Chapter 2
TWO
RHODES
The Mercantile is warm enough that my glasses fog when I walk back in from loading the first stack of hay.
I take them off and wipe them on my sleeve.
The store smells like coffee, leather, pine, and too much cinnamon.
The owner has three crockpots at the front counter for samples of something she calls “Christmas chili.” It tastes fine. Maybe better if you like cloves.
I step inside again because I need the second half of the order, plus a new pair of gloves. Mine are torn across the palm, and the last time I fixed them, I stabbed my hand with the needle and bled on the table. I have been avoiding the chore since.
The bell jingles behind me.
I do not turn at first. Someone always comes in this time of day. The Mercantile is the closest thing Wilder Mountain has to a town square. People come here for feed, flour, gossip, and a cup of coffee even though Wilder Bean up the street makes better drinks.
I am halfway down the aisle when the owner nods toward the door.
“You’ve got a shadow,” she murmurs.
That gets my attention.
I look back.
She is standing just inside the entrance. Snow on her shoulders. Dark auburn hair pulled up in a messy knot. She is bundled in a coat that belongs in the city. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, and her eyes sweep the store like she is trying to memorize every detail at once.
She looks out of place.
She looks overwhelmed.
She looks… kind of adorable.
She also looks directly at me at the exact moment I decide to stop staring.
Our eyes meet. Something about her dark blue eyes make my stomach clench.
She gives me a small, cautious smile. The kind that says she is trying to be brave even though she has no idea what she is walking into.
I turn away before I can think about that too long.
I have work to do. People come up here all the time trying to buy a “ranch vibe.” They want selfies with fences and a chance to wear a hat for a day.
They want a fantasy, not the real thing.
I do not have time for it today. Snow is coming in faster than the forecast said, and I want to get home before the roads glaze.
I grab a set of gloves from the end cap and toss them into my cart.
Behind me, the woman clears her throat. It is a soft sound. Almost polite. Almost apologetic.
I ignore it.
She clears it again. Louder.
I sigh and turn around. “Can I help you?”
Her smile widens, then wobbles. “Sorry. Hi. Yes. I hope so.”
Her voice is bright and smooth and a little breathless. I hate that I notice that.
“I’m looking for someone,” she says.
“I figured,” I say.
Her eyes flicker with humor. Or annoyance. Hard to tell.
“I was told he comes here around this time,” she adds. “He picks up feed and other supplies. I was hoping he’d be here today.”
“He?” I echo.
She nods like it is obvious. “Do you know Rhodes?”
My shoulders stiffen before I can stop them.
Of course.
Of course Greer sent her to find me in person. Greer is a menace when she wants something. And if this girl is here because Greer vouched for me, then Greer wants something. Which means I am already in trouble.
I keep my voice even. “What do you need from him?”
She lets out a tiny laugh. “Oh. So you do know him. Great. Um… I’ve been trying to reach him. A lot. But his voicemail is full. And email was a dead end. And I’m on a deadline. So I figured I’d just… show up.”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
She looks hopeful. A little desperate. But in a cute way. Her eyes are wide and shiny and determined. Like she is the kind of person who does not give up until the universe physically pries her fingers off her goal.
“What deadline?” I ask.
She brightens, lifts a hand, then immediately winces. “Sorry. That was too enthusiastic. I have a habit of talking with my hands when I’m nervous.”
“You’re nervous?”
“Yes.” She laughs again. “Well. No. I mean. A little. Not scared. Just… invested.”
“Invested,” I repeat.
“Yes. This is important. For my dad.” Her voice goes soft at that. “He has always wanted a ranch of his own. And he can’t… well, he can’t exactly do that now. But I’m trying to give him a piece of that dream. So I need Rhodes’s help. And I need to talk to him today. If possible.”
Something heavy shifts under my ribs.
I do not like it.
“Why today?” I ask.
