Page 22 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

“Storm’s picking up,” he grumbles, running a hand through his damp hair. “We’ll be lucky if we don’t lose power.”

I glance out the window, noting the thick sheets of snow whipping past the glass. Great.

“You got the generator ready?” Hank asks from the table, barely looking up from where he’s sharpening one of his hunting knives.

Wyatt nods. “Yeah. Just in case.”

Ivy frowns, looking between the three of us. “How bad are we talking?”

Wyatt shrugs. “Bad enough that we’re probably not going anywhere for a while.”

She tenses. Not visibly, but enough that I notice. The idea of being stuck here must be clawing at her. I get the feeling she doesn’t like feeling trapped, even if it’s in a warm cabin with food and three men who would make damn sure she’s safe.

I drain the rest of my beer and set the bottle down with a thud. “Guess that means we better find ways to entertain ourselves.”

Her eyes snap to mine, and I let my smirk linger just long enough to watch her bristle.

Wyatt exhales sharply, shaking his head, but I see the glint in his eyes. He wants to push her, too.

Hank just grunts. “Leave the girl alone, Holt.”

“Just trying to be hospitable.” I hold up my hands in mock innocence, then glance back at Ivy. “Though, if you’re looking for something to do, I could always teach you how to play poker.”

“Let me guess,” she says, arching a brow. “You’re the only one who knows the rules, and somehow, you always end up winning?”

I press a hand to my chest. “You wound me.”

“I doubt that,” she mutters.

God, she’s fun. And sexy.

Wyatt shakes his head, tossing me a look before grabbing a beer for himself. He doesn’t have to say anything. I already know what he’s thinking: this is dangerous.

And he’s right.

But danger has never stopped me before. I am a firefighter after all.

Chapter 10

Ivy

The wind howls like a banshee outside, battering the cabin walls, rattling the windows like it's trying to get in. It’s been like this for hours and it doesn’t seem like it’s letting up any time soon.

It’s not dumping a lot of snow—thank fuck—but the wind is strong and the trees are bending ominously.

The clock on the nightstand reads just past midnight when the lights stutter and die. Darkness swallows the room, only sporadic bursts of white-hot light slicing through the night.

Have you ever seen snow lightning? It is wild. And scary as fuck. It’s eerie, unnatural—like a storm caught between two seasons, unsure whether to whisper or roar.

A low rumble follows, rolling through the mountains like some sleeping giant shifting in its slumber. The wind howls against the cabin walls, and I swear the temperature drops another ten degrees.

"Damn. “I pull the blankets tighter around me, but it does nothing to stop the chill creeping up my spine. A moment later, the low hum of the generator kicks in, a comforting sound until I realize the cold is still biting at my bones. With the power out, the heat's gone AWOL too.

Hank had explained the wood-burning stove to me a couple of days ago because it made zero sense to me. Without power, the blowers are off, so the heat won’t distribute as evenly. Which means I’m fucked in the furthest room from the heat source.

I burrow deeper under the covers, cocooning myself in blankets, but it barely helps. The chill seeps in, creeping along my skin like icy fingers. I curl tighter, trying to convince myself that I can wait it out, that sleep will claim me before the cold does. But it’s useless.

A knock at my bedroom door makes me jump.

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