Mountain Man’s Winter Sunshine (Wildwood Valley Firehouse #6)

Chapter 1

ELSA

The second I saw him walk through the door, my heart stopped.

Not in a good way. Not in that romantic, butterflies-in-your-stomach way the romance novels talk about. No, this was pure, ice-cold dread pooling in my gut as Preston Chapman stepped into the Wildwood Valley Roadhouse like he had every right to be there.

He didn’t. This was my place now. My town. My life.

I’d been wiping down the same glass for the past thirty seconds, frozen in place behind the bar. The roads had cleared after the big snow, and I’d been so relieved. People could come and go again. The town was opening back up.

It never occurred to me that he would come.

My ex-boyfriend stood just inside the entrance, scanning the room with that familiar, methodical way of his.

He was handsome in a clean-cut, country-club kind of way—sandy hair neatly combed, khaki pants pressed, a pale blue button-down that probably cost more than my weekly tips.

Back in Charlotte, my mother called him “a catch.” My father nodded approvingly over Sunday brunch.

And I’d tried. God, I’d really tried to feel something for him.

His eyes found me, and something flickered across his face. Relief, maybe. Determination. He started walking toward the bar, and I felt my throat close up.

I couldn’t do this. Not again. Not the quiet conversations where he’d explain, so patiently, why we made sense together.

Not the logical arguments about compatibility and shared backgrounds and how feelings would grow if I just gave it time.

I’d given it eight months. Eight months of trying to convince myself that comfortable was close enough to happy.

It wasn’t.

My gaze darted around the roadhouse, desperate for an escape. The place was half-full—a few regulars at the bar, some couples in the booths, and at the big table in the back corner, most of the fire crew sat loud and rowdy and impossible to ignore.

One of them sat apart from the others tonight. The grumpy one. Briggs, I thought his name was. He was nursing a beer at a smaller table near the wall, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. Big. Broad-shouldered. A beard that said he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of him.

The opposite of Preston in every possible way.

Preston was getting closer. Ten feet away now. I could see him rehearsing whatever speech he’d prepared on the drive up here.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I set the glass down, slipped out from behind the bar, and walked straight toward Briggs like I had somewhere important to be. He looked up as I approached, confusion flickering in his dark eyes.

“Hey,” I said, my voice coming out breathy and strange.

Before he could respond, I slid onto his lap.

His whole body went rigid beneath me. I felt the hard muscle of his thighs, the warmth of him through my jeans. He smelled like smoke and something clean, like pine.

“What the—” he started, but I leaned in close, my lips nearly brushing his ear.

“Please,” I whispered. “Just go with this. Please.”

I felt him tense even more, felt his hand hover near my hip like he wasn’t sure whether to push me away or pull me closer. Then I heard Preston’s voice behind me.

“Elsa?”

I turned my head just enough to see him standing a few feet away. His face had gone pale, his mouth slightly open. He looked from me to Briggs and back again, processing what he was seeing.

“Preston.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” He blinked several times, rapid-fire. “I came to talk to you. We never properly finished our conversation. But I can see that you’re…” His gaze dropped to where Briggs’s hand had settled on my hip—a warm, heavy weight that sent an unexpected shiver through me. “Occupied.”

Briggs’s fingers flexed, and when he spoke, his voice was a low rumble that I felt as much as heard. “She’s more than occupied, buddy. She’s mine.”

The word shot through me like electricity. Mine.

Preston’s jaw tightened. For a long moment, he just stood there, and I could practically see his brain working through the situation. Running calculations. Assessing variables. That was how Preston operated. Everything was a problem to be solved.

But there was no solving this. Not when a man twice his size was staring him down with a look that promised violence.

“I’ll come back,” Preston finally said. “When you’re not…when we can talk privately.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said.

“Elsa.” His voice had that patient, reasonable tone I’d heard a thousand times. “You left without any real closure. I just need to understand—”

“She said there’s nothing to talk about.” Briggs’s arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer against his chest. “You heard her.”

