Page 2 of Mountain Man's Holiday Home
“Oh, hell,” I breathed, lunging forward to catch the netting before it could slip completely off the tree.
My body pressed against his as we both scrambled to save our work. For a moment, we were tangled together, his arms around me, mine around him, the tree between us but our faces inches apart.
His eyes were an even more startling gray up close, framed by dark lashes that had no business being that long on a man. There was a scar running through his left eyebrow, and I had the strangest urge to trace it with my fingertip.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…wasn’t expecting…”
“What?” I whispered back, acutely aware that we were still pressed together, still holding onto the netting, still staring at each other like we’d forgotten how to breathe.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You.”
The moment stretched between us, thick with something I couldn’t name. Then a gust of wind rattled through the lot, and we both seemed to remember what we were supposed to be doing.
“Right,” I said, stepping back so quickly I nearly tripped over my own feet. “The tree.”
“The tree,” he agreed, though he was still looking at me instead of it.
I cleared my throat and focused on the netting, willing my heart to stop hammering against my ribs. “So, um, ready to tie this?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head as if clearing it, then reached for the twist ties I was holding. This time, he was careful not to touch me, but I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin anyway. “Just need to get a couple around the base here…”
We worked in silence for a few minutes, getting the tree properly secured. He was good at this—efficient, practiced, like he’d done manual labor before. His hands were calloused, I noticed, and there was a tattoo peeking out from under his coat sleeve. Military, maybe?
“There,” he said, stepping back to admire our handiwork. “Should hold.”
“Thanks.” I brushed pine needles off my jacket, suddenly feeling awkward now that we weren’t focused on a task. “I’m Lainey, by the way. Lainey Rossi.”
“Hendrix.” He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, I took it. His grip was firm and warm, and it sent that same little shock through me. “Hendrix Lowe.”
“Nice to meet you, Hendrix Lowe.” I was proud of how normal my voice sounded. “So, you’re new to town?”
He laughed, a low rumble that did things to my insides. “I am, actually. First time in Wildwood Valley, though your brother’s told me plenty about this place over the years.”
“You know Luca?” I studied his face, trying to understand the connection.
“We served together.” He grinned, and I had to grip the tree stand to keep from swooning. “He was always going on about this little mountain town he grew up in. Made it sound like paradise.”
My eyes widened. “You’re one of Luca’s military buddies?”
“Guilty as charged. We’ve stayed close since we got out.” His expression softened. “Most of the guys settled here after the service—bought up some cabins on Reindeer Lane. I’m just passing through on my way to the next job and crashing with one of them for a couple of days.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“Yeah, it is.” He looked around the lot, taking in the neat rows of trees, the little shed where Luca kept the register, the strands of lights we’d hung yesterday. “God, this place is exactly like Luca described it. Picture perfect.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I miss it. I come home every year for a couple of weeks to help out.”
“Home from where?”
“Charleston. I work for a marketing firm there.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious. “Not exactly exciting, but it pays the bills.”
“Marketing, huh?” He leaned against the tree we’d just netted, crossing his arms. The position made his coat pull tight across his chest, and I tried not to stare. “What kind of stuff do you market?”
“Mostly outdoor gear. Hiking boots, camping equipment, that sort of thing.” I found myself relaxing as we talked. There was something easy about him, despite the way he made my pulse race. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not rescuing damsels in distress from Christmas trees?”
“Damsel in distress?” He raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Pretty sure you had that tree handled. I was just…moral support.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I laughed. “Moral support that nearly let the whole thing fall apart when you got distracted?”
