Mountain Man's Winter Treasure

He watched her for weeks in silence. Now they’re snowed in together.

I was freezing to death in someone else’s house when he showed up.
The power was out. The snow had buried the doors. I’d already accepted that this house sitting gig might be the last decision I ever made.
Then headlights cut through the storm, and a man climbed out of a truck like he’d driven straight out of my darkest, most desperate fantasy. Broad shoulders. Dark beard. Eyes that looked right through me.
He didn’t say much. He got the fire going, checked the pipes, made terrible instant coffee. And when I asked his name, he gave me one word.
Wolfe.
He told me he was staying. Protocol, he said. He couldn’t leave me alone with no heat and no way out. But the way he looked at me had nothing to do with protocol.
I didn’t know he’d been watching me for weeks.
I didn’t know he’d memorized my schedule at the roadhouse, that he’d stared at his menu every time I came to take his order because he couldn’t trust himself to look at me.
I didn’t know that when my name came through on that emergency call, his heart stopped.
But I was about to find out.