Chapter 2
Chapter Two
BEAU
The truck's heater blasts full force, but Clara's still shivering, her teeth making little clicking sounds she's trying to hide. Comet's in the back, fogging up the window with his breath.
“Put your hands here,” I tell her, adjusting the vents to blow directly on her fingers. “It'll sting when they warm up.”
“I'm f-fine.” But she places her hands where I showed her, wincing.
“You’re not fine. You’re freezing.”
Her eyes shift, guarded. Not fear exactly, but caution. The kind of caution any woman should feel when she’s alone on a mountain with a stranger who could bench-press her without breaking a sweat.
She lifts a hand, trying to put some space between us. “I don’t know you. Why were you out here in the storm?”
“I help check the roads when the weather gets bad, in case anyone gets stuck. I’m a part-time ranger.” I reach inside my jacket and show her my ID, and her tense shoulders relax a little.
“I guess we can’t get back to town?”
“No, the roads will be blocked by now. I’m taking us to shelter.” I expect her to protest, but she nods, rubbing her hands together. I navigate the truck around her rental, careful on the ice.
“Is your ankle hurt?” She was limping before I picked her up.
“Just twisted. It's nothing.”
Everything's “nothing” and “fine” with her, even though she nearly died trying to get a photo.
She pulls a phone from her pocket. “The battery’s dead. I was going to call for help.”
“Wouldn't matter anyway. No signal up on this part of the road.” I glance at her as I navigate a switchback. She looks lost. Young too. Can't be more than twenty-five. “You got people expecting you?”
“My boss. She'll be furious. This assignment means everything.”
“Family?”
“My parents are in Portugal. They don't expect me for the holidays. I usually work through Christmas anyway.”
“Is that why you don't know how to read mountain weather? Too many Christmases in an office?”
She bristles, shooting me a glance. Good. Anger's better than shock. “I know how to read weather apps.”
“Weather apps!” I can't help snorting.
She shakes her head. “Some old guy called Carl gave me a warning before I came up here. You sound like him.”
I turn onto my private road, the truck handling the steep grade easily. “Carl is never wrong about a big storm.”
“Look, I had to get the shots that could get me promoted to Creative Director. I’d be the youngest in the agency's history.”
“And that's worth freezing to death for?”
“I wasn't going to die.”
“You were ten miles from town in a blizzard with no phone, no supplies, and boots that can't handle the ice. If I hadn't arrived, they'd have found you in spring.”
Her face pales at that. I didn't mean to scare her.
“I'm glad you came along. Thank you.”
I glance over at her again. Wavy auburn hair falling out of what was probably once a perfect bun. Big ice-blue eyes, full lips, and a sprinkling of freckles on her nose. She's gorgeous.
“Let's get you inside.”
I carry her again, ignoring her protests that she’s fine.
The cabin's warm. I set her on the couch and add logs to the fire. The wood catches quickly, flames dancing up.
“Bathroom's through there if you need it. I'll make something warm to drink.”
Clara limps to the bathroom while I put the kettle on. The cabin feels different with her in it. More cozy somehow. Comet follows her, tail wagging, already in love. Traitor.
When she comes back, she settles by the fire, and I hand her a mug of tea.
“Thank you, Beau.”
I check my weather radio instead of responding. The reports are worse than I thought; three feet expected, maybe four in the higher elevations.
“How bad is it?” she asks, reading my expression.
“You'll be here at least two nights. Maybe three.”
Her face cycles through panic, frustration, then resignation. “My boss is going to be furious.”
“Better than freezing to death.”
“I've worked seventy-hour weeks for two years. Missed every holiday. This promotion was supposed to make it all worth it.”
I understand more than she knows. “Let me guess… you work harder than everyone else, but somehow it's never quite enough?”
Her eyes widen. “How did you…”
“Lucky guess.” I move to the window to check the snow. It's coming sideways now. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”
Her face falls. “I don't have anything. My case was in the trunk.”
Right. I head to my dresser, pulling out flannel pants and a thermal shirt. “These'll be huge, but they're warm.”
She takes them, our fingers brushing. There’s that same jolt from earlier and pure electricity runs straight down to my cock.
While she changes in my bedroom, I try not to think about her in my clothes, in my space.
She emerges with the pants rolled up, the shirt hanging past her hips.
She should look ridiculous. Instead, she looks like she belongs right here by my fire, those soft curves doing things to my shirt that should be illegal.
My cock jumps in my pants, pressing against my zipper.
“Better?” I ask, voice rougher than intended.
She settles back by the fire. “Much. Your cabin is beautiful.”
“This was my uncle's place. He left it to me, probably because no one else in the family wanted it. Too small.”
“Why did you want it?” Clara studies my space: the big, twinkling Christmas tree, my bookcases, and the half-carved reindeer on my workbench.
I clear my throat. “It's quiet up here.”
“Lonely?” she asks, then looks horrified. “Sorry, that's none of my business.”
“Sometimes. But loneliness's better than being surrounded by people who don’t understand you…”
She's quiet. The fire pops, sending sparks up the chimney. Comet comes over to me, pawing at my leg. I get out his jingling reindeer antlers and put them on his head. He prances over to Clara.
She giggles. “He actually likes wearing these?”
I nod. “It’s a long story. He thinks he’s part reindeer.”
Comet settles at her feet, looking content.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, needing to move, just so I stop gawking at her.
“Starving. I was going to eat after I got the shots.”
I start making grilled cheese and soup. Comfort food. “So your folks are in Portugal?”
“My parents opened a restaurant a few years ago.” She's trying to sound casual, but there's sadness underneath. “They invited me for Christmas, but it's a long flight for just two days, and work is so busy…”
“You haven't seen them in a while?”
“Two years.” She watches me stir the soup. “They think I work too much. They're probably right.”
“Are they?”
She considers this. “I don't know anymore. It seemed so important this morning. Now I'm stuck in a cabin in a stranger's clothes, my phone is dead, I'll probably lose my job, and somehow... it doesn't feel like the end of the world.”
I laugh. “This mountain has a way of putting things in perspective.”
“Is that what it did for you?”
“Something like that. Took me ‘til I was old to figure out what mattered, though.”
“How old are you?”
“Forty.”
“Forty's not old,” Clara says quickly, then blushes.
“It is when you're what… twenty-five?”
“I’m twenty-six next month. And you don't seem old.” Another blush. “I mean—”
“Thanks, I think.” I can't help the small laugh that escapes.
We eat, Clara making little sounds of appreciation. When was the last time a beautiful woman sat at my table? She finishes, then yawns and stretches.
I smile at her. “I’ll take the couch…”
“That's ridiculous,” she says. “You're like six-four. You can't sleep on that.”
I shake my head. “The sofa was my uncle’s. I keep meaning to get a new one. Anyway, I've slept in worse places.”
“We're adults. The bed's big enough. You stay on your side, I'll stay on mine.” Her cheeks are pink, not meeting my eyes.
“Clara—”
“Unless you snore?”
This is ridiculous. I stand abruptly. “I don’t snore. We should sleep. Storm might break tomorrow.”
But we both know it won't.