Preston looked at me one more time, something wounded in his expression. Then he nodded once, turned, and walked out the door.

The second he was gone, I let out a breath. My whole body sagged with relief, and for a moment I just sat there on this stranger’s lap, trying to remember how to breathe.

Then reality came crashing back.

I was sitting on a man’s lap. A man I barely knew. A man whose hand was still pressed against my hip like it belonged there.

“Oh god.” I tried to scramble off him, mortification flooding through me. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I just—”

But his arm tightened, keeping me in place. “Hold up.”

I froze, my hands braced against his chest. Beneath my palms, I could feel his heartbeat—steady and strong. Nothing like my own, which was racing so fast I thought I might pass out.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“Nobody.”

“Didn’t look like nobody.” His eyes searched my face, and there was something in his gaze I couldn’t quite read. Not anger, though I’d half expected that. Something warmer. More curious. “You’re shaking.”

I was. I hadn’t even noticed until he said it, but my hands were trembling against his shirt.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically. “Really. I just…I panicked. I’m sorry I dragged you into whatever that was.”

“Don’t apologize.” His thumb traced a small circle on my hip, almost absently, and I felt the touch everywhere. “Just tell me if I need to worry about him walking back through that door.”

I opened my mouth to tell him it was nothing. That Preston was harmless. That I’d handled it and he could go back to brooding alone in the corner.

But something about the way he was looking at me made the lie stick in my throat.

“He’s an ex,” I finally admitted. “From Charlotte. I ended things months ago, but he…” I shook my head. “He doesn’t really take no for an answer.”

Briggs’s expression darkened. “He hurt you?”

“No. Not like that. He’s not dangerous, he’s just…” I struggled to find the right word. “Persistent. He thinks if he’s patient enough, logical enough, I’ll eventually see that we belong together. He doesn’t understand that I just don’t feel that way about him. I never did.”

The admission hung between us. I hadn’t meant to say that much. I didn’t know why I had. Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. Maybe it was the way Briggs was looking at me like he actually wanted to hear the answer.

“So you moved here to get away from him?”

“Partly.” I let out a small laugh. “Mostly I came here to get away from everything. My parents. Their expectations. The life I was supposed to want.” I gestured vaguely at the roadhouse around us. “This wasn’t exactly the plan. But it’s the first place that’s ever felt like mine.”

He was quiet for a long moment, studying me with those dark eyes. I was suddenly very aware that I was still sitting on his lap, that his arm was still around my waist, that my hands were still pressed against the solid wall of his chest.

I should move. I really should move.

“Elsa.” The way he said my name, low and rough, made something flutter in my stomach. “He’s going to come back.”

“I know.”

“And when he does?” His grip on my hip tightened just slightly. “You’re going to need to tell him to go. Clearly. No room for interpretation.”

“I’ve tried. He doesn’t—”

“Then I’ll be there when you do it.” His voice left no room for argument. “He needs to see it’s done. Really done.”

I stared at him, confused. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”

Something shifted in his expression. The grumpy, closed-off man I’d watched from behind the bar for weeks seemed to crack open, just a little. Just enough for me to glimpse something underneath.

“Maybe I’d like to get to know you.”

My breath caught. For a long moment, neither of us moved. The roadhouse noise faded around us—the clatter of glasses, the hum of conversation, the country song playing on the jukebox. It was just him and me and the impossible heat of his body beneath mine.

Then someone from the firefighter table let out a loud whoop, breaking the spell.

“I should get back to work.” My voice came out barely above a whisper.

Briggs’s arm loosened around my waist, but he didn’t fully let go. “I’ll be here.”

I slid off his lap on unsteady legs, feeling the loss of his warmth immediately. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was watching me with an intensity that made my skin tingle.

I’d come to Wildwood Valley to find myself. To build a life that was mine instead of one designed by committee.

I never expected to find a man like Briggs.