Page 17 of Mountain Wood

God. Damnit.

“Hang on.” I close the door and march across the property to the massive wood stack I’ve been working on and pile a few choice pieces into a large bin, along with a handful of tinder. The snow’s coming down a little heavier now, but it’s barely covered the ground. This cold snap is just a teaser of what’s coming. Winter’s likely arriving early this year and the amount of work I want to get done seems unrealistic on nights like this.

I reenter her cabin, heading straight to the fireplace to light things up. It takes less than a minute to get flames crackling and with how I stack the wood, it’ll slow burn and collapse into a perfect pile for her by the time she’s asleep. Pride swells in my chest knowing she’ll be toasty all night in her bed because of me.

“You’re all set.” Brushing my hands on my jeans, I turn towards the door and see the muddy boot prints I’ve left.Shit.I made a mess. Grabbing some paper towels from the kitchen, I…Double shit! I’ve just tracked more dirt through her fucking cabin. “I’m as bad as Oscar.”

Grace looks down at what I’m talking about and giggles. “Oscar isn’t bad. You, though? I have my suspicions.”

She narrows her pretty eyes at me, and I now see she has no make up on. Wow. She’s a fucking stunner.

“I’m making quesadillas,” she announces proudly. “You want one?”

She cooks, too? Be still my starved little heart. “Sure.”

I unlace my boots and carry them to the front door. Then I quickly clean up the mess I made, apologizing once again, although Grace doesn’t seem to care.

The fire crackles and snaps, radiating heat in the tiny cabin she’s rented for two weeks.

Two. Weeks.

She’s all mine for two solid weeks.

“You’ll have to monitor over the next few days,” I say, leaning against the counter. “Winter’s hitting us earlier than expected and I smell snow.”

“Is that because it’s snowing right now?”

Her sarcasm makes my dick throb.

“No, I mean I smell big snow. I don’t want you stuck up here if we have a storm.”

Her cheeks flush a little and she pokes the quesadilla with a fork.

“I’ll refund you the money for the days you miss if you have to leave early,” I offer, hoping that makes her feel better.

“I plan to stay for at least a month, if not longer.”

The food in her frying pan starts to smoke, but she keeps poking at it. The flame’s too high, the cheese isn’t melting, and the tortilla is burning. I’m not about to point out any of that because there’s no way I’m going to insult her cooking.

“Staying for a month isn’t going to be possible, Grace. The pass gets covered, and I’ll likely be snowed in up here by early December. That’s why I don’t rent the cabins beyond the second week of November.”

She cocks her eyebrow and looks at me like I’m nuts. “This is a skiing destination, Dean. You’re telling me these cabins aren’t rented out for the entire season?”

Shame slaps me. “It’s been a while since this place was booked for ski season. I don’t have the equipment or the staff to run it like I used to.”

Her eyes widen. “No one will be here at all?”

What’s it matter to her? “No.”

She pauses, as if thinking things over and pokes the tortilla some more. When she folds it in half, the charred outside cracks and crumbles. It smells terrible and smoke wafts around us, likely about to set off the fire alarm. I turn on the stove fan and crack open a window to prevent that from happening.

“This doesn’t look like what I ate at the Salt Lick earlier.” She frowns, dumping the food onto a plate. “I’ve burned it.”

The disappointment in her voice is so sad. “The heat was a little too high, sugar.”

After quickly washing out the pan, I set it back on the stove. “Want to try again?”

She picks at the one on her plate and tastes it. Her face scrunches up in the most adorable way and she grabs her phone, snapping a pic. “Yeah, but if I fuck up again, I won’t have enough ingredients for a third attempt.”

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