Wrapped Up with the Mountain Man (Log Cabin Christmas #4)

Chapter 1 Tannon

Tannon

The heating unit in the Darkmore Lodge sounds like it's dying a slow, agonizing death. I wedge myself deeper into the cramped space behind the furnace, wrench in one hand, flashlight clenched between my teeth, trying to coax life back into thirty-year-old ductwork.

"Come on, you piece of shit," I mutter around the flashlight, giving the connection another turn.

Christmas decorations mock me from every corner of the basement. Red and green garland, twinkling lights, all that relentless holiday cheer I've avoided for three years. Three years since I've celebrated Christmas, and I plan to keep it that way.

The heating unit shudders back to life with a grateful wheeze. I army-crawl backward out of the tight space, grab my tool bag, and head for the stairs. The ski lift needs work, and I've got a freezer compressor that's making ominous noises.

"Tannon?" Helen Baxter's voice echoes down the wooden stairs, sharp heels clicking. "Are you down there?"

I suppress a groan. Helen's the lodge manager, and she's got that tone that means I'm about to get volun-told into something I'll hate.

"Yeah, I'm here." I shoulder my tool bag. "Heating's fixed."

Helen appears holding a red velvet jacket like evidence in a murder trial. "We have a situation."

I eye the red velvet like it might bite me. "What kind of situation?"

"George called in sick. Food poisoning. The Christmas Eve party is tomorrow night, and you're the only man on staff who fits the Santa suit."

I take a step back. "I don't do Christmas, Helen."

"Fifty families, Tannon. All those kids..."

The mention of kids hits me in the gut. I've spent three years avoiding that particular pain, but Helen knows my weak spots.

"Find someone else."

"There is no one else." Her voice wavers. "You're it."

I want to tell her to stuff it. Want to grab my tools and disappear into the mountains where Christmas carols can't reach me. But she's holding that ridiculous suit, and those disappointed kids are all I can think about.

"I don't know how to be Santa," I say, the words tasting like defeat.

"Sit in a chair, kids sit on your lap, ask what they want for Christmas, ho-ho-ho a few times." Helen's already relaxing, sensing victory. "I'll write you a script."

"I don't want a script."

"But you'll do it?"

I stare at the red velvet, thinking about disappointed kids. About my brother Danny, who always believed in magic right up until an IED outside Kandahar proved otherwise.

"Fine. But I'm not being cheerful about it."

"You're wearing the hat too."

"Helen—"

"Non-negotiable."

I rub my face with both hands. "I'll do it. But don't expect miracles."

"You're a good man, Tannon McKenzie. Better than you think."

I grunt and head toward the stairs. Through the window, I can see snow beginning to fall again – fat flakes that promise a real storm. Maybe Mother Nature will cancel this whole disaster for me.

"Oh, and Tannon?" Helen calls. "You'll need to coordinate with on of the children's nanny. She's handling the activity planning."

Perfect. Some uptight woman who'll micromanage every ho-ho-ho and probably have opinions about my beard authenticity.

I trudge up the stairs, already dreading tomorrow. The main floor hits me with full Christmas force with garland everywhere, a massive tree, stockings hung along the fireplace. The scent of cinnamon and pine fills the air.

I'm halfway across the great room when movement outside catches my eye. I stop despite myself, drawn by the sound of laughter through the thick glass.

There's a woman in the snow outside, building a snowman with two small children.

She's young, maybe mid-twenties, with dark hair spilling from under a bright red knit hat.

Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, and she's laughing as one of the kids struggles to lift a snowball twice the size of his head.

She's soaked through, snow caked on her jeans, but she looks... happy. Genuinely, completely happy to be freezing her ass off in the name of snowman construction.

When was the last time I saw someone look that content? That present in a moment?

The thought gives me feelings that I immediately try to shut down.

The woman's laughter follows me as I head for the exit. I've got real problems with real solutions to focus on.

I'm almost out when Helen's voice stops me. "Tannon! Perfect timing." Damn, not quick enough.

I turn to see the front door opening, bringing snow and cold air. The woman from outside steps through, still laughing as she brushes snow off her coat. The two kids tumble in behind her, chattering about their snowman masterpiece.

Up close, she's prettier than I expected – bright hazel eyes, a smile that could power the whole lodge, energy that makes the air around her feel electric. She's dripping wet and probably freezing, but she doesn't seem to give a damn.

"Dove," Helen says warmly, "meet Tannon McKenzie, our maintenance supervisor. Tannon, this is Dove Williams, the Ashford family's nanny."

The uptight woman with the clipboard.

Dove Williams is definitely not uptight. And she definitely doesn't have a clipboard.

What she does have is a smile that stops me dead in my tracks when she aims it in my direction.

"Nice to meet you," she says, extending a hand that's wet and freezing cold. Her grip is firm, her skin soft despite the temperature. "Helen mentioned you're going to be our Santa tomorrow night. The kids are so excited."

I manage some kind of acknowledgment, suddenly aware that I'm still holding her hand. That I don't want to let go. That her fingers feel surprisingly right wrapped around mine.

"Mr. Tannon!" The little girl bounces forward. "Are you really going to be Santa? Like, with the suit and everything?"

I look down at her and see pure excitement that makes my chest ache. "Yeah. I guess I am."

"Do you have a real beard?" the little boy asks seriously. "Santa's supposed to have a white beard."

"Bentley," Dove says gently, "Santa's beard is magic. It can look different sometimes."

The kid considers this gravely, then nods. "Okay. But do you have reindeer?"

I open my mouth to explain logistics, but Dove catches my eye with a look that clearly says play along.

"The reindeer are getting ready for Christmas Eve," I say awkwardly. "Practicing their flying."

Both kids accept this with easy belief, and something loosens in my chest.

"Well," Helen says, looking pleased, "I'll leave you three to get acquainted."

She disappears, leaving me with a woman who makes damp hair look like a fashion statement and two kids staring at me like I might start ho-ho-hoing any moment.

"So," Dove says, wringing water from her hair, "ready to talk about Christmas magic?"

I look at her bright eyes, her expectant smile, the way she's completely comfortable despite being soaked. I think about my empty cabin, my careful solitude, my well-maintained walls.

And I realize I'm in serious trouble.

"Yeah," I hear myself say. "Let's talk about magic."