Page 8 of Frosty Mountain Man

Ten years I’d spent building a life that answered to no one. I liked my mountain. I liked my solitude. I did not appreciate one woman with dark hair and even darker eyes unraveling any of it.

She worked for him. That part I kept circling back to. My grandfather had sent someone almost every month this year. More than any other time I could remember him doing before. Even accounting for the fact I mostly ignored the ones he sent, it made me think he’d finally decided subtlety wasn’t working and switched to volume. Fine. I could out-stubborn volume. I’d been doing it for a decade.

There’d been a call a few months back, now that I thought about it, where he’d gone quiet in a way that wasn’t like him — a pause after I’d said no to something, a beat too long before he changed the subject to the weather. I’d let it go. Told myself he was tired, or that the connection had lagged. I was good at telling myself things that let me stay exactly where I was.

But that led me back to why? Why was my grandfather needing me to look over deals he’d been doing long before I’d been born. I know he was getting older, but even after I’d taken over the company, he’d been right there beside me. When I’d left, he’d been surrounded by competent men and women who had worked with him for years.

Had something changed? Or had I just not been paying attention to what was already there.

And then to send her. Elle hadn’t opened with a pitch. Hadn’t tried flattery, hadn’t done a single thing the last three had done. She’d stood on my porch in the wrong shoes and told me off instead. That wasn’t strategy. Or if it was, it was a better one than anyone had tried yet, Either way I didn’t appreciate how well it was working.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, I’d more or less decided how the morning would go. I’d be civil. I’d get her fed, get the roads checked, get her back down the mountain before I did something I’d regret. Like ask her to stay for reasons that had nothing to do with weather.

Elle was already there, hair pulled back, dressed once again in her own clothing. The snow had stopped, but the sky hadn’t cleared the way it should have. It was gray and low and sitting too still. I’d lived on this mountain long enough to know weather. The smell of coffee filled the room. It should have irritated me, but it didn’t, and that irritated me more than it should have.

She looked up when I came in, and something warm crossed her face. An actual smile. The kind that made the whole room seem different. It made me want to do several things I shouldn’t have wanted to do. That involved my mouth. On her. Everywhere.

“Morning,” she said. “Storm’s gone and it looks like the snow is melting. At least to my untrained eye.”

“It’s not gone.” I nodded toward the window. “That’s a lull. Systems this size stall out and regroup before they’re finished with you. I’d bet money it’s not done.”

“You’re just saying that to keep me here.”

“I’m saying it because I’ve lived on this mountain for ten years and you’ve been here for twelve hours.”

“I could make a whole speech right now about you being right and insufferable about it. Want to hear it?” She took a sip of coffee, entirely too pleased with herself.

“Refrain yourself.”

“Okay.” She paused. “For now.” Another smile that did not help my building lack of control around her.

“My grandfather’s had people up this mountain more than usual this year. A lot more. What’s changed?”

She hesitated, weighing her answer the way I was starting to recognize she did with anything that actually mattered to her. “You need to give him your approval on this one.”

“And?”

“And that’s all I know.”

I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know she wasn’t telling me everything. The question was — did I want to know the whole story? I knew I could push, but I’d already realize that pushing her would do no good. She’d just dig in her heels and become more closed mouth.

“He’s seemed — off. The last few weeks. Shorter on the phone. Distracted. I don’t know what it is. I just know it’s something.”

I hadn’t expected that. My grandfather didn’t do off. He’d run that company through two recessions and a hostile takeover attempt without losing a night’s sleep, as far as I knew.

“You’re telling me you don’t know, or you’re telling me you’re not telling me.”

“Both, probably.” She met my eyes without flinching. “I’m not going to lie to you, Harrison. I’m also not going to tell you things that have no basis in fact. They are just feelings, nothing more. All you have to do is ask him yourself. You do talk to him.”

“We talk. That doesn’t mean he tells me anything worth knowing.”

I let it go. Pushing wouldn’t get me anywhere with her. She’d already decided how much ground she was willing to give, and I respected that more than I wanted to.

She rinsed her mug, disappeared down the hall, and came back in yesterday’s jacket. I had the sudden, unexplainable urge to take her shopping. “I should get going.”

“Roads are probably still bad.”

“I’ll manage.” She grabbed her purse. The folder was still sitting on the coffee table where I’d left it. “You really should review that and call your grandfather.”