Chapter 4
Brooks
The low rumble of my truck’s engine carried me through the winding main street of Snowberry Peak, past storefronts frosted with real snow and trimmed with glittering garlands.
This place didn’t just do Christmas—it lived it.
Garlands wrapped around every light post like emerald ribbons.
Wreaths hung from doors, shop windows, and even the old lamppost at the corner of Main and Pine.
A faint scent of cinnamon drifted through the air from the bakery two blocks back, and everywhere I looked, people wore smiles that felt… permanent.
It was the kind of town that made you believe in Hallmark movies.
I’d been to just about every state with a rodeo worth riding in—my work had taken me to some pretty remote places—but nothing compared to the way this little mountain town seemed to hum with holiday magic.
And the best part? I’d managed to find a job and a place to stay in one stroke of luck.
Annie Cringle, single mom and catering business owner, needed someone to watch her seven-year-old daughter during the season. Schools were out, daycares closed, and from the tone of her email, she needed help yesterday.
I’d spent most of my adult life keeping an eye on bull riders, being in the ring with them and making sure they stayed out of trouble.
If I could handle a six-foot-two cowboy with a concussion and an ego, I could handle one kid.
Besides, kids usually liked me—something about the mix of my size, my patience, and the fact I could juggle.
Not that you’d guess that by looking at me.
Six foot four. Built from years of manual labor. Tattoos covering almost every inch from my collarbones to my ankles. I wasn’t exactly the picture of “Mary Poppins.”
The road dipped through the valley before curling up toward the neighborhood Annie called home. Her place was easy to spot—a bright Christmas-red cape cod, its green shutters dusted with snow, bushes trimmed neat under a frosted blanket.
It was charming. The kind of place you could picture in a snow globe.
I killed the engine and hopped down, my boots crunching into the fresh powder. In my two days here, I’d already figured out that snow in Snowberry Peak was like oxygen—everywhere, constant, and taken for granted.
Hands tucked into my jacket pockets, I made my way to the front door. The overhang shielded me from the lazy snowflakes drifting down. I pressed the doorbell, and a cheerful chime rang inside.
I turned slightly, taking in the neighborhood. Warm golden light flooded from the windows, accompanied by a pine tree in everyone’s front yard.
The sound of the door creaking open spun me back around.
And there she was.
Five foot two, standing barefoot in the doorway like she’d just come from the kitchen. Auburn hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Big eyes I swear I’d recognize anywhere.
She looked at me like she’d seen a ghost.
Her lips parted, then curved—not in a smile, but in something halfway between shock and disbelief.
“How the hell did you find where I lived?” she asked.
I smirked.
The woman from the bar last night was now the woman I’d be living with, at least through the holiday season—the same one whose daughter I’d be looking after, too.
“You gave me your address,” I said, my voice steady despite the fact that the cold was cutting through my flannel and straight into my bones.
My arms crossed instinctively, trying to trap some heat against my chest. The air here wasn’t just cold, it was small-town-mountain-town cold.
Sharp. Icy. The kind that made your nostrils stick together when you breathed in too deep.
I really hoped she’d invite me in before I froze into a statue on her porch. No way was I going to let her see me shiver, though. I had a reputation to uphold, even if it was only in my own head.
How she could stand there in the doorway looking unfazed in nothing but a thin cream sweater and black leggings was beyond me.
Her auburn hair was put into a messy ponytail, a few wisps rebelliously curling at her temples.
Glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, catching the soft sunlight.
Her cheeks were flushed pink—not from blush, but from the bite of winter—and even the tip of her button nose was tinged red.
She was… something. The kind of something you notice and keep noticing, even when you tell yourself not to.
“I don’t remember giving you my address last night,” she said sharply, leaning out just enough to glance left and right, as though she was making sure the whole neighborhood wasn’t watching.
Before I could answer, she grabbed a fistful of my flannel and yanked me inside. The door slammed shut behind us, sealing out the frigid air.
“You can’t just show up here,” she said, voice pitched low but urgent. “I have a daughter, and you’re lucky she isn’t home right now. If she were—”
Annie broke off, letting out a disbelieving laugh as she shook her head. “She would be eating this up right now.”
“I know you have a daughter,” I said evenly. “That’s why I’m here.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You sicko!”
Before I could explain, she lunged, smacking me square in the chest.
“She’s seven, you buffoon!”
“Jesus!” I caught her wrists mid-swing, half-laughing, half-trying not to get another jab to the ribs. “Calm down. I’m Brooks.”
She froze. The fight drained out of her shoulders. Her jaw slackened as her gaze ran over me—less assessing, more trying to reconcile a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. In her flurry, strands of hair had slipped free from her bun, falling in loose curves around her face.
