Snowed In with the Wrong Cowboy (A Cowboy for Christmas #2)

Chapter 1 Piper

PIPER

The windshield wipers are losing.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, leaning forward like those extra two inches will somehow help me see through the wall of white currently trying to murder me.

The weather app said light snow. Light. This is not light.

This is the opening scene of a horror movie where the girl ignores all the warning signs and drives straight into her doom.

But I'm not turning back now.

I’ve been dreaming about this weekend for months. It’s a holiday tradition for me and my best friend Mackenzie. Just the two of us, no work, no pressure, no real world.

This is the first time we’ve come to her family’s cabin, but the tradition is the same. Hot cocoa, Hallmark Christmas movies, and talking until 3 a.m. like we’re back in our college dorm instead of two twenty-six-year-old women who should probably have our lives together by now.

Spoiler alert: we don't.

Which is exactly why I need this.

The road curves sharply and my tires slip just enough to make my heart slam into my throat. I ease off the gas. You're fine. You're almost there. The cabin is less than a mile away now.

My phone buzzes in the cup holder and I ignore it. Eyes on the road, hands at ten and two, trying not to think about the steep drop-off to my right that's currently disappearing into the white void.

The trees are so heavy with snow they're bowing under the weight. Everything is muffled and silent. It's beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way. The kind of beautiful that could kill you if you're not careful.

But I made it. Against all odds and my own common sense, I actually made it.

The cabin emerges from the storm like something out of a snow globe. Rustic wood and stone, with a steep roof designed to shed snow and a wraparound porch that's already buried under at least six inches.

I park as close to the porch as I can and kill the engine. There’s an old truck parked off to the side, half-buried in snow, like it hasn’t moved in years. For a moment, I just sit there, letting the adrenaline drain out of my system. My hands are shaking. My shoulders ache from tension.

But I'm here. I'm safe.

The wind rocks my car and I grab my phone, purse, and duffel bag, steeling myself. The second I open the door, the cold steals my breath and stings my cheeks, immediately finding every gap in my coat. I slam the car door and run for the porch, nearly wiping out on the steps.

My phone buzzes again and I yank it out of my pocket, expecting Mackenzie asking if I made it. But when I see her name, there's a string of missed calls. Five of them.

My stomach drops.

I'm fumbling to call her back when it rings in my hand, and I answer before the first ring even finishes.

“Oh thank God,” Mackenzie's voice is pure panic. “Please tell me you haven’t started up the mountain yet.”

“I'm literally standing on your porch.”

Silence. Then: “Oh.”

“It was a little dicey there at the end, but…”

“Piper, no.” She sounds like I just told her I have a terminal illness. “They closed the road. Like, ten minutes ago. I've been trying to call you. You must have driven up right before they blocked it off.”

My brain catches up to her words. “What do you mean they closed the road?”

“The storm's way worse than they thought.”

I look back at my car, at the driveway that's rapidly disappearing and the road that brought me here. The one I just white-knuckled my way up.

“But I'm already here,” I say stupidly.

“I know. And I'm so, so sorry, but…” She takes a shaky breath. “You can't get back down.”

The words don't make sense at first. They just sort of float there in the cold air between us, refusing to land.

“What do you mean I can't get back down?”

“I said the road's closed. Both directions. You're stuck.”

Stuck.

The word hits me like a snowball to the face. I turn in a slow circle, taking in the wall of white surrounding me, the complete absence of other houses or people or any sign of civilization.

“For how long?”

“At least twenty-four hours. Maybe longer, depending on when the storm passes and how fast they can clear the roads and make sure the road is stable.” She sounds miserable. “I'm so sorry. I tried to call you in time.”

“It's okay. It's not your fault.”

“What are you going to do?”

Great question. I stare at the dark cabin, at the snow already piling up against the door. “I guess... go inside? Wait it out?”

“The spare key is under the big rock to the left of the stairs. The flat one.”

I find it where she said, covered in snow and ice. The key is so cold it burns my fingers.

“I haven't been up there in at least a year, but there should be some stuff in the pantry. Like, mac and cheese, canned soup maybe? And wine. There's definitely wine. The fireplace works, there's wood stacked on the side of the porch. You'll be fine. Totally fine. It's cozy!”

I force my voice into something approximating okay. “It's fine. Really. It’s very Hallmark movie. Maybe a hot guy will rescue me.”

Mackenzie laughs. “I'll make it up to you. I promise.”

“I'm holding you to that.”

We say goodbye and I stand there on the porch, phone in hand, trying not to freak out.

It's fine. It's fine. It's just one night. Maybe two. I'm an adult. I can handle being alone in a cabin during a snowstorm.

People do this on purpose. They pay money for this kind of solitude.

I'm still trying to convince myself when I unlock the door and push it open.

The first thing I notice is that it's not as cold inside as it should be. Not warm exactly, but not the arctic wasteland I was expecting. Like someone's been here recently.

The second thing I notice is the bottle.

It sits on the coffee table in front of the stone fireplace. A half-empty bottle of whiskey, next to a lowball glass with maybe an inch of amber liquid still in it.

My heart starts beating faster.

