Page 11 of Mistletoed with the Mountain Man
"Did you just...?"
"Oops?" I grin, backing away slowly. "My hand slipped."
"Your hand slipped,” he deadpans.
"Total accident. Very clumsy of me."
He bends down, and I turn and run.
His laughter chases me through the rows of trees, low and rich and fluttering inappropriately in my belly. I weave between the Fraser firs and the blue spruces, my boots crunching in the snow, until a snowball explodes against a tree trunk two feet from my head.
"Holy shit, you almost hit me!"
"Almost." His voice comes from somewhere to my left. "If I wanted to hit you, I would have."
I duck behind a particularly full tree, catching my breath. "Big words from someone who's about to get demolished."
"You started this, Christmas angel."
The nickname makes my core clench.
I peer around the tree trunk just in time to see him stalking toward me, another snowball ready in his hand. There's something predatory in the way he moves—like he's tracking prey.
It shouldnotbe as hot as it is.
I wait until he's almost on top of me, then dart out from behind the tree and run straight at him.
The impact knocks us both off balance and we both go down in a tangle of limbs and winter coats.
We land in a soft snowbank with me sprawled across his chest. "Gotcha," I say, triumphantly.
"Did you now?" His hands settle on my waist, his face inches from mine.
The playfulness shifts into something heavier, as his eyes drop to my mouth, and I can feel his heart pounding beneath my palms. Our breath makes clouds of vapor in the cold air between us.
"You two need help?" a woman’s voice asks.
We spring apart and I roll off of him. The farm owner, an elderly woman in a puffy pink parka, is watching us with undisguised amusement.
"Yes!" I say, too loud. "Trees. We need trees. Two of them."
"Two? Wonderful," she says, eyes twinkling. "I’m sure this handsome man of yours wants to make sure the holiday is everything you’ve ever wanted."
"He's not my?—"
"I do," Kade agrees, not correcting her. He stands and offers me his hand. "She's one of a kind, andveryparticular." He grins at me.
"How sweet. Young love and Christmas trees." The woman beams at us. "Follow me, I've got some beauties that just came in this morning."
I take Kade's hand—warm even through both our gloves—and let him pull me up.
“Naughty little Christmas angel,” he murmurs, shaking his head as we trail behind.
Oh god.
We end up with a stunning nine-foot Douglas fir for the great room and a more compact noble fir for the loft. The farm owner’s grandson helps load them onto Kade's truck, and gives me a wink when he thinks Kade isn’t looking.
“I saw that,” Kade grumbles, as he helps me into the passenger seat, and I laugh.
