Ice Hearted Mountain Man (Not Looking For Love #6)

Chapter 1

GEMMA

Valentine’s Day had infected Wildwood Valley.

I noticed it more as I drew closer to the entrance to town. Red and pink ribbons wrapped around the power poles. Heart-shaped banners hung from the Wildwood Valley Inn’s Tudor facade. Even the Pancake House next door had a hand-painted sign in the window advertising their “Sweetheart Special.”

Not that I was bitter. I wasn’t. Twenty-three was too young to be bitter about love. I just had other priorities right now—like proving to everyone at the mayor’s office that I was more than the kid they sent to fetch coffee and take notes at meetings.

My phone buzzed in the cupholder. I glanced at the screen. Mom.

I let it go to voicemail. I already knew what she wanted—to ask if I had plans tonight, to remind me that she and Dad had been married for two years by the time she was my age, to gently suggest that maybe I should put myself out there more.

She meant well. They both did. But their love story wasn’t mine, and I was tired of feeling like I was running behind on some invisible timeline.

Love would happen when it happened. Right now, I had a career to build.

The firehouse came into view on my left, all gleaming red trucks and modern architecture. Directly across the street, the Wildwood Ridge Roadhouse sat quiet this early in the morning, though I caught a glimpse of red tablecloths through the windows. Even the honky-tonk was leaning into the holiday.

I pulled past the firehouse and slowed as I approached my destination.

The sad little trailer where Dr. Hanson ran her veterinary practice sat on its foundation, looking more temporary than ever.

Next to it, a patch of cleared dirt marked the future site of the real clinic—the project the mayor’s office had been overseeing for months.

The project I’d been sent to check on. Today. On Valentine’s Day. Because apparently, progress reports didn’t take holidays, and since I was the newest and youngest member of the staff, I got the jobs no one else wanted.

I parked next to the lone black truck already in the lot and killed the engine. No crew in sight. No sounds of construction. Just that single truck and a construction trailer serving as the on-site office, looking lonely against the gray February sky.

Someone was here, at least.

I grabbed my bag, climbed out into the cold, and picked my way across the dirt lot toward the trailer.

My practical flats weren’t ideal for the terrain, but I’d learned early that heels and fieldwork didn’t mix.

Three metal steps led up to the door. I knocked once, then pushed it open without waiting.

The man inside looked up from a desk buried in blueprints and paperwork.

I forgot how words worked.

He was big. That registered first. Broad shoulders strained against a flannel shirt, arms roped with muscle, hands large enough to make the pen he held look like a toy. Dark hair that needed a cut. A jaw sharp enough to cast shadows.

And eyes like a frozen lake. Pale blue-gray, cold and assessing, fixed on me like I’d interrupted something important.

“Can I help you?”

His voice matched the rest of him. Deep, rough, uninviting.

“Gemma Ellis.” I stepped inside and shut the door against the chill. “Mayor’s office. I’m here to review the project timeline and budget reports.”

Something flickered across his face. Annoyance, maybe. “They sent someone on Valentine’s Day?”

“They sent me on Valentine’s Day.” I kept my tone pleasant, professional. “Progress reports don’t take holidays, apparently.”

He stared at me for a beat too long. Then he gestured toward the folding chair across from his desk. “Suit yourself. This’ll take a while.”

I crossed the cramped space and sat, setting my bag beside my feet.

The trailer was small but organized—blueprints tacked to every wall, filing cabinets lining one side, an ancient coffeemaker in the corner that looked like it ran on spite and habit.

The space smelled like paper and sawdust. I tried to ignore the scent.

“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” I said as he rifled through a stack of folders. “You took over the project recently?”

“Kade Mercer. Excavation and foundation.” He found the folder he wanted and dropped it between us. “Started two months ago when the last contractor walked.”

“I remember. Materials dispute, right?”

“Something like that.” His tone didn’t invite follow-up questions.

I flipped open the folder. Budget spreadsheets, invoices, timeline projections—everything I needed to verify that the project was on track. It would take hours to work through properly. Hours in this cramped trailer with a man who seemed allergic to small talk.

“Coffee’s in the corner if you want it,” Kade said without looking up. “It’s terrible, but it’s hot.”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

I settled in and started working through the documents. He returned to his blueprints, scribbling notes in the margins with that ridiculously small pen. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the hum of the space heater fighting the February cold and the occasional rustle of paper.

It should have been awkward. Instead, it was almost peaceful. Two people doing their jobs, demanding nothing from each other. A welcome change from the constant chatter of the mayor’s office.

I looked up at one point to ask a question and caught him watching me. He glanced away fast, his jaw going tight, but not before I glimpsed something behind that frozen expression. Something that didn’t match the cold exterior at all.

Then it vanished, and I wondered if I’d imagined it.

“This invoice,” I said, tapping a line item to break the strange tension. “The concrete delivery on January fifteenth. The quantity doesn’t match the materials estimate.”

He leaned over to see what I was pointing at. Close enough that I caught his scent—a musky, but fresh scent that reminded me of being in the woods on a fresh spring day.

“Weather delay.” His voice stayed flat. “Had to split the pour. Second delivery came on the twentieth.”

“Documentation?”

“Should be in there.” He reached across me to flip through the folder, his forearm brushing mine.

Brief. Accidental. Completely innocent.

It still sent heat racing up my arm and into places it had no business going.

I shifted back, adding space between us. Professional. I was here to be professional. Not to notice how his hands looked, or wonder what they’d feel like if—

No. Absolutely not.

Kade found the page and slid it toward me. “Satisfied?”

“Getting there.” I kept my voice even. “This will take a few more hours. I can come back another day if you’d rather.”

“No.” The word came out clipped. He seemed to catch himself and softened slightly. “No, let’s finish it. Crew’s coming tomorrow. I’d rather have this done.”

“Fine by me.”

I turned back to the paperwork. He turned back to his blueprints. The space heater hummed. Outside, Wildwood Valley was drowning in hearts and roses and couples making moon eyes at each other over pancakes.

In here, it was just me, a stack of invoices, and a man who clearly wished I’d evaporate.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

I pulled my reading glasses from my bag and prepared for the long haul. Across the desk, Kade Mercer glared at his blueprints like they owed him money.

The trailer felt smaller than when I’d walked in. The air felt thicker, too, despite the draft sneaking through the thin walls.

I blamed the space heater.

But deep down, I knew it was so much more than that.