Chapter 6
SIX
brENTON
The blizzard alert hits the station just as I finish logging our third call of the afternoon. The storm wasn’t supposed to move in until late tonight, but now the radar on the wall monitor looks like someone spilled a bucket of white paint over Wilder Mountain.
Cruz whistles low. “That’s a big one.”
“No kidding,” I say, tugging my jacket on. “You ready for a long night?”
“Born ready,” he says. “But man, I hope the lodge is prepared. They get slammed with guest freak-outs during storms.”
My pulse jumps.
Greer.
“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “They’re on it.”
Cruz smirks. “You checking in on your lodge girl?”
“She’s not—” I start, then stop, pressing my lips together.
We kissed. Under mistletoe. And her hands were in my jacket and her breath was shaking and—
No. I’m entering dangerous terrain again.
“Just making sure they have backup,” I say tightly.
“Mmhmm,” Cruz says in a tone that declares he understands everything and will absolutely bring it up again later.
I ignore him and finish zipping my coat.
The radio crackles overhead.
DISPATCH: Storm escalation warning. Winds increasing. Keep crews on standby for structure breach, downed power lines, and stuck vehicles.
Great.
The chief pokes his head out of his office. “I need two of you to do corridor sweeps,” he says. “Check the cabins before visibility drops. Volunteers?”
Cruz lifts a hand. “I’m in.”
I open my mouth too, but the chief shakes his head.
“Brenton, I want you assigned to the lodge perimeter. They’ve got the highest guest density. The power grid is always a problem up there.”
My stomach somersaults.
“Yes, sir.”
This is good. Responsible. Appropriate.
And also?
It means I’m going straight to Greer.
By the time I reach Wilder Mountain Lodge, the wind is a living thing. Snow whips across the parking lot in thick, sideways bursts. The porch lights glow like tiny beacons in all the white.
I push through the main doors and stomp the snow from my boots.
The lobby is chaos. Not bad chaos—just winter panic chaos. Guests cluster near the check-in desk. Kids run in circles wearing mismatched mittens. A couple argues gently over whether their cabin pipes will freeze.
And right in the middle of it all is Greer.
She’s standing on a small step stool, pinning a printed storm notice to the bulletin board. Her hair is pulled up in a loose bun, blonde strands falling around her face. Her cheeks are flushed. She’s talking too fast. Working too fast. Trying to be everywhere at once.
She looks perfect, but exhausted. She looks like she needs someone. I want to be that someone she needs.
My heart hits my ribs with force.
Before I can think better of it, I walk toward her.
She steps down from the stool just as I reach the board, and she nearly bumps into me. Her breath catches. Her eyes widen.
“Brenton,” she says softly.
“Hey,” I say, voice low from the cold. “You holding up?”
She lets out a laugh that’s not really a laugh. “Define ‘holding.’”
Yeah. That tracks.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” she says, but her hands are shaking slightly.
I look around the room. The lodge hums with nervous energy. Staff dart back and forth. Holt is trying to coax a tray of mugs into behaving. The Christmas tree is swaying slightly from the draft.
“You need help,” I say. Not a question.
She exhales. “Yes. But I don’t know what to ask for first.”
“Start small,” I say. “What do you need right now?”
She hesitates. Then:
“A window check,” she says. “Some of the cabins need confirmation they’re sealed. And—”
“And?” I prompt.
Her throat works as she swallows. “And I could use someone to walk the outer path with me. It’s getting icy.”
Everything in me snaps into attention.
“I’ll go with you.”
“Brenton, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
The truth of it lands between us like heat.
She looks away, flustered. “Let me grab the keys.”
While she checks with Holt at the desk, I step toward the window. The storm is ramping up fast. The wind howls, dragging snow sideways. The tall pines sway. Visibility’s already dropping.
We should hurry.
She returns with a ring of keys and a flashlight.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Stay close.”
We push out into the gale.
