Snowbound Mountain Man (Cold Mountain Nights 2)

1. Juniper

Chapter one

Juniper

Specks of snow fall delicately against the glass, only to be swept away by a sudden, punishing gust of wind. It’s a bitter little clash—and one I recognize all too well. My mind has been waging the exact same war since I turned onto this long winding mountain road.

My head pounds in sync with every turn, forcing me to squint through the whiteout. I can't even blame the strain of concentrating; this headache is entirely on me and my brilliant decision to down enough liquid courage to make this drive survivable the night before.

Driving along twists and turns, I have to be even more careful with how much ice is clinging to the asphalt. I should've checked the forecast before coming out here, but with how full the sky is looking, I wouldn't be surprised if a snowstorm broke out any minute.

That would be my luck. Mother Nature would want to be the one to add another reason why I shouldn't be on this mountain.

Heck, why I shouldn't be in Willowbrook Ridge at all.

Wanting to get to my destination before it gets to that point, I pray my GPS stops stuttering and gets me there in one piece.

After a few soft prayers and slight creaks from my tight grip on the steering wheel, my device alerts me that my destination is approaching.

It leads me to a community of cabins paired with a weather-worn sign.

Mistwood Peaks is spelled out in large blocky letters, with a greeting welcoming all those who pass by.

I'll admit, from the view from my seat, this place looks nice. Quaint and peaceful in ways I didn't expect.

Where I came from, peace and quiet were a fantasy. You couldn't go twenty minutes without a blaring car horn, a screaming match on the pavement, or the endless drone of city traffic.

Always wondering why people would be interested in living here, out in the middle of nowhere, I'm starting to have a clue.

Is this really the place my father ran off to live through the remaining years of his life?

While I knew he'd become a recluse, I pictured he'd found a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, planting himself deep within the trees so no one would be able to find him.

Instead, he'd been living in a community of cabins, a shared space with at least ten other plots. The nearest cabin isn't even a hundred feet away.

Returning my gaze to my father's home, I pull the key from my pocket and clutch it hard enough to feel the grooves biting into my palm.

I can do this. I have to. I'm on a time limit here. My vacation away from Lincoln Heights won't last a lifetime. All I've got is a week to tie up some loose ends before I can return to my normal.

I can easily put this uncomfortable moment behind me once I can get this cabin back on the market and sold to the next buyer. I can.

Not like Dad is around anymore to make this any more unsettling.

Trying to shake away the nerves living in my limbs, I approach the snow-covered porch.

Without anyone here to shovel it, there's a solid foot waiting for me.

Looking around and not seeing a shovel anywhere, I do the best I can with my boot and push what I can out of my way so I can make it up without risking injury.

Like everything else on this mountain, there's a layer of ice to crunch through, too.

With a few grunts and pure determination, I'm able to make a path to the front door. Adding the maintenance outside to my already long list of things to do, I shove the key inside and try to turn the handle.

It doesn't budge.

They'd warned me the deadbolt could be a little sticky, but this key isn't doing me any favors. Is there some kind of trick to it?

"What do you think you're doing?"

A voice appears behind me, sudden enough to make me jump and drop the key in my hand. It falls into the snow, promising my already reddened fingers a bad time.

Wonderful.

Scooping down to pick it up, I swipe the remaining flakes clinging on before looking over my shoulder.

There's a man standing at the foot of the steps I'd just cleared.

It's a miracle I don't drop the key again once I start taking him in. Forget about answering his question; I can barely find my tongue.

He stands with thick arms folded against the broad span of his flannel-clad chest, dark brows drawn deep in clear suspicion and a hint of accusation. Strands of silver thread through his black hair, but the sheer intensity in his face renders me completely speechless.

I've never seen a pair so crystal blue in my life before. They feel like they're cutting straight through me as seconds trickle by without a word passing between us.

A hard, heavy scowl pulls at his mouth, and a shiver tingles its way down my spine. But as his gaze slowly sweeps down, taking in my wide-eyed stance and trembling hands, the crease between his brows softens ever so slightly.

When his gaze drags down my body, the uneasy flutter in my belly turns liquid and hot, sinking fast toward the sensitive space between my legs.

This is a disaster.

The man stands there convinced he’s caught a burglar red-handed, and my body is reacting like we’re mid-flirt.

"Oh, no. You've got it all wrong. This is my cabin. I'm just having a hard time getting in." In my attempt to explain myself, I notice this grumpy man's face get even grumpier.

Averting my gaze, I notice the path of footprints that lead to the next cabin over. Meaning, this is my father's next-door neighbor.

"Maybe you've met my father, Gregory? It's technically his cabin, but—"

At the mention of my father's name, the cold hostility vanishes from his stance like ice under warm water. The tension coiled in his shoulders visibly gives way, his arms dropping slightly as his gaze searches my face. "Wait, you're Junie?"

Hearing him use the nickname I haven't been called in years, I can't help but flinch. "Juniper, please."

This mysterious man turns and looks at my vehicle, almost as if he's trying to piece it all together. I can guess that if he knows that name, he was close enough to my father to know about his recent passing.

Could this man have been the one who... found him?

That's a question I don't think I'm ready to ask, so I leave it a mystery.

Thankfully, he keeps me from thinking about the whole thing when he turns back and immediately climbs the steps I attempted to clear. He doesn't say much else, but he's no longer harboring any distrust as far as I can tell.

When he offers up an empty hand, and I take too long staring in confusion, he curls his thick fingers. "The key."

"Oh!" My skin warms from my delayed response, and I nod and give it to him. Now isn't the time to go pink because of a little embarrassment.

"Greg always insisted he'd get these locks replaced," he explains as he guides me to the side. "I offered to do the job for him months ago, but he never wanted to spend the extra money."

I watch as he works the key inside the knob, jiggling it in a way that looks like far too much work. He then gives the deadbolt just as much love. Immediately, the task of replacing both shoots to the top of my list.

I don't want to have to bother the good-looking neighbor every time I need to get inside, no matter how tempting he is.

Only a moment later does the door unlock. He shimmies the key back out before slowly pushing it open.

For a moment, we both stare inside, our expressions nearly the same. A dread that feels too familiar settles in.

Embarrassment pricks at my neck. Truth is, my knowledge of the man is painfully thin, so any discussion of his habits feels like I'm talking about a stranger.

The last I knew, he burned through every cent on cheap booze before the week was out. Hearing his neighbor talk about him as if he were just a regular guy with a stubborn streak makes my chest tight. But what do I really know?

"He must've been stubborn," I offer, unsure where to take this.

Thankfully, his neighbor just nods in agreement.

A cool gust of wind blows and feels like it easily goes right through me. Without realizing it, I start shivering. He notices instantly.

"You should get in to warm up. There are a few logs in the back for the fireplace. Do you know how to start a fire?"

I don't, but I think I can figure it out if it means I won't freeze to death.

"I think I'll be able to manage." Shifting on my feet, I'm left chewing on my lip as we fight over who'll move first. So far, we're at a stalemate. "Thanks for the help, um..."

"Hunter." Giving me his name, he motions to the cabin next to this one. "If you can't figure the fire out, or if you need any kind of help, I'm right next door. Greg and I... Well, I know he'd kick my ass if I let you fend for yourself. The mountain can be harsh during this time of the year."

Unsure how much of that is true, I nod and finally find the will to move toward the inside of the cabin. "Thank you, Hunter."

He nods again, and with that, I start to close the door. But not before catching the shift in his expression and the way he runs a hand down his face.

Once the door is shut, I press my back into it. Realizing that this place has suddenly become even more complicated, an exhausted sigh escapes my lips.

Can I really do this or am I way over my head?