Chapter 8
EIGHT
RHODES
The thud wasn’t the wind.
I know the difference. Storms moan and push and scream.
But that noise? That was weight. Impact. Something with mass.
I grab my coat and stomp into my boots.
“Stay here,” I repeat.
Jovie clutches the blanket tighter. Her eyes are wide and bright in the firelight, and I can practically feel her pulse thumping across the room.
“What if it’s dangerous?” she asks.
“Then I’ll handle it.”
She bites her lip. “What if—”
“I’ll handle it,” I say again.
She nods slowly. She trusts me.
God help me, that does something to me.
I crack the cabin door open. Snow blows in sideways, sharp and biting. The porch lantern sways in the wind, casting shifting shadows across the yard.
“Rhodes.” Her voice trembles just a little. “Please be careful.”
I glance back at her.
The raw, open fear on her face tears at my heart.
“I will,” I say quietly.
I slip outside and pull the door shut behind me.
For a moment, the storm swallows me. Wind slams against my coat. Snow blasts my face. I listen. Hard.
There. A soft snort. A shuffle against wood.
I release a breath. It’s not a predator. Not a person.
But still trouble if you let it be.
“Damn it,” I mutter, stepping toward the sound.
A young elk stands awkwardly beside the woodpile, head down, breath puffing in white bursts. One of the lower planks from the shed must have come loose, and the elk ran straight into it, knocking the board to the ground. The animal looks embarrassed. Or as embarrassed as an elk can look.
“Alright, sweetheart,” I say under my breath. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Elk can be mean when cornered, but this one is small. Probably got separated from its herd in the wind.
I move slow, arms out, herding it away from the shed. It stomps once, shakes its head, then trots off into the trees, disappearing like a ghost into the storm.
When the echo fades, I hold still. Just to be sure.
Nothing else moves.
I blow out a breath and head back inside.
The moment I open the cabin door, warmth hits me again. And Jovie rockets to her feet.
“Oh thank God,” she says. “Was it—”
“An elk.”
Her shoulders sag. “An elk.”
“Baby one,” I clarify. “Scared itself.”
She presses her hand to her chest. “Okay. Wow. Elk. That’s fine. Totally normal.”
I step fully inside and shut the door. Snow drips from my coat, pooling at my feet.
Jovie rushes forward again. Without hesitation, she grabs a towel from the drying rack by the fire and starts brushing snow off my sleeves.
She doesn’t even think about it.
She just touches me.
Like it’s natural.
It hits me hard.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I know,” she murmurs, focusing on my arm. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
Her fingers skim my jacket sleeve. Warm.
Then she looks up at me.
The firelight turns her eyes molten.
Something inside me gives up.
Completely.
“Come here,” I say.
I don’t know who moves first.
Maybe both of us.
One second, she’s standing with a towel in her hand.
The next, she’s in my arms.
The blanket falls again.
Her hands slide up my chest.
I cup her jaw and tilt her mouth up to mine.
We kiss like we’re trying to make up for every minute we wasted not doing this.
Slow. Deep. Hungry for more.
She makes a soft sound in her throat that absolutely wrecks me. I pull her closer, one hand at her waist, the other buried in her hair.
She tastes like warmth and determination and trust. She feels like something I never knew I needed.
The storm roars outside, but inside… we’re the only thing in motion.
She breaks the kiss first, breathless. Her forehead stays pressed to mine.
“Rhodes,” she whispers. “What… what are we doing?”
I take a breath. My heart is hammering. My thoughts are a mess.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I don’t want to stop.”
Her hands curl in my shirt. “Me neither.”
The fire cracks behind us. The lantern sways slightly. A gust shakes the cabin again, but nothing pulls me out of the moment.
I look at her mouth. Her flushed cheeks. Her wild hair. Her eyes still shining.
“You want to sit by the fire?” I ask low.
She nods. “Yeah. I do.”
We move together like it’s instinct. Like the mountain made room for this.
I sink onto the rug in front of the fireplace. She kneels beside me. Her thigh brushes mine. The warmth between us rises until the heat from the flames feels secondary.
She leans her head on my shoulder.
I don’t know how long we sit like that. Minutes. Maybe hours.
The fire blazes, warming us despite the bitter cold outside. Her breath is a soft rhythm against my neck. My hand tracing idle circles on her back.
“I can’t believe I’m here,” she murmurs.
“I can,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because you’re stubborn.”
She laughs against my shoulder. The sound vibrates through me.
“You’re not wrong,” she says.
I shift slightly. She looks up.
I could kiss her again. I want to kiss her again. I want—
No. I can’t think about having her in my bed. Not yet. No matter how much I might want to take her there and keep her in it until the spring thaw.
I swallow and drag my thumb across her cheek, slow and careful.
“We should talk about the spring plan soon,” I say.
“We should,” she agrees softly.
“We won’t tonight,” I add.
“No,” she whispers. “Not tonight.”
Her eyes dip to my mouth again.
Everything in me pulls toward her.
I’m inches from kissing her again when—
A sudden, sharp bark of static crackles through the cabin.
She jumps. “What was that?”
I reach for the emergency radio near the hearth. “Storm must’ve hit the lines.”
The radio hisses. A voice breaks through, rough and distorted.
“This is Brenton. Checking on residents on the ridge. Power’s fluctuating. If you’re hearing this, confirm you’re safe.”
I click the transmitter. “We’re good.”
The radio goes quiet. Jovie lets out a shaky breath.
Then she smiles.
“So,” she says softly. “Where were we?”
I open my mouth.
But before I can answer, the heater kicks back on and the entire cabin shudders under a heavy shift of wind.
She gasps and grabs my arm.
I wrap an arm around her automatically.
And that’s when the real surprise hits.
The storm fades.
Not gradually.
Not gently.
It just…
drops.
Wind quiets.
Snow softens.
The mountain exhales.
Jovie looks toward the window. “Did it stop?”
“Maybe,” I murmur.
No. Not maybe.
That wasn’t normal.
Something about it feels intentional.
Jovie leans closer to the glass. “It looks different.”
I stand behind her, looking out into the clearing swirl.
And there, across the dark sky, a ribbon of pale green light shimmers and curls above the treetops.
An aurora.
Faint. Rare. Usually impossible at this latitude.
Except, apparently at Christmas on Wilder Mountain, anything is possible.
Jovie whispers, “What is that?”
I look at her profile in the glow.
Her wide brown eyes. Her full parted lips. The wonder on her face.
And something in me answers before I can stop it.
“Christmas magic,” I say.
She turns to me.
Her breath catches.
And then we’re close again. Too close. Yet not close enough. Which shouldn’t make sense. Then again, none of this does.
One heartbeat. One inch. One breath from another kiss. A kiss that feels almost as necessary as my next damn breath.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket.
She startles.
I step back and run a hand through my hair in frustration.
And everything in me pulls tight again.
She looks down at the screen.
Her face pales.
“Rhodes,” she whispers. “It’s my dad.”