Page 100 of Beastly Mountain Man

“I’ll call you when I get home.”

“I know, and I’m trying not to make you stay another hour just to prove how happy I am about it.”

Caprice smiled. “That would be extremely inconvenient.”

“I figured.”

Her smile stayed with me as she put the Audi in gear.

Then she paused.

“Lucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m coming back.”

There was no uncertainty in her voice and no question in the words.

I leaned closer to the open window.

“I know that too.”

Caprice kissed me once more, quick and warm, before raising the glass.

The Audi moved down the drive, tires gripping cleanly on the packed surface. She lifted one hand as she reached the curve, and then the navy SUV disappeared between the snow-covered pines.

Bear leaned against my leg.

I rested one hand on his head and stood there until the sound of the Audi faded down the mountain.

By tonight, Caprice would be back in Missoula with a production waiting for her. I would be here with rounds to finish, a dog to feed, and a resort returning to normal after the storm.

My phone would ring.

There would be no fireplace, no sticking door, no weather problem, and no agreement giving either of us a reason to answer.

For the first time since Caprice arrived on Fire Mountain, I couldn’t wait for her to call when absolutely nothing was wrong.

Epilogue

By six-thirty on New Year’s Eve, snow had covered the path outside our kitchen windows and softened the dark pines beyond it into white-edged shadows.

Inside, the woodstove warmed the pine floors beneath my socked feet, and the house smelled faintly of rosemary from the potatoes I’d prepped for dinner. My cream sweater was pushed to my elbows, my gold hoops were still