Page 1 of Mountain Man's Surrender

Aspen

Throughthefrost-etchedwindshieldof my rental car, Wildwood, Vermont looks exactly like one of those small-town, picture-perfect postcards. Main Street is quaint, pristine, and completely endearing. I hate to admit it, but part of me envies the peaceful beauty of this sleepy little town. And despite my fierce determination not to be, this city girl is smitten barely five minutes after arriving.

Not that I could ever live here. Even with its powdered sugar-like, snow-dusted streets and charming storefronts. Nope, my father’s ghost would haunt every corner and lurk in every shadow and ruin the whole laidback cozy vibe. I mean, yeah, I’m itching to move out of the city. And, sure, I’m eager for a fresh start. But here I’d face an endless torrent of useless what-ifs, always pondering how my life would have been different if the jerk had been man enough to step up and take responsibility for his actions. If he’d wanted my mother and me.

I twist the silver pendant hanging from my neck, the familiar feel of the intricate wirework under my fingertips calming my frayed nerves. Trading my urban life for flannel and snow boots feels like a plot twist too ridiculous for even the Hallmark movies this town seems to have been plucked from. I push the random daydream from my mind and shift into Park in the slushy parking lot of the Sugar Plum Cafe.

Thick snowflakes drift slowly past multicolored Christmas lights someone should have taken down weeks ago, their cheerful twinkle at odds with the knot in my stomach. A twisted gnarl that a strong cup of hot coffee will hopefully loosen.

I push through the front door, and a wave of cinnamon-laced warmth envelops me like an unexpected hug. The sensation is unnerving on its own, but add to it every eye in the place seeming to track my arrival, and suddenly, I wish I hadn’t just driven hundreds of miles to come here. I regret not selling the garage I inherited, sight unseen. Especially when heads swivel in my direction, reminding me of how out of place I am in a town where everyone knows everyone—and their business.

And likely, everyone knew Simon Raines, the man who was apparently my biological father.

I’m second guessing my decision to stop in here at what appears to be gossip central, but my frozen fingers ache for a mug of warmth, and I need the shot of caffeine to face my father’s empty mechanic shop. So, with a deep breath, I lift my chin and press forward, sliding onto a stool at the red laminate counter.

“Welcome to the Sugar Plum!” A tall blonde steps over, rocking a red and white checkered headband that comes off more authentic vintage than wannabe trendy hipster. “How can I help you?”

“Your largest coffee, please. And all the cream and sugar.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel, which is something, at least.

She winks at me. An honest to goodness wink. Followed by, “One of those days, huh? Don’t worry, hon. I’ve got you.” She spins to grab a half-full coffeepot from the hot plate and a mug with a covered bridge printed on it from a shelf.

“Thanks,” I murmur as she fills the mug, leaving plenty of room for my additions. Steam curls upward, and the blonde—Mia, according to her nametag—sets a small pitcher of cream and a glass sugar pourer next to it.

“You’re not from around here,” she says, the observation not a question. “And, not here for the skiing,” she adds, tilting her chin at the compact Nissan I picked up this morning in Brooklyn. “Just passing through?”

I pour enough sugar into my coffee to guarantee I’ll be up half the night, but I’ve been hovering on the brink of a breakdown ever since I crossed the George Washington Bridge hours ago, having finally decided to make the trip up here to find closure, if that’s even possible, so I focus on the crystals dissolving into the dark liquid instead. “Sort of.”

Mia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, there’s a story there.”

Despite the remark, she doesn’t seem to be digging for dirt. Plus, her kind smile and warm blue eyes set me at ease, at least momentarily, so I offer the briefest explanation I’ve got. “I’m here for the Green Mountain Garage.”

The moment the words leave my lips, a palpable ripple moves through the cafe. Conversations pause mid-sentence, forks hover suspended between plates and lips, and a collective murmur sweeps across the room.

Great. Small town theater at its finest.And apparently, I’m in the starring role. Heat creeps up my neck as I shift on my stool, fighting the urge to bolt for the door. The scrutiny makes my skin itch, but I straighten my spine instead. Let them stare. Let them whisper. I didn’t come here for their approval, and their questions or opinions certainly aren’t my problem.

“Oh.” She utters the word slowly as she wipes the sparkling clean counter with a towel tugged from the flour dusted apron tied around her waist. Her mind seems to be working overtime, but she meets my eyes and adds, “Such a shame about Simon.”

It’s a heartfelt comment, but the mug, lifted halfway to my lips, stills midair as I death grip the handle.

“I suppose,” I offer tersely, my throat tight as I ignore the sympathy in her eyes. After all, I don’t need condolences. I didn’t mourn the man whose name I only learned from an attorney a few months ago, and I’m certainly not about to start now.

But something flickers inside me, a question I never thought I’d care to ask.What was he like? The man who couldn’t be bothered to be my father?I swallow hard, burying the thought. It doesn’t matter. Especially now.

If Mia notices my less than gracious response, she doesn’t acknowledge it. Rather, she clicks her tongue. “The whole town misses him dearly.”

If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.I repeat the silent mantra as I take a sip of the scalding hot but delicious coffee. After all, I can tell this woman, who isn’t more than a few years older than me, means well. Unfortunately for her, she’s talking about the man who turned his back on me and was the furthest thing from a father you could get. A man I don’t miss one bit.

“At least, Landry’s keeping things running over there—”

“What?” The word comes out sharper than I intended as my eyes snap to hers. “The garage is still open?”

Confusion flickers across her features. “Well, yeah. Landry wouldn’t let it close, not with the winter maintenance season in full swing. Too many folks depend on the services. He’s been coming into town nearly every day…” She trails off, studying my face. “You didn’t know?”

I set down my mug with deceptive gentleness, my fingers trembling as my teeth clench behind a tight smile. And just like that, the knot in my stomach has morphed to a churning lurch as my carefully laid plans crumble. All my preparations, my expectations of a quick sale and clean break from the garage are dissolving faster than the sugar I stirred into my mug a moment ago.

The place was supposed to be closed. Ready for a simple brokered deal, so I could wash my hands of it and get back to my life. Take the proceeds and finally have the means to invest in my jewelry business. Give my promising side hustle an actual shot at fulltime success. After three years of working nights and weekends, while keeping my soul-crushing office job just to pay rent in the city, only to lose everything to cover my mom’s medical expenses, this was supposed to be my chance. My turn for a dream. Instead, some stranger, named Landry, is running the place?

“This Landry,” I begin, trying to keep my voice level, “what’s he like?”

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