Mountain Man’s Christmas Light (Wildwood Valley Christmas #4)

Chapter 1

brIELLE

It was almost impossible to focus with a blue-eyed Greek god staring me down.

He wasn’t just good-looking. He was the kind of man you saw once in a lifetime and remembered forever.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with arms crossed over his chest like he owned the place.

That denim jacket clung to him in ways that should be illegal, seams straining over biceps so massive, I half expected them to split open right there in front of me.

His jaw was strong and shadowed with stubble, his dark blond hair falling across his forehead like it had been perfectly tousled by the mountain wind.

And those eyes. Lord help me, those eyes.

Meanwhile, I was just trying to keep my hands from shaking while demonstrating the laser-cut nativity scene in my signature lantern.

“I think I’ll pass,” the customer said, her voice apologetic but firm.

She ushered her twin daughters away, the girls already tugging her toward the booth selling peppermint fudge. I plastered on a smile until they were gone.

“Merry Christmas,” I called after them, though the words fell flat.

Great. Another lost sale. My carefully rehearsed pitch had flopped again, and I needed this one—bad. My savings account was dwindling faster than snow melting in a December thaw, and if I couldn’t even sell these lanterns at festivals, what hope did I have of building an online shop?

But all of that faded the instant I realized Mr. Blue-Eyed Greek God was still standing there.

Facing me. Staring at me.

There was nothing between us but a display of metallic lanterns painted in reds, greens, silvers, and golds, each with Christmas-themed cutouts. And the longer he stared, the harder it was to breathe.

“May I help you?” I asked, my voice higher-pitched than I intended. He wasn’t saying a word—just looking at me like I’d dropped down from the North Pole wrapped in ribbon.

“I need lanterns,” he said finally.

Three words, spoken in a voice that was low and rough, like gravel poured over velvet. My stomach flipped, betraying me.

“Okay,” I managed, my mind scrambling for footing.

I launched into my sales pitch as though it were my only lifeline.

My signature lanterns changed colors when held to the light, subtle blues shifting to warm golds.

Others had a glittering finish that caught the glow of fairy lights strung across the festival square.

I pointed out the cutouts—trees, stars, presents, snowflakes—and the more complicated nativity scenes that had taken me hours with a laser cutter and even longer sanding and polishing by hand.

By the time I gestured toward the backdrop that showed off how, when lit, the lanterns cast intricate spinning designs across nearby walls, my pulse was pounding in my ears. I prayed he couldn’t see my trembling fingers.

Because this man made me nervous. Not just a little flustered, but nervous in a way I’d never been in my life.

I didn’t have much experience with men. Scratch that—I had basically none. And yet here I was, standing in front of a man who looked like every fantasy rolled into one. He was rugged. Gorgeous. Dangerous in that way where you knew if you got too close, you’d never recover.

When I finally dared to look up at him, expecting the same “Thanks, but no thanks” I’d gotten all day, he said something that made me forget how to breathe.

“I’ll take them all. Temporarily, anyway.”

My jaw dropped.

All of them? The dollar signs practically danced in front of my eyes. With one order, I could not only cover my booth fees and travel expenses, but also chip away at the mountain of student loans hanging over me like a storm cloud. For once, something might actually go my way.

But then his last sentence registered.

“Temporarily?” I echoed.

He nodded, his gaze steady, his mouth set in a line that was just a little too stern, a little too irresistible.

“We need to borrow them. The pathway lights for the kids’ Christmas pageant went out.

The kids are supposed to walk from the back of the festival grounds to the stage while singing carols.

It’s tradition. But the electrical system failed this afternoon.

No time to fix it. Your lanterns can light up the pathway. ”

My heart sank so fast, it hurt. “Oh. So you don’t want to buy them. You want to borrow them.”

“That’s right.”

I shook my head, heat flushing my cheeks. “I can’t. These lanterns are all I have to sell. If something happens to them—if they get knocked over and stepped on or dented—I’ll have nothing left. I can’t afford to replace them.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a spark lighting in the blue. “Lady, I work construction. I know how to handle things without damaging them. These kids have been practicing for weeks. You’re really going to let them down over the possibility of a dent or two?”

Oh, he was infuriating. Infuriatingly handsome, infuriatingly confident. And he was standing close enough that I caught a whiff of him—pine and sawdust and something so ruggedly masculine I wanted to lean closer just to breathe it in.

I folded my arms. “It’s not just a possibility. These are kids. Kids drop things. And these aren’t just pieces of metal—they’re my livelihood. Each one takes me hours to make.”

He stepped closer, leaning over the table just enough that I felt the heat radiating from his body. My heart hammered, but I stood my ground.

“What would it take?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“To get you to let us borrow them. Name your price.”

The way he said it made me bite my lip without even realizing it. His voice was deep, steady, promising.

I considered. The truth was, I needed sales, but more than that, I needed visibility. An idea sparked.

“If I’m going to risk my entire inventory to save your Christmas pageant, I want something in return,” I said.

One dark brow lifted. “I’m listening.”

“I want Mayor Pearce to mention my lanterns when she introduces the kids tonight. Tell everyone they’re handmade, and that I’m selling them at booth twelve. If I’m going to take this risk, at least give me a chance to benefit from it.”

For a long moment, he just studied me. His gaze traveled over my face slowly, lingering, like he was memorizing every feature. My lips tingled as though he’d touched them, though he hadn’t moved an inch.

Finally, he said, “Deal. And I’m staying with them the whole time. I’ll personally make sure every lantern makes it back in perfect condition.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He extended one large, calloused hand across the display table.

I slipped mine into his, and the moment our palms met, a jolt of electricity shot through me. His hand was warm, strong, rough in a way that made me wonder how it would feel against my skin in other places.

“Wade Metcalfe,” he said, his thumb brushing across my knuckles like it belonged there.

“Brielle Goodwin,” I said, my voice sounding hoarse.

“Well, Brielle Goodwin,” he murmured, holding my gaze as if he could see straight into my soul, “looks like you just saved Christmas.”

For a second, neither of us moved. The crowd bustled around us—children laughing, music drifting from the stage—but all I could feel was his hand around mine, his thumb still stroking lightly.

And when he finally released me, it was with a look that left me shaky, wondering if this was only the beginning.

Because as I watched this mountain of a man carefully lift my most delicate lantern like it was made of spun glass, I started to believe that maybe some promises really were worth keeping.

Maybe, just maybe, this Christmas wasn’t going to be like all the others.

Not for the kids.

And not for me.