Sophie stared at it.
Then took it.
His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong, and something in her chest went very still.
He helped her out carefully, one hand steady at her waist when the dress tried once again to sabotage her. Snow swirled around them as they crossed the porch.
At the door, Sophie stopped.
Jace looked down at her.
“What?”
She swallowed.
“I should probably warn you.”
“About?”
She lifted her chin with the last shred of dignity she possessed.
“This is not my first runaway wedding.”
Jace stared at her.
One second.
Two.
Then that almost-smile returned.
“Repeat offender,” he said.
Despite everything, Sophie laughed.
Jace opened the cabin door, and warmth spilled out into the snowy night.
“Bride or not,” he said, voice low and steady, “you’re not freezing out here.”
Sophie stepped inside.
And for the first time since the music started at the church, she stopped feeling like she was running.
***