I step inside slowly. The cabin is beautiful, all exposed wood beams and leather furniture, and a kitchen open to the main living space.

Exactly as cozy as Mackenzie always described.

But there's a coat draped over one of the chairs, and a pair of boots by the door.

Men's boots, well-worn, splattered with mud.

Someone is here.

Someone is here.

My first thought is squatter. My second thought is serial killer. My third thought is that I watch too much true crime.

I'm backing toward the door, mentally calculating whether I can make it to my car and lock myself in, when I hear it.

Water running. A sink.

Oh my God.

I freeze, every muscle in my body locking up. My eyes dart to the bathroom door. It’s closed, a line of light visible underneath.

I should leave. I should absolutely, 100% leave right now and sit in my car and call... someone. The police? Mackenzie? Search and rescue?

The water shuts off.

I have maybe thirty seconds before whoever is in there comes out and finds me standing in the cabin.

Move. I need to move.

I spin toward the door. The bathroom door opens.

Steam billows out like something from a dream. Or a nightmare. I can't tell which yet.

And then he steps out.

Time doesn't stop. That's a romance novel cliché and this is real life.

But it definitely slows.

He's got a towel slung low around his hips and nothing else. His hair is dark and wet, dripping water down his neck, over shoulders that are unfairly broad, over a chest and abs that look like they were carved by someone who really understands human anatomy.

Water trails down his skin in little rivers and I watch one drop slide from his collarbone down, down, down to where the towel barely covers.

And I know exactly who this is.

Callum.

Callum Holt. Mackenzie's older brother. The one who nearly destroyed everything and got himself exiled from the family. The one whose name makes Mackenzie's jaw tight and her eyes hard whenever it comes up, which is almost never.

The one I haven't seen in years.

He looks different. Older. Harder. The boy who used to make me blush when he walked through the room is gone, replaced by a man who looks like he's been carved from the same rugged Wyoming mountains that surround us.

My brain is not working.

And then he sees me.

We both freeze.

I watch surprise flash across his face. Recognition crosses at the same moment.

I find my voice.

I scream.

It's not my finest moment. It's shrill and panicked and echoes off the ceiling like a smoke alarm.

He jerks back, hands coming up. “What the hell? Piper? What are you doing here?”

He's staring at me like I'm a feral animal that wandered in from the storm. Which, to be fair, isn't far from the truth.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

His eyebrows go up. “You first.”

“Mackenzie invited me for the weekend.”

“Did she now?” he says, adjusting the towel lower, showing the cut beneath his abs, nearly exposing himself.

I arch a brow. “Mackenzie thought this place was empty. Does anyone in your family even know you're here?”

He leans against the doorframe, towel riding even lower on his hips. “No. Which was kind of the point.”

I cross my arms. “Would they even approve of you being here?”

“Of course not.” He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him. “But no one touches this place. Hasn’t been used in forever.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why are you here?”

“None of your business. But if you must know, I’m between jobs and needed somewhere to crash.”

Between jobs. That's one way to put banished from the family ranch after nearly destroying everything.

“Mackenzie's going to kill you when she finds out.”

“Do you think I care what my sister does?” He pushes off the doorframe. “Well, this has been fun, but you should probably go now.”

“Go?” I almost laugh. “I can't go anywhere. The road's closed.”

“Then you shouldn't have come up in the first place.”

“I didn't know they would trap me on the mountain! The weather app said light snow.”

“And you believed it.” He shakes his head. “Little Piper drives up a mountain because her weather app said it was clear.”

“Don’t call me Little Piper. And it wasn’t snowing when I left.”

He smirks. “It’s Wyoming in winter. It’s always snowing.”

I clench my fists at my sides. “You know what? I don't need this. I'll just wait in my car until…”

“Until what? You freeze to death? Unless you want to spend the night in your car, a great way to die of hypothermia, looks like we're roommates.”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, there has to be… I can't…”

“Can’t what? Can’t stay here? With me?”

His eyes flick over me like he’s already figured out the answer. Like he thinks I’m scared of him. Or worse, tempted.

I narrow my eyes. “So you just squatted in your family’s cabin?”

“I prefer the term temporary relocation.”

My jaw clenches. “This is so typical of you.”

“Oh? You know so much about me now?”

“I know enough.”

He grins. “Then you know there’s only one bed in this cabin.”

He turns toward the bedroom. I catch a glimpse of his back. Water trickles down his spine, and when he reaches the doorway, he drops the towel without warning. Catches it one-handed, not even looking back.

I get a full, unfiltered view of Callum Holt’s bare ass before he disappears into the room.

I stare. I shouldn’t, but I do.

His back alone looks like it could splinter the doorway, thick and powerful, tapering into a trim waist and…

Heat creeps up my neck.

What is wrong with me?

This is Callum Holt. The man Mackenzie would personally run over with a snowplow if given the chance. The guy who nearly wrecked his entire family and vanished.

And now he’s naked in this cabin like it's nothing.

I am not impressed. I am not sleeping in that one bed. And I am definitely not going to let his smug, naked ass get under my skin.

I close my eyes and take a long, steady breath.

Twenty-four hours. Maybe more.

This is going to be the longest night of my life.