Page 2 of My Savior Valentine

"Need a lift?" the man asks gruffly, his dark eyes appraising me.

I nod, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. "Y-yes, please. My car slid off the road and hit a tree."

He sighs as if I'm just another inconvenience in his day. "Hop in," he says, jerking his head toward the passenger seat.

I climb into the truck, grateful for the blast of warm air that hits me as I close the door. The man doesn't say a word as he puts the vehicle in gear and starts driving.

"I'm Willow," I say, trying to break the awkward silence.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. "Reid," he grunts.

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, he squints at me as if trying to place my face. "Aren't you that skier?" he asks finally.

I stiffen, my hands clenching in my lap. "I was," I say, my voice tight.

"What's an Olympian doing out here alone?" he asks, his tone skeptical.

I bristle at his question, my temper flaring. "Read the news," I snap. "Then you'll see why I'm not training with my former teammates."

Reid raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further. I turn to stare out the window, watching the snow-covered trees fly by.

After a few moments, I break the silence. "Can you give me a lift to my cabin?" I ask. "It can't be much further up the mountain."

Reid hesitates, and for a moment, I think he's going to refuse. But then he nods, his jaw tight. "Fine," he says. "But you'll needto call Joey to deal with your car. There’s a card with his number on the dash."

"Thank you," I say, relief washing over me.

After stopping to grab my luggage from the rental car, the rest of the drive is silent, with me staring out the window at the mountain scenery as snow begins to fall. Despite my frustration with the situation, I can't help but appreciate the rugged beauty of the landscape. The snow-capped peaks and towering pines are a far cry from the manicured slopes I'm used to back home.

As we wind our way up the mountain, I find myself stealing glances at Reid. He's not classically handsome, but there's something about his rugged features and intense gaze that I find intriguing. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and his beard is flecked with gray. He looks like a man who's seen his fair share of hardship.

I quickly look away when he catches me staring, heat rising in my cheeks. I mentally chastise myself for being so foolish. The last thing I need right now is a distraction, especially one as gruff and unfriendly as Reid. Even if the way he stares at me is enough to make me tingle all over.

When Reid pulls up at my cabin for the next two weeks, I hop out of his truck and mumble a quick thanks as I grab my bags and skis from the back. He grunts in response, his eyes already fixed on the road ahead. I watch as he drives away, the red taillights of his truck disappearing into the now swirling snow.

With a sigh, I turn and trudge up the steps to the cabin, my luggage bumping against my legs with every step. The wind howls around me, whipping my hair into my face and stinging my cheeks. I fumble with the key, my fingers numb from the cold, before finally unlocking the door.

As I step inside, I'm hit with a wave of warmth and the comforting scent of pine. The cabin is small but cozy, with a plush couch and a crackling fireplace. I drop my bags by the doorand collapse onto the couch, my body aching from the stress of the day.

It’s surely only going to get better from here. Isn’t it?

2

REID

Ipull up outside the Mountain Angels rescue building, my truck’s engine rumbling to a stop. The structure's rustic exterior of weathered wood and stone greets me, blending seamlessly into the surrounding mountain landscape. A large garage door stands open, revealing the fleet of specialized rescue vehicles parked inside - snowmobiles, all-terrain trucks, and even a small helicopter.

As I climb out of the truck, fat flakes of snow drift down from the heavy gray clouds overhead. I pause for a moment, watching as the flurries thicken, blanketing the ground in a fresh layer of white. It's going to be a significant snowfall, I can tell. The kind that will have the slopes packed with eager skiers come morning.

Shouldering my pack, I push open the heavy wooden door, the familiar sights and sounds of the Angels headquarters greeting me.

The interior is a mix of utilitarian office space and equipment storage. Rows of lockers line the walls, their metal doors covered in faded decals and stickers. The air is thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the damp, earthy odor of wet outdoor gear.

A cacophony of radio chatter and weather reports fills the space, the voices of my fellow rescuers crackling through the speakers. I scan the room, spotting Viggo, our gruff but capable boss, hunched over the dispatch console.

"Hart, there you are," he calls out, waving me over. "We've got a situation up at the resort. Snowboarder with a twisted ankle needs evac."

I let out a frustrated sigh, muttering a curse under my breath. It's been a busy week, with countless inexperienced couples trying their hand at extreme sports for some misguided Valentine’s date. Rescuing them from their foolishness has become a tedious routine.

---