Chapter 12
TWELVE
RHODES
The shout echoes across the parking lot.
“Rhodes! Ridge line!”
I don’t think—I just move.
Snow crunches under my boots as I sprint across the lot. My breath fogs out in hard bursts. The ranch hand—Calder—waves me toward his truck, engine running.
“What happened?” I call as I reach him.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll explain on the way.”
I climb in, barely shutting the door before he guns it out of the lot.
The second we hit the road, he talks fast. “The north fence line dropped. A tree came down during the storm. Couple of the cattle are wandering close to the ridge. We need the chainsaw, the winch, and probably more hands.”
Ridge work after a blizzard is no joke. One wrong step, one hidden ice patch, and it’s a long roll down the mountain.
“Who’s up there now?” I ask.
“Just me and Brenton,” he says. “We didn’t want to start cutting till you saw it.”
Good. Smart. The storm softened, but the snowpack underneath hasn’t settled yet. Everything is unpredictable.
We climb higher on the narrow service road, passing drifts taller than the truck. Pines lean heavy under the weight. The whole world looks bent. Exhausted. Waiting to snap.
Which is exactly what my chest feels like.
Because back at the lodge, Jovie is probably inside now. Warming up. Talking to Greer. Doing something Christmassy.
Without me.
I try to focus on work, but my mind keeps replaying the last few hours.
Her mouth on mine.
Her breath on my neck. Her joyful little laugh rumbling in my chest. The way she made me feel more desired than any man has a right to be.
The way she looked terrified and brave and so damn hopeful when she said she wanted to come back.
I grip the door handle harder.
Stupid to feel any of this.
Stupid to want something I know better than to touch.
She lives in a different world. She has timelines. Plans. A father she needs to care for. A life I don’t fit inside.
And me?
My life is tied to this land. The animals. The ranch. This mountain.
I don’t get to chase feelings. I don’t get to fall first.
Especially not for the kind of woman who deserves more than a man patching fences on a blizzard day.
Calder glances at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Fine.”
He doesn’t push. Good. I don’t have words anyway.
We reach the ridge line. The wind here is sharper. Colder. The snow thinner—blown clear in some places, deeper in others. The fence angles crookedly along the slope, splintered clean through where a big tree toppled.
Brenton stands by the downed section with the chainsaw resting on his shoulder. “Glad you’re here,” he calls. “This thing’s wedged in deep.”
I jump out of the truck. “Let’s see it.”
For the next hour, it’s all work.
Cutting. Wrestling branches. Winching the trunk away from the fence. Hammering temporary posts to hold the line until the ground settles enough for proper resets.
It’s the kind of work that keeps your hands warm and your mind distracted, except—
Every time the wind shifts and carries that faint sweetness from the valley—the cinnamon, the evergreen, the lodge hearth smoke—it slams right back into me.
Her.
The taste of her kiss. The way her fingers curled in my shirt like she needed me.
“Rhodes,” Brenton says, clapping my shoulder. “You zoning out on us?”
“Fine,” I mutter. “Let’s get this done.”
We finish the emergency patch and check the cattle. One cow has a scrape but seems fine. The others are clustered together, shaking off the cold. Good. No losses.
By the time we get everything secured, my back aches and my fingers burn, but the sky has cleared to a pale silver-blue.
A rare stillness settles over the ridge.
Calder whistles low. “Haven’t seen it this pretty in a while.”
I follow his gaze.
He’s right.
Wilder Mountain looks like someone draped it in powdered sugar and sunlight. It’s like a freaking Christmas postcard. Magical.
And for a stupid second…
I wish she were up here to see it.
I picture her beside me. Hair loose. Cheeks pink from the cold. That look of wide-open wonder she got when she saw the aurora.
The thought makes me hard. I shove it away before I can pitch a tent in my jeans.
“Let’s head back,” I say. “Storm’s coming again tonight.”
We load up the tools. Calder turns the truck around, heading back toward the valley.
As we descend, the lodge comes into view—firelight glowing from the big windows, wreaths on the railings, the enormous evergreen in the square glowing brighter now that twilight has started to settle.
I spot movement on the porch.
A familiar figure. Wrapped in a blanket. Hair catching the golden lights.
Jovie.
She’s looking out in our direction. Not at us—she can’t see from this distance—but out toward the ridge.
Toward me.
My chest pulls tight.
I look away fast.
I can’t get sucked into thoughts of snuggling up with my woman. Not yet.
“Drop me at the ranch turnoff,” I say.
Calder glances over. “You don’t want to check in at the lodge?”
“No.”
He doesn’t ask why.
He takes the turn when we reach it, and I hop out, grabbing my gear.
The moment his taillights disappear, the mountain goes quiet again.
I stand there alone on the snowy drive, breathing hard against the cold, trying to make myself walk inside and not turn around and head straight back to her.
The wind kicks up. A soft swirl of snow dances around my boots.
For the first time since she left the cabin… I let myself admit it.
I already miss her. Luckily, I think I’ve figured out what to do about that.
I just hope it works.