Page 22 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
The night air is crisp as I march across the space between our cabins. She doesn't see me approaching, too focused on stabilizing the ladder against the edge of the roof.
"Why the hell do you insist on doing that at night?" I call out.
She startles, nearly losing her grip on the ladder. "Owen! You scared me."
"I told you not to climb ladders in the dark by yourself."
She sets her jaw stubbornly. "You also said you'd help me hang these lights, but then you stormed off. I'm not waiting until tomorrow."
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Give me the lights."
Her eyes widen in surprise. "Really?"
"I said I'd help, didn't I?" I hold out my hand. "I'll climb up. You can hold the ladder."
A slow smile spreads across her face, but she doesn't gloat about my return. She simply hands over the string of lights and moves to steady the ladder.
"They go along the edge of the roof," she explains. "I've got hooks already installed from the previous tenant."
I grunt in acknowledgment and begin climbing. The metal is cold under my hands, but I barely notice as I focus on the task. At the top, I start hanging the lights methodically, working my way along the roofline.
"Perfect," Lettie calls up, her voice warm with approval. "You're doing a great job."
"It's not rocket science," I mutter, but there's no real bite to my words.
We work in silence for a while, me hanging lights, her holding the ladder steady and occasionally directing me. It's oddly peaceful, despite the festive nature of the task.
When I've hung the last section, I climb back down, my hands stiff from the cold.
"Thank you," she says, her voice soft. "They look beautiful."
I shrug, uncomfortable with her gratitude. "Just didn't want you breaking your neck."
"Still." She hesitates, then adds, "About earlier?—"
"I don't want to talk about it," I cut her off.
She studies me for a moment, then nods. "Okay. But if you ever do..."
"I won't." I turn toward my cabin, then stop. "Do you need help with anything else before I go?"
The question surprises us both. I hadn't meant to offer more assistance, but something about the way she looks standing there in the cold, her cheeks pink from the night air, makes me reluctant to leave.
"The tree," she says after a moment. "I have an outdoor tree I want to put by the front door, but it's heavy."
"Where is it?"
"In the storage shed around back."
I follow her to a small shed behind the cabin. Inside, she points to a plastic bin labeled "Outdoor Tree" in neat handwriting.
I lift it easily, though it is substantial. "Where do you want it?"
"Right by the front steps," she says, leading the way.
I set down the bin where she indicates and help her unpack the artificial tree. It's pre-lit with white lights, and I have to admit it looks nice once we've got it set up.
"Perfect," she says, stepping back to admire our work. "What do you think?"
