Mountain Man’s Winter Sweetheart (Wildwood Valley Firehouse #3)

Chapter 1 Hux

HUX

I’d been awake for thirty-one hours when I finally made it back to the roadhouse.

The storm hadn’t let up since yesterday afternoon, and neither had the calls.

After we pulled my fellow firefighter Mason out of that ditch, the crew had scattered across town to handle whatever Captain needed handled.

I’d spent the night on the mountain road, clearing debris, helping stranded drivers, and hauling a generator to the Richards place when their power went out and Mrs. Richards’ oxygen concentrator died.

My truck barely made it through the last stretch into town. I parked crooked, too tired to fix it, and trudged toward the warm glow of the Wildwood Ridge Roadhouse.

The firehouse was right across the street, and I should have gone there. Grabbed a bunk. Closed my eyes for an hour before Captain called me out again. But food first. I needed something hot in my stomach or I was going to collapse.

I pushed through the door, stomping snow off my boots.

The warmth hit me like a wall, and for a second I just stood there, letting it seep through my frozen layers.

The place was dim, running on generator power, the usual neon signs dark and quiet.

A couple of cars sat in the parking lot, half-buried in snow, so someone had to be here.

But the bar was empty. No one behind the counter. No one at the tables.

“Hello?” My voice came out rougher than I intended. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Anybody here?”

Nothing. But I could hear movement somewhere in the back. The clatter of pots, maybe. Someone was in the kitchen.

I made it to the counter and dropped onto a stool, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. My elbows hit the wood, and I let my head fall forward, the weight of it suddenly too much to hold up. Whoever was back there would come out eventually. I just needed to wait.

The warmth of the room was seeping into my bones. My eyelids felt like they weighed about ten pounds each. I folded my arms on the counter and rested my head on them.

Just for a second.

Next thing I knew, I was smelling bread.

For a disoriented moment, I had no idea where I was. My cheek was pressed against something hard. Wood. The counter. I’d fallen asleep on the damn counter.

I jerked upright, blinking against the low light, and found a bowl of soup in front of me. Steam curled off the surface. A thick slice of bread sat beside it, butter already melting into the crust. A cup of coffee, still hot.

And a woman was standing on the other side of the counter with her arms crossed, watching me like I was the most pitiful thing she’d ever laid eyes on.

Allegra. The cook. I’d seen her dozens of times when the crew came in, always in the back, always busy, always disappearing before I could think of something to say that wasn’t a stupid joke.

She was one of those women who seemed to exist in her own world, separate from the noise and chaos of the bar.

And right now, she was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“Welcome back,” she said.

I stared at the food, then at her. My brain was running about three steps behind reality. “Did you make me lunch while I was unconscious?”

“Someone had to.” She shrugged, but there was a hint of something in her dark eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or pity. “You looked pathetic.”

Pathetic. Yeah, that tracked. I glanced around the empty bar. Still no one else. Just me and the cook, who’d apparently decided to take care of me while I drooled on her counter.

“How long was I out?”

“About twenty minutes. I heard someone call out, but by the time I got up here, you were dead to the world.” She nodded toward my soup. “Eat. Before it gets cold.”

I should have been embarrassed. I’d literally passed out in front of her like some kind of hibernating bear. But I was too tired and too hungry to feel anything except gratitude.

I picked up the spoon and took a bite.

And stopped.

“What?” She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I took another bite, slower this time, letting it sit on my tongue. Rich broth. Tender vegetables. Some kind of herb I couldn’t name but wanted more of. “This is incredible.”

She shifted her weight, uncomfortable with the compliment. “It’s just soup. Threw it together from what we had.”

“This is not just soup.” I pointed my spoon at her. “This is the best thing I’ve eaten in I don’t even know how long.”

“I’m estimating that you’ve been awake for over thirty hours. A gas station hot dog would taste incredible right now.”

“I’ve had gas station hot dogs. Trust me. Not the same.”

