Page 44 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

"Guess I'll have to grab that jacket, then," I murmur, tilting my head to give him better access.

"Guess so," Holt agrees, but he doesn't move. Neither do I.

The four-wheeler rumbles beneath me, its vibrations a steady pulse against my thighs. Trees whip past us, their bare branches scratching at the pale sky. Holt’s back is solid and warm in front of me, heat seeping through his jacket as my hands press against his chest.

"Ever ridden one of these before?" he shouts over the engine's growl.

"Never," I yell back, and it's exhilarating—the speed, the cold air biting at my cheeks, the freedom.

"Lean with the turns," he advises, and I follow his movements as if we're one entity navigating this wild terrain.

We reach a clearing and Holt slows the vehicle down to an idle. He points to a fence line in the distance. "Gonna need to check that after the melt. Predators can get through if it's down."

I squint, trying to see any obvious damage. "I could help with that."

"Thought you were a city girl." His tone teases, but there's a hint of a challenge there too.

"Maybe I'm not anymore." I swing my leg over the seat, planting my boots in the snow, surprised by how the words don't feel like a lie. The thought of my own place here, surrounded by this untamed beauty tugs at something deep within me.

"Is that so?" He mirrors my action, facing me now. His eyes hold mine, searching.

"Maybe," I say, and I mean it. Every fiber of my being screams that the life I knew—the endless meetings, the constant noise, the pressure to be perfect—it doesn't fit who I am now, who I'm becoming out here.

"Let's get you settled, then," Holt says, breaking into a grin. "Show you how to live off the land."

"Sounds perfect." The words feel right on my lips, and I climb back onto the four-wheeler, ready for whatever lesson he has next.

We glide over the snow, leaving a trail of churned powder in our wake. The world is quiet except for the occasional chirp of a distant bird or the whisper of pine branches heavy with snow.

"Never gets old, does it?" Holt's voice carries over the engine, his breath misting in the cold air.

I shake my head, smiling. "It's beautiful," I admit. The chill bites at my cheeks, but inside, I'm warm. Content.

We ride on, the forest opening up to reveal a vast expanse of white. The predicted storm seems to be holding off. The snow has been falling lazily over the last few days.

"Looks like we might be lucky with the weather after all," I say, hopeful.

Holt nods, but he's scanning the horizon, eyes narrowed. "Maybe."

The snowflakes swirl gently around us, catching the light in a way that almost feels peaceful. But I spoke too soon.

The curse of Ivy Blake rears its ugly head. The wind shifts, subtle at first, a sharper bite in the air. The trees ahead sway, their bare branches rattling like dry bones. The snow thickens, swirling faster, and in the span of a breath, the sky begins to darken.

And then, without warning, the world shifts. Clouds roll in, heavy and fast. The slow, lazy snowfall is now a borderline blizzard.

"Storm's coming in quick." Holt's words are nearly lost to the howl that follows.

I squint into the swirling white, gripping onto Holt as we keep moving.

"Can you see anything?" I yell, but the storm swallows my voice.

"Stay close!" he shouts back, leaning into the throttle.

The snow's getting thicker, a white curtain that swallows the world whole. He eases off the throttle, the four-wheeler creeping forward as shapes become ghosts in the haze.

"Can't see a thing," I mutter, my breath forming clouds that vanish into the frigid air.

"Keep your eyes peeled for landmarks," Holt calls over his shoulder, his voice barely cutting through the wind's relentless howl.

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