Her lips part. Then close. Then part again. “Well... shit.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledge.
We stare at each other. Her brows are scrunched, her mouth twitching like she can’t decide whether to scream, cry, or punch something, maybe all three.
I know that look, and had worn it myself a time or two.
After a long pause, she straightens her spine and says with forced calm, “Okay. I’ll just stay in my car. I’ve got snacks. A charger. It’s fine.”
“You’ll freeze.”
“It’s a Subaru.”
“I don’t care if it’s a Tesla truck—it’s a tin can in an icebox. You do the math.”
She exhales through her nose and waves her hands around. “Fine. What do you suggest, oh wise mountain man?”
I drag a hand down my face. The woman was a maniac wrapped in curves and sarcasm, and I did not do any of it. But I also didn’t let people freeze to death, no matter how mouthy they were.
I nod toward the back of the cabin. “There’s a guest room in the back. It’s small—I use it mainly for storage—but there’s a bed. If you don’t mind sleeping with a pile of my camping gear, you can stay there.”
She blinks. “Wait. Really?”
I point a warning finger. “Ground rules: don’t talk to me and don’t touch my tools.”
“Wow. Your mom raised a real charmer.”
Ignoring her comment, I say, “It’s this or your meat locker. And I could give two shits which you choose.”
She huffs. “Fine. But I’m playing Christmas music. Loudly.”
“Touch my radio and you’ll be hiking back to town in those ridiculous boots.”
We stare each other down. Then, like a child who just got her way, she grins. “I’m Sierra, by the way.”
I don’t answer.
“Oh, come on. You’re letting me into your cabin during a blizzard. At least tell me your name so I can scream it if you turn out to be an axe murderer.”
I pause, a million things running through my head, but in the end, I say, “Hunter.”
She tilts her head. “That’s very apropos.”
I walk away before I say something I regret. This is going to be a long damn week.
2
SIERRA
I’d been in plenty of uncomfortable situations before. Like the time my ex went on Instagram Live and broke up with me, or the time I got fired via group email. But sharing a cabin with a man who looked like he wrestled bears for fun and won? This was a whole new level of awkward.
Especially when he was shirtless.
“Do you walk around like that all the time?” I blurt out.
Hunter doesn’t look up from where he stands in front of the wood stove, stacking logs with those massive, calloused hands. His T-shirt is tossed over a chair, exposing muscles that look like they were carved from stone and not in an “I go to the gym every morning” kind of way. No, this man had earned every line and scar with sweat and hard work. He’s big, probably six foot two or more, and bulky. Not over the top, but damn, he made a thick girl like me feel small next to him.
“I live alone,” he says simply.
