Page 38 of Mr. Mistletoe
Outside, the wind howls. Snow swirls thick, the road disappearing under a white blanket.
Every option collapses before it forms. Town plows won’t make it for hours. My truck won’t survive half a mile. And I can’t just watch her opportunity slip away.
I grab my phone, scrolling through contacts. Most of my old hockey buddies live in the city. My nearest neighbor’s a mile down the ridge—snowed in.
Then it hits me: Eli.
He helps at the farm, always bragging about rescuing tourists who think SUVs can outdrive mountain weather. A long shot—but a shot.
I call.
“Clark?” His voice crackles through static and wind. “You seeing this blizzard?”
“Yeah. I need a favor.” I glance at Jess—hands twisting in her sleeves, lips pressed tight to stop trembling.
“Uh-oh. The kind that has me leaving my warm house?”
“Pretty much.” I jaw tight, staring out the window. “Someone needs to get down the mountain. It can’t wait.”
A long pause. “Give me twenty minutes.”
I hang up. Jess looks at me, hope flickering.
“We’re getting you off this mountain,” I say.
Her lips part. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” I smile. “You’re not missing this opportunity. Not on my watch.”
One more call to an old teammate, and another favor is secured. Small towns—you help each other. Everyone’s family. I’ve never been prouder.
We step outside. Snow whips sideways; evergreens bow under the weight.
Jess stares at the vanished road. “Oh no.” Her voice cracks.
I feel her panic, and it steels me. I’ll move mountains if I have to—or at least dig us out of one.
A growl in the distance: Eli on his snowmobile, ski mask half-burying his face.
“You owe me big for this one,” he shouts over the wind.
“Add it to my tab,” I call back.
Chapter Seventeen
Jess
I stare at the snowmobile,then glance at Clark.
“You want me to get on that thing?” I shiver just thinking about it.
“It’s the only way.”
He helps me climb on behind him, steadying me as I fumble with the helmet strap. My fingers are clumsy from cold and nerves, but his hands are steady. Always steady.
“Hold on tight,” he says, low enough that I feel it more than hear it.
I nod, wrapping my arms around his waist. The snowmobile lurches forward, and we plunge into the storm.
