Page 1 of Sugar-Shacked with the Mountain Man
one
Sophie
Myphonebuzzeswithanother text from my boss as I navigate the winding back roads of northern Ontario.Deal better be locked by Friday. Board meeting Monday. Don't disappoint.
No pressure. Just my entire career riding on convincing a stubborn farmer to sell his family's maple operation to Morrison & Associates. The promotion to senior partner, the corner office, the financial security I need. All of it depends on the next forty-eight hours.
The GPS died twenty minutes ago, leaving me with nothing but a hand-drawn map and growing frustration. September in this wilderness is already painting the maple trees in brilliant reds and golds, but I have no time to appreciate the scenery.
"Dubois Maple Farm," I mutter, squinting at the crude directions. "Should be just past the—"
The first snowflake hits my windshield like a cold slap of reality.Snow? In September?
Within minutes, what started as a light dusting becomes a legitimate blizzard. My designer heels are completely useless as I stumble through rapidly accumulating snow toward what looks like a collection of rustic buildings. My laptop bag clutched against my chest, I can barely make out the weathered sign:Dubois Maple Farm - Est. 1892.
The main farmhouse is dark, but smoke rises from a chimney at a smaller building. Fighting against the wind, I push through the storm toward the only sign of life.
The door flies open before I can knock. "What the hell are you doing out in this?"
I find myself staring up at six and a half feet of pure mountain man. Broad shoulders fill the doorframe, dark hair falls across intense green eyes, and a thick beard covers a strong jaw. Flannel stretches across a chest that looks like it could fell trees bare-handed. My professional composure abandons me entirely. This is not the aging farmer I expected.
"I'm looking for Kane Dubois," I manage through chattering teeth.
"You found him." His voice is a low rumble that seems to vibrate through my bones. "And you're about to freeze to death. Get inside."
He doesn't wait for my response, simply wraps one massive hand around my arm and pulls me into warmth. The space is clearly some kind of workshop—large metal tanks, copper pipes, equipment I don't recognize. But it's warm and dry, and right now that's all that matters.
"I'm Sophia Charles from Morrison & Associates," I say, trying to sound professional while dripping melted snow on his floor. "We have a meeting scheduled to discuss your property."
"The buyout." His voice goes cold. "Yeah, I know who you are."
Kane turns away, stoking a fire in what looks like a massive furnace. The flames cast dancing shadows across the sugarshack, and I can't help but notice the powerful line of his shoulders, how his flannel shirt stretches across his broad back.
"Look," he says without turning around, "whatever corporate bullshit you're here to feed me about 'maximizing potential' can wait. We're snowed in."
"Snowed in?" My voice pitches higher. "It's September!"
"Welcome to northern Ontario, princess." He faces me again, and I have to force myself not to step back from the intensity in his green eyes. "Early blizzards happen. This one's going to dump three feet before it's done."
He moves to the window, wiping away condensation. The world has disappeared into a wall of white. "Road's impassable by now. Won't be getting out until the storm passes and the plows come through."
"How long?" Panic creeps into my voice.
"Four, maybe five days."
I sink onto an old wooden bench, my perfectly manicured fingers running through my damp hair. "This can't be happening. I have meetings. Conference calls. My mother's medical bills depend on—" I catch myself before revealing too much.
"Your mother's what?"
"Nothing. The Morrison account depends on closing this deal quickly."
"Well, the Morrison account can kiss my ass," he interrupts. "And so can you if you think I'm selling my family's farm to corporate vultures."
My temper flares. "Excuse me?"
"This farm has been in my family for five generations. My great-great-grandfather cleared this land with his bare hands, and you think you can waltz in here with your spreadsheets and buy it out from under me?"
"I think you might want to hear the offer before making assumptions about what I'm here to do."
