Page 22 of A Mountain Man Christmas

She was so thankful when he finally turned away, announcing that he was going to continue checking around the village for a building habitable enough to spend the night in, that she almost gave an audible sigh of relief. If she’d had to spend another moment within three feet of him, she would have combusted.

She slipped her glove back on and picked up the fallen handcuffs, gazing around at the war-torn village. It had to be the worst sight she’d come across since regaining consciousnessamid the plane wreckage. In the distance, beyond the village, she spotted some greenery—treetops pointing toward the sky. Pine trees.

Just like Christmas trees, she realized, securing the cuffs to her hip as she was hit with a wave of nostalgia. When was the last time she’d celebrated Christmas? Not in years, not since her marriage with Greg ended. Being a bounty hunter meant that during Christmas, while other adults her age were nibbling the cookies their kids had left out for Santa, she was usually going after some stubborn criminal.

So why was she thinking about itnow? Christmas didn’t mean much to her anymore, did it?

Maybe a part of her was picturing sharing the holiday with the mountain man she’d just been freed from, or maybe it was because she was starting to find herself drawn to him.

Only that couldn’t be right.

Be careful, Lyla, she told herself.

***

The shelter Tristan found turned out to be a cabin in the center of the village. Judging from its size, Lyla figured it must’ve belonged to the village’s chief. A large section of the cabin walls was missing as if a dragon had taken a bite out of it. Only one of the rooms was still habitable, and by the time they cleared out the snow and debris, the air was filled with the smell of decaying wood.

“Home, sweet home,” Lyla muttered with a whistle, eyeing a dark burn mark in the corner of the room. “I hope this isn’t an accurate representation of the real estate situation on Frost Mountain.”

They sat and shared some more food. When it got darker, Tristan decided it was time to sleep—better get as much rest as they could now so they could get a move on first thing in the morning.

While he slept, Lyla lay awake, blinking in the semi-darkness. She couldn’t see much of Tristan, but she could tell he had his back turned to her. Not only that, but he’d scooted away from her, leaving a few feet of space between them.

Lyla couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Then she chided herself for feeling that way. After all, he’d only had his arm around her because they’d been cuffed together. Now they were free. They could both do whatever they wanted. It wasn’t like she wanted his arms wrapped around her like the other night.

Okay, maybe she did want his arms wrapped around her. It was a chilly night.

Okay, maybe wanting his arms wrapped around her had little to do with the cold. But that wasn’t to say it had to mean anything.

Okay, maybe itdidmean something. But—

If she listened carefully enough, she could hear his gentle snores. She pictured that large body of his heaving under his coat with each breath. She hadn’t seen him without his clothes yet, but she suspected he was pretty ripped despite being twice her size. She could just imagine the muscular contours of his torso, along his broad back…

She tried to ignore the flush of excitement that filled her body at the thought.

Lyla Jensen, you need to pull yourself together.

Well, it wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t felt the touch of a man in years, she told herself.

No, that wasn’t it. She’d felt the touch of many men over the years, half of whom were usually trying to put her six feet under. She and Tristan hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms when she began to find his touch titillating.

Ten minutes later, she was still blinking into the semi-darkness.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “Might as well go for a midnight stroll.”

She started to leave the room, but a thought occurred to her, and she crept over to Tristan’s side, groping half-blindly until her fingers closed around something cold. One of his hunting blades. She might be a human on a magical mountain where the odds of her surviving were low, but she was still pretty handy with blades. If she bumped into something unpleasant out there…well, at least she and Tristan wouldn’t be going hungry.

She stepped out of the dilapidated cabin into the snow, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold.

Freedom got boring quickly, she decided, as she walked through the ruins of Alfanger. That was one of the paradoxes of life. When you felt bound by something, you longed to be free. It got so enticing that you’d do anything to get free. But it didn’t take long for that freedom to get old. Here she was, no longer bound by the handcuffs, and the only thing that made sense was for her to stick with this man who’d been a pain in the neck from day one.

She’d tried to convince herself that it was because she wanted to get to the bottom of his murder case and find out who’d done it. But now she was starting to wonder if that was her only reason.

Tucking Tristan’s blade under her coat, she stepped around the remnants of what looked like it had once been a porch and let her gaze rise from the rotted wooden structures around her to the sky. Overhead, the moon glowed softly, and pinpoints of light dotted the rest of the sky. The stars were scattered as far as her eyes could see. It was such a beautiful sight that Lyla almost forgot for a second that she was still on Frost Mountain.

Could people back on Earth see the same sky? Or was this all a magical illusion reserved for those stuck on Frost Mountain, a momentary relief from the chaos that surrounded them?It seemed likely. Itwasa separate dimension, isolated from everything she’d known in the past four decades of her life.

A life she would never see again.

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