Her hands knot together. “Because I only have a few days until Christmas Eve. And I need to get home to him. And I want to hand him a real, concrete plan for a spring cowboy experience. Not something vague. I want him to see it. To know it’s happening.”
She meets my eyes again.
And there is something so raw and earnest in the way she looks at me that I have to glance away.
“I can pay,” she says quickly. “I don’t know how this usually works. But if you could get him to meet with me. Or just help me talk to him. I’d pay you for your time.”
I blink at her.
She flushes, the color rushing into her cheeks. “That sounded wrong. Not like— not like paying someone for… you know. I meant paying you like… an incentive. Or a consulting fee. Or a finder’s fee. I just need—”
I cut her off without thinking. “I’m Rhodes.”
She goes completely still.
Her lips part.
Her eyes widen in slow motion.
“Oh God,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say. “Afraid so.”
She covers her face with both hands. “Okay. This is fine. This is great. This is mortifying. I’m so sorry. Please pretend I did not just try to bribe you to talk to yourself.”
I should not laugh.
I really should not.
But the sound spills out before I can stop it. Quiet and short. More like a huff than an actual laugh. Still. It surprises me.
Her hands drop. She stares. “Did you… did you just laugh at me?”
“No,” I lie.
She squints. “You did.”
I shake my head. “Did not.”
She narrows her eyes. “If you say so.”
I turn toward the counter before she can see the way my mouth twitches again.
The owner raises both eyebrows when she sees my expression. She knows me well enough to know I do not smile in public. Ever. I ignore her silent commentary and finish ringing up my order.
The bell over the door jingles again as a gust of cold wind blows inside. Snow swirls across the threshold.
The temperature always drops fast up here when a storm is near. The kind of storm that blindsides people who do not know the mountain. People like this woman who drove herself up here alone.
I glance back at her.
She stands near the entry table beside a display of decorated trees. She touches one ornament lightly. A carved wooden horse. She smiles at it with a softness that does something strange to my chest.
I do not want to feel anything about that.
I haul the feed bags out to the truck. When I come back for the last pair, she follows me to the door.
“Rhodes,” she says as I step outside. “Could we talk for a minute?”
The snow has started to fall faster now. Fine and steady. The kind that sticks to everything. I want to get home before it gets worse.
But she is looking at me with those steady, hopeful eyes. And I am too tired to be a jerk today. Not to someone like her. Not when she looks like she is hanging on to her courage by a single thread.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Jovie.”
It suits her.
“You came a long way,” I say.
“I did.”
“You’re determined.”
She nods. “I am.”
“And you want this for your dad.”
“Yes.”
Something inside me settles. Something I do not want to name.
I sigh and hitch my glove higher on my wrist. “Fine. We can talk. But I don’t make promises.”
Relief floods her face so fast it knocks the breath out of me.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I mutter.
The wind whips harder. Snowflakes sting the side of my face.
She hugs her coat tighter. “Does it always change this fast up here?”
“Always.”
She glances toward her parked car. “Should I… follow you back to your ranch? Or do you want to meet somewhere?”
I look at her car. Small. Light. Two-wheel drive. Absolutely not built for a mountain storm. The sky darkens another shade and a low roll of wind rushes through the trees.
“Jovie,” I say slowly. “Do you know how to drive on ice?”
Her silence is answer enough.
“We need to talk,” I say. “But not here.”
She lifts her chin. “Okay. So where?”
I hold her gaze. The air grows colder. Snow thickens. Wind howls through the alley behind the Mercantile like a warning.
I open my truck door.
“Get in.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I say. “You’re not driving that thing out of town when a storm is about to hit.”
Her eyes widen. The wind slams harder. She looks from me to the sky. Then back at me.
And the moment she opens her mouth to argue, the first sharp crack of thunder echoes across the valley.
I look at her again.
“Now,” I say. “Before the mountain closes the roads.”
And she hesitates.
Just long enough for my pulse to kick up.
Just long enough to make me wonder if she will actually trust me.
And then she reaches for the truck handle.