“You’re Brooks?” she said slowly, as if saying it out loud might help her make sense of it.
“That’s me,” I said, loosening my grip on her wrists. “Here to be the nanny.”
Her eyes swept me from my snow-dusted cowboy boots up to the brim of my hat, and back again. It was a slow, deliberate path—one I felt all the way down to my spine.
“I know you’re undressing me in your head,” I said lightly, “but maybe we should wait until after I meet Ruby.”
She huffed and crossed her arms. “I am not.”
“Are too.”
“I thought you were a woman,” she blurted.
I raised a brow, glancing down at myself. “Really? Even after that stare-down just now? Pretty sure no one’s ever confused me for a woman before.”
“I meant through email,” she shot back, her voice tight. “Your name. Brooks, it sounded… female.”
“Funny,” I said. “Guess I should start putting ‘rugged manly man’ in my signature line to avoid confusion.”
She muttered something under her breath about not being able to believe this and took a step back. “I have so many questions.”
“Fire away.”
“Follow me first.”
She spun on her heel and strode toward the kitchen. I lingered a second, glancing at the melting snow clinging to my boots, then bent down to tug them off. They landed by the front door with a soft thud, snow pooling on the mat beneath them.
Her house was small and warm, the kind of cozy that felt instantly lived in—scents of cinnamon and coffee drifting in from the kitchen.
A small Christmas tree glowed in the corner of the living room, strung with mismatched ornaments, some clearly hand-painted by small, messy hands.
The walls were dotted with framed snapshots—sunlit summer days, snowy sled rides, a little girl with a gap-toothed grin holding up a gingerbread house. That must be Ruby.
“Can I get you coffee? Hot chocolate?” Annie asked, her voice brisk but carrying that faint warmth I’d noticed last night.
“Hot chocolate’s good,” I said.
She let out a short scoff, though there was the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as she moved toward the counter.
“You and Ruby will get along fine. You like hot chocolate, that’s an automatic win with her.”
“You said she’s not home?” I asked, watching her work.
Annie poured milk into a mug and slid it into the microwave.
“Nope. She’s out with my elderly neighbor, helping gather gifts for her grandkids. I wanted to meet you first before I introduced you to her. She’s a bit…” Her voice drifted off as the microwave dinged.
She turned, pulled the mug out, and got busy stirring cocoa into the steaming milk. When she slid it across the island toward me, I wrapped my hands around the ceramic, letting the heat soak into my cold fingers before lifting it to my lips.
“She’s…?” I prompted.
“A bit much,” Annie admitted. “She’s fiery, judgmental, and has been known to pull pranks on people that have made grown men cry.”
“Well, lucky for you, I can take it. Plus, I don’t cry.”
That earned me a smile—small but genuine—before she leaned her elbows on the island and fixed me with a curious look.
“First, I’ve got a round of rapid-fire questions for you.”
I set the mug down and gave her my full attention. “Shoot.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Why are you in Snowberry Peak?”
“I love Christmas and wanted to spend the holiday in a magical place.”
Her brows arched. “Your resume said ‘entertaining experiences.’ Please tell me that doesn’t mean male stripper.”
“Nope. Rodeo clown.”
She paused, tilting her head like she wasn’t sure if I was serious. “Are you joking?”
“Nope,” I said with a grin. “It’s a real job. I entertain the crowd and help keep the riders safe. It’s equal parts comedy and chaos.”
Her gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, before meeting my eyes again.
“I just didn’t think rodeo clowns were so… good-looking.”
“Well,” I said with a shrug, “being unattractive isn’t in the rule book.”
That drew a laugh from her.
“Are you on the registry?” she asked, smirking.
“My God, no.”
“Can you really make balloon animals?”
“Yup.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “You already asked me that at the bar. So, that question feels more for you than for Ruby.”
“Possibly,” she said, her smile sharpening. “Or maybe I just don’t want any crazy women showing up at my house unannounced.”
“No crazy girlfriends. No wives.”
“Boyfriends?”
“Nope. I love pus—”
“I’ve heard enough,” she cut in quickly, though I caught the faintest blush creeping into her cheeks.
I hid my grin behind the mug, taking another slow sip of hot chocolate.
“So, do I have the job?”
“Considering I’m in a bit of a pinch…” She extended her hand. “You’re hired.”
Her hand was small in mine, her fingers warm despite the winter chill still clinging to my skin. We shook, but the way her eyes—assessing, lingering just a little too long—told me she might be imagining more than just childcare in my future here.
“Since I’m officially on your payroll now,” I said, my mouth curving into a slow grin, “does that mean date two is out of the question?”