“Three feet of snow, minimum. Winds up to sixty miles per hour. Temperature drop that’ll freeze exposed skin in minutes.” I glance at her, wondering if she understands what that means up here. “We need to wrap things up. You have any patients you need to follow up with before we close?”
“Just need to call Lila Frost about the twins’ test results.”
The tension in her tone catches my attention. “Something nasty?”
“Worse, the cultures were clean. But their white counts are through the roof. Something’s causing an inflammatory response, but it’s not showing up on our standard panels. Andthey don’t really have symptoms that fit neatly with an infectious process.”
“Could be viral. Or a less common pathogen. Let’s send the blood work to the university lab for a more thorough analysis.”
“Will do. I’ll call Lila and let her know.”
“Good. After that, head home and prepare for the storm.” I glance out the window, where the sky has already darkened to a threatening slate gray. “You got your cabin prepped?”
“I’ve dealt with winter storms in New York,” she says with a confidence that would be reassuring if I actually believed she had experience with whiteout conditions in the wilderness. “Plus, I’ve done enough outdoor activities to know the basics.”
I study her, but she refuses to meet my gaze. “You haven’t seen storms like the ones on Heat Mountain. Keep fresh batteries in your radio and leave it on for updates. If things get bad, you might lose cell service.”
“I’ll be fine.” She gathers her things, sliding her notebook into her bag. “My rental car has four-wheel drive.”
I watch her head to the parking lot, noting her confident stride as she navigates the already snow-dusted pavement. Her car is decent—a newer model Subaru that should handle the snow well enough. But the Whitesong cabins are up on the mountain’s eastern slope. They’ll get hit hardest.
A twinge of unease settles in my gut as her taillights disappear around the bend. I should have offered to follow her home to make sure she has enough supplies. Check her cabin’s heating system. Those old places can be drafty, and if the power goes out...
I catch myself, surprised by the strength of the protective impulse. What the hell is wrong with me? Holly Chang is a grown woman and a doctor. She doesn’t need me hovering over her like some overprotective alpha stereotype.
But as I lock up the clinic and head to my own vehicle, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s about to go very wrong. The mountain has its own rules, its own dangers. And Holly, for all her competence, is still an outsider who doesn’t understand what that means.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, forcing myself to drive toward Kai’s cabin instead of following her up the mountain road. Professional boundaries. That’s what I need to maintain.
No matter how loud my instincts are screaming at me.
Ipull into Kai’s driveway, relieved to be home after another tense day at the clinic. Depending on the amount of snowfall, I get to spend the next few days not seeing Holly almost every time I turn around.
And feeling an unwanted surge of disappointment when I don’t.
Because I’m an idiot with a completely inexplicable and unjustifiable fixation.
Holly’s work is good, even though I’m harder on her than I need to be. Patients love her bedside manner, and the staff are happy to be assigned to work with her. I can’t fault her professionally.
But none of this explains why it feels like my whole body tenses up or why I’m aware of every word that comes out of her mouth even when I tell myself not to listen.
All I want is to forget she exists for a little while, and my brain won’t fucking let me.
The snow is falling steadily now, coating the ground in a thin white blanket that will soon become a suffocating layer.The temperature has already dropped ten degrees since I left the clinic.
My gaze strays to the horizon, where I know the cluster of mountaintop cabins is practically deserted. Holly is basically alone up there. I hope she’s ready for the storm.
Damn it, not again.
Ahead of me, Grayson’s battered pickup truck sits in front of the four-car garage, its bed piled high with supplies. Grayson and Kai are unloading boxes and bags, working in tandem with the easy rhythm of long familiarity. Despite the tension that sometimes crackles between us, there’s something comforting about watching them—a reminder of simpler times when we were just three kids with the mountain as our playground.
Kai spots me first, raising a hand in greeting. “Look who finally decided to show up! Ghost and I have been slaving away for hours.”
“It’s been twenty minutes,” Grayson corrects, not looking up as he hefts a case of water bottles.
I grab my medical bag from the passenger seat and trudge through the snow toward them. “You two planning for the snowstorm or an apocalypse?”
“Ghost is always ready for the apocalypse. Mountain man living in the woods, fighting off zombies or cannibals after the end times is his whole vibe,” Kai says cheerfully, passing me a bag of groceries. “But I figured since we’re all crashing here, we might as well be comfortable. I got the whole-bean coffee you like. And steaks so we can try out my new indoor grill.”
