Page 2 of Snowed in with the Mountain Man

I pull out my phone and open my list-making app—my digital security blanket.

CABIN EMERGENCY FIXES:1. Roof (!!!)2. Windows3. Porch4. Plumbing???5. Electricity6. New mattress7. Everything else

I check my watch—nearly 4 PM. The drive took longer than expected, and if this town is anything like other mountain towns, businesses probably close early.

Back in the kitchen, I rummage through drawers until I find an ancient phone book. Darkmore Mountain Supply is listed with hours until 5 PM. If I hurry, I can make it.

As I head back to my car, fat snowflakes begin to drift from the steel-gray sky. I check the temperature on my phone: 28°F and dropping. InApril. What have I gotten myself into?

I turn on the radio as I navigate back down the treacherous driveway.

"—expect this unusual cold front to intensify overnight with potential for significant accumulation in mountain areas," the meteorologist's voice crackles through the speakers. "Residents of Darkmore Mountain and surrounding areas should prepare for possible power outages and limited road access as this late-season system moves through. We're looking at potentially eight to twelve inches in higher elevations—"

I snap off the radio. Perfect. Just perfect. My first night in my new life, and I'm facing a blizzard in a cabin that's more hole than home.

As I reach the main road, I pull over and add one more item to my list:

8. WINTER GEAR. NOW.

Then I point my car toward town, hoping The Mountain Supply Shop lives up to its name. I need tools, materials, and advice—fast. What I don't need is the knot of panic forming in my chest or the voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Kyle's: "This is what happens when you make impulsive decisions, Phoebe."

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. I'll prove that voice wrong if it's the last thing I do.

Even if I freeze to death trying.

two

Aiden

Fiveminutestoclosing.I check the weather radar one more time on the ancient computer behind the counter. The storm's moving in faster than predicted. Blue and white swirls across the screen, bearing down on our little dot on the map like a predator.

Weather doesn't lie. My knee has been aching all day—never fails when pressure drops this fast.

I start my closing routine: counting the register, checking inventory on the winter emergency supplies we'd put on clearance last week. Darkmore winters linger, but nobody expects a blizzard in April.

The bell above the door jingles. Suppressing a sigh, I look up.

And forget how to breathe.

She bursts in like a summer storm—all flushed cheeks and wild eyes. Her chestnut hair tumbles around her shoulders, snowflakes melting against the strands. She's wearing a jacket that might handle a coastal drizzle but will be useless against what's coming.

"You're still open, right?" Her voice has an edge of panic. "Please tell me you're still open."

I glance at the clock. 4:55 PM.

"Five more minutes," I manage, my voice rougher than intended.

Relief floods her face. "Thank God. I need—well, everything, apparently. My cabin is falling apart, and there's a storm coming, and—" She stops abruptly. "Sorry. I'm Phoebe. Phoebe Hartley. I just inherited Max Hartley's place."

Max Hartley. That explains it. Poor girl has no idea what she's walked into. Max's cabin had been abandoned for nearly two years before he died.

"Aiden Calloway," I reply, watching as she tugs off thin leather gloves. City hands. Soft. "Max was a good man. I’m sorry for your loss."

"I barely knew him," she admits, looking around the store with wide eyes. "But he left me his cabin, and I thought... well, I needed a change."

She can't be more than twenty-five. I'm nearly forty. The observation brings an unwelcome tightness to my chest.

"What do you need?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral despite the unfamiliar warmth spreading through me.

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