Page 44 of Snowed In With the Mountain Man
They followed a creek through a narrow canyon, and he laughed at Dahlia’s gasp of delight when she spotted a moose running along on the other side of the creek.
To his surprise, she laughed too, the sound more youthful and sweet than anything he’d ever heard from her before.
He glanced over in time to catch her wide smile as she leaned into the window for a better view.
“They’re not exactly graceful creatures, are they?” she mused.
He chuckled. “No, ma’am. They’re gangly and awkward, at best.”
She giggled. A straight-upgiggleas she watched the moose lumbering along, long-limbed and stumbling in the snow.
He clamped his own mouth shut to keep from laughing. It wouldn’t do if she thought he was laughing at her. And he wasn’t. It was just too stinkin’ cute to watch this hardened city chick go all soft and silly over a moose.
When at last he found the snow-packed path to the lake, he stopped the truck. “We’ll have to walk in from here,” he said, “or risk getting the truck stuck in a snowbank.”
She nodded, not even hesitating before hopping out. She followed him to the back, where he pulled out some supplies.
“What can I take?” she asked.
“I brought most everything we’ll need out here earlier.” He gestured to the box in his hands. “This is the last of it.”
“You came out here already this morning?” Her brows drew together in confusion.
“I want your first time ice fishing to be fun.” He grinned. “So I did some of the prep work.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She fell into step beside him, using the path he’d forged earlier to make their way through the snow.
When they reached the lake, she stopped to stare. He couldn’t decide which was better—the view, which was spectacular, or Dahlia’s face as she took in that spectacular view.
“Wow,” she whispered again. Her breath plumed before her in the cold air.
“Yeah,” he agreed. Because really, what else was there to say? There were no words for this.
The lake wasn’t large by most standards, but it was still plenty big, and what lay beyond it was a picture-perfect view of one of the tallest peaks in the Tobacco Root range. White-peaked and awe-inspiring, it loomed over the lake like a shrine to all that’s holy.
He set the box down and reached for her hand. “I pitched the tent on the ice already.” He called her attention away from the view to the small, makeshift structure they’d use to keep warm. “Let me help you over there.” He could see her about to argue, so he added, “Walking on ice takes some getting used to.”
She clamped her lips shut and thrust her hand into his. He steadied her as she stepped onto the ice and immediately began to wobble. Like a newborn foal, she struggled to find her feet, but she never once fell. He held her tight and helped her to the tent, grinning like a fool the entire way.
“Do you always use a tent?” she asked. “Or is this for my benefit?”
He laughed. “Actually, I typically go to a lake out by my cabin, and out there I have a little shed that I keep up all winter.”
She stopped short to glance at him. “So why are we going here instead?”
He shrugged. “I thought you might like to see your own land while you’re here.”
Her expression was funny—partly irritated, partly awed, and almost entirely baffled.
“It’s notmine,” she murmured.
He didn’t protest. Instead, he tugged her along until they got to the tent. He found the too-large, but incredibly warm, overcoat he’d brought for her and draped it around her shoulders, helping to secure all the fastenings and zippers despite her muttering about how she wasn’t a child.
“Not a child,” he murmured, “but we all need help now and again.”
She took the snow pants from him with a raised brow that was tempered by a small smile. “I don’t need help putting my pants on.”
He held his hands up in mock surrender. But while she was working on the fastening of her pants, he snagged a fur-trimmed hat and stuck it on her head.
