Page 103 of Mountain Wood

“Always working, huh?”

“Unfortunately.” Snowflakes stick to her lashes. “My gown is in the cabin.”

“You brought agown?” Of course, she did. What am I thinking? This is Grace Finch, I’m talking to. The woman legit packed everything imaginable for this supposed two-week trip to the middle of nowhere.

“I hung it in the closet the first day so it wouldn’t crinkle.”

“You should have told me. I could have brought it when I got all your other stuff.”

She waves me off. “I didn’t mention it because it wasn’t important.”

Oscar dashes past her and zooms in the other direction.

“I’ll take you down,” I say. “I have to help Nick plow some folks out too. It’s better if I go now. The snow’s not stopping today.”

“You go ahead. I can take the snowmobile to the cabin,” she says like it’s no big deal.

I made sure it was in working order the other day, but… “I’d rather be with you,” I say, wishing I hadn’t. The last thing I want is to be overbearing. “I’m just worried you’ll get hurt or stuck.”

“I’ll be fine.” She pats my cheeks.

“Let me plow the way down and you can ride on the side.” That way, if something happens, she canditch the snowmobile and make it safely back home or to the cabins. “If you have any trouble, call me, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Oscar runs back to us, coated in white and shakes herself off next to Grace.

We head to the barn where the snowmobile sits. It takes two tries to start, which is one too many for my liking, but at least it’s running, and the tank is full. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

I grab a helmet for her, my instincts screaming to not let her on this thing without me. “I’d rather just drive you down. Or better yet, I can go get your dress and bring it back to you. There’s no point in you going yourself.”

“Dean.” Her hands land on her hips. “Don’t hold me back from having fun.”

“I’m not. I’m just…Fuck.”

“I swear I know what I’m doing.”

Relenting, I give her what she wants. My teeth clench so tight, I’ve given myself a headache. But it’s fine. Everything’s fine. She’ll be fine.

Grace straddles the damn thing, her boots firmly planted on the running boards, and she grips the handlebars.

“Keep two fingers on the brake lever!” I yell over the purr of the engine. “Don’t go too fast and—”

God. Damnit.

She’s taken off.

I race to my truck with Oscar, hellbent on beating her down the hill, which is impossible. Thankfully, Grace only does donuts in my yard and then she waits for me. “Good girl,” I grumble,strangling my steering wheel as we make our way towards the bridge.

She’ll have to go down the slope and over the frozen stream.

I feel sick.

She’s going to get hurt. She doesn’t know the terrain like I do.

This is a mistake.

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