Page 19 of Snowbound with the Santas

Archer’s thick eyebrows twitch upward faintly while Nick snorts out a burst of laughter.

“He’s a man of few words, that’s for sure.”

The brief softness in Archer’s eyes—that may be my imagination—vanishes as soon as he looks back at Nick.

“Prick.”

“Archer’s the one who dug you out of the snow and carried you back to our truck,” Nick explains.

“Thank you,” I say to Archer. He glances back at me and grunts, then continues on toward the cabin.

I’m tempted to grunt back, but I keep the urge at bay because the sound of snow crunching from the tree line diverts my attention. Just as Nick offers me his elbow to lean on when walking, a third man walks from the forest carrying a bag on one shoulder and several fish dangling from lines on the other.

“Nick!” the stranger bellows in a sweet, light voice. “Brother, you will not believe the luck I had this morning. Not to brag or anything, but I think I’m becoming the fish whisperer. Is that even a thing? Fuck knows. Anyway, we’re eating good tonight.”

“Brother?” I ask quietly, curious of the relationship since this new man does not look like Nick at all.

He looks slightly younger than the other two with a wild mop of short brown hair on his head and sparkling green eyes that rest above a lopsided grin. His jaw is dusted with facial hair.

“Not related,” Nick clarifies to me, then he turns to the stranger. “Frankie, this is Rayne.”

Frankie stops suddenly when he spots me, and that adorable lopsided grin widens.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even see you there. Wait—should she be up and walking around? That wound was no joke.”

“I’m okay,” I assure him, clutching a little tighter at Nick’s arm. “Right now, the pain is my own doing.”

Frankie glances between us. “Dude, did you scare her?”

“No,” Nick replies sharply. “Not intentionally, at least, but this isn’t exactly an ideal situation to wake up in.”

“Says who?” Frankie casts one arm wide. “We’re in the crystal heart of nature. What could be more beautiful?”

“Maybe not waking up alone with three strange men?” Nick points out.

Frankie halts his movements. “Right. Sorry.” His eyes dart back to me. “Are you okay? Would it be completely useless of me to say that you’re safe here?”

“I think that might be a show, don’t tell kind of deal,” I admit. Then I glance at the fish. “You… caught those? Up a mountain?”

“Oh, for sure!” Frankie holds them aloft like a trophy. “There’s all sorts of lakes and rivers in the mountains. You just gotta know how to ice fish and how to sweet talk them onto the hook.”

“He says sweet talk,” Nick scoffs, turning us back to the cabin. “But really he means stealing my jerky and using it to lure in the best fish.”

“It works,” Frankie points out, falling into step beside us. “That’s the important thing.”

“Not for those of us who want to eat jerky!”

“Okay, true, but what would you rather have—a nice, succulent fillet of fried fish or some dried shoe leather?” Frankie asks.

“Please don’t say succulent ever again,” Nick groans.

“If you don’t choose, then it’s an auto vote for fish,” Franke declares.

“Fine. Jerky.”

“And you?” Frankie lifts one brow. “Be our tie-breaker?”

I can’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. Sending Nick a sorrowful glance, I choose. “Fish. I’m sorry, I’m not a fan of aggressive chewing.”

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