That got something out of her. Not quite a smile, but the corners of her mouth twitched. There and gone in a heartbeat.

Something shifted in my chest. A feeling I couldn’t quite name.

I’d noticed Allegra before. Hard not to. Dark hair, dark eyes, curves that her apron couldn’t hide. Every time the crew came in, I’d tried to get her attention. Cracked jokes. Tossed out compliments. She’d smile politely and vanish back into the kitchen before I could get anywhere.

But right now, with no one else around and her standing there watching me eat food she’d made with her own hands, something clicked into place. Like a lock finding its key.

This one, something in the back of my brain whispered. She’s the one.

The thought should have scared me. I’d known her all of five minutes. But it didn’t feel sudden. It felt like I’d been waiting for her without knowing I was waiting.

“Thank you,” I said. “Seriously.”

Her expression softened, and she looked a little surprised. Like she’d expected a joke and didn’t get one.

“You’re welcome,” she said quietly.

I finished the soup. The bread. The coffee. She refilled my cup without me asking, and I drank it while watching her move around behind the counter. Wiping things down. Organizing. Keeping busy.

She was beautiful. I’d always known that. But it was more than her looks. There was something about the way she moved. Confident. Efficient. Completely in control of her space.

I wanted to know what made her tick. Wanted to know what she thought about when she was alone in that kitchen. Wanted to know everything.

“I should let you get back to it,” I said, even though leaving was the last thing I wanted to do. “Probably need to cross the street and crash for an hour before Captain calls me out again.”

“Probably,” she agreed.

I didn’t move.

She raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

“What if I helped instead?”

The words came out before I could think them through. She looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

“You want to help me cook.”

“I want to be useful.” I want an excuse to stay near you. “You’re feeding the whole crew, right? And whoever else comes in? That’s a lot for one person.”

“The others are around somewhere. They’ll be back soon.”

“Then let me help until they get here.” I stood up, and yeah, maybe I swayed a little, but I caught myself on the counter. “Come on. I’m too wired to sleep anyway. Put me to work.”

It was a lie. I was dead on my feet. But something about the way she was looking at me—like she was actually seeing me for the first time—made me want to stick around.

She studied me for a long moment. I couldn’t read her expression.

“You follow my instructions exactly,” she finally said. “No complaints. No arguing. You do what I say, when I say it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And it’s chef. Not ma’am.”

A grin spread across my face before I could stop it. “Yes, chef.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched again. “Come on, then. Before I change my mind.”

She turned and headed for the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door without looking back to see if I was following. I followed anyway. How could I not?

The kitchen was smaller than I expected. Clean, organized, every pot and pan in its place. She moved through it like she owned every square inch, grabbing an apron from a hook and tossing it in my direction.

“Put that on. Wash your hands. Then you’re on prep duty.”

I caught the apron and pulled it over my head, fumbling with the ties. She watched me struggle for about three seconds before letting out a sigh and stepping closer.

“Here.” Her fingers brushed against my waist as she took the strings and tied them behind my back. Quick, efficient, impersonal. But my heart kicked anyway.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Sink’s over there. Scrub up to your elbows.”

I did as I was told, letting the hot water run over my frozen hands until feeling returned to my fingers. When I turned around, she had a cutting board set up, a pile of vegetables waiting.

“Onions first,” she said. “Dice them small. You know how to dice?”

“I can figure it out.”

She handed me a knife, and our fingers touched for just a second. Her eyes met mine, then slid away.

I’d spent my whole life being the funny one. The guy who cracked jokes to get people to notice him. The middle kid who learned early that humor was the only way to make anyone pay attention.

But Allegra hadn’t laughed at my jokes. Hadn’t responded to my usual moves. She’d just made me soup while I was passed out on her counter, then stood watching me with those dark eyes like she could see straight through the bullshit to whatever was underneath.

Maybe that was why I couldn’t walk away.

Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe I’d just met the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and some part of me already knew it.

Either way, I was in danger of falling.

And I didn’t mind at all.