The cold hits instantly, sharp and biting. Snow coats the porch. The path between buildings is slick and scattered with drifts. The trees creak in the wind.
Greer tucks herself close to my side without hesitation.
I shouldn’t love that as much as I do.
We move quickly from cabin to cabin, checking latches, shutters, and window seams. At one cabin, the door sticks from frozen moisture. I shoulder it open while she shines the flashlight for me.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, breath puffing white in front of her.
We keep going. The wind gets worse. The snow thickens. She steps carefully, but the path is uneven in places where the ice has formed.
At the turn toward the ridge cabins, her boot slips.
“Whoa,” she gasps.
I grab her waist instinctively, pulling her against me before she can fall.
She doesn’t move. I don’t either.
Her hands grip my coat. Her breath hits my throat. Her body is warm even through all the storm gear.
“You okay?” I murmur.
She nods, but her voice is barely a whisper. “Yeah. I just…lost my footing.”
“You’re good,” I say, keeping one arm around her until I feel her steady again. “I’ve got you.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
Snowflakes catch on her lashes. Her lips part slightly. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold and from—
Want.
It hits me so hard I almost stagger.
I should step back. I should. But she’s right here. Soft. Shivering. Warm fingers curled into my jacket.
“Brenton,” she breathes. “You—”
A blast of wind cuts her off. She sways again, and I catch her lower back this time, pulling her flush against me.
Her breath hitches. “We should—keep going.”
“We should,” I agree.
We don’t.
The snow muffles every sound. The world narrows to the beam of the flashlight and the space between us. She looks up at me like she’s trying to memorize something.
I can’t stop.
I lower my head.
She meets me halfway.
The kiss is nothing like the mistletoe one. This one has the power to melt a snowstorm.
She sinks into me, hands fisting in my coat. I slide a gloved hand up to her jaw, tilting her mouth to mine, deepening the kiss until I feel her whole body shiver—but not from the cold.
Her lips part. I taste her. I lose the last piece of restraint I had.
Her small, desperate sound hits me like a blow. I respond without thinking, backing her gently against the side of the cabin where a small overhang shields us from the worst of the wind.
The kiss grows urgent. Hotter. Desperate.
Her fingers slip under the edge of my coat. I feel her palm against my chest, right over my heartbeat.
God. I want her. I want her so badly I don’t know how to breathe.
“Brenton,” she whispers against my mouth. “We’re—we’re supposed to be working.”
“I am working,” I say, kissing her again. “Very hard.”
She laughs breathlessly into my mouth, and the sound almost undoes me.
But then—a flicker of movement catches my eye.
A shadow in the storm. Someone approaching down the path.
I pull back fast, breath ragged, heart thundering.
Greer’s eyes are wide. Her lips kiss-swollen. Her hair dusted with snow.
The flashlight beam wavers in her hand.
I step in front of her instinctively, shielding her from the wind and from whoever’s coming around the corner.
And then a voice cuts through the howling snow:
“Greer? Brenton?”
It’s Mason, bundled in a parka, rushing toward us. “You two okay? Holt said you were doing path checks and didn’t come back yet.”
Greer scrambles upright, mortification flooding her expression. “We—we slipped. On the ice. Just needed a second.”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “All good here.”
Mason squints at us, clearly unconvinced but too polite to push. “Uh-huh. Well. Holt needs you inside, Greer. Guest situation.”
She nods quickly and hurries past him toward the lodge.
Mason turns to follow, but not before giving me a look that says: I know what I walked in on, and we’ll be talking about it later.
When he disappears into the storm, I let out a shaky exhale.
My hands are still trembling.
My pulse hasn’t slowed.
My mouth still tastes like her.
And right now, in the silent, swirling dark, one truth lands so hard it nearly knocks me over:
I am done pretending I don’t want her. I want Greer. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.
But I also know something else.
The storm isn’t just outside. It’s here. Inside me. Inside her. Brewing between us.
And when we step back into that lodge?
Nothing—nothing—is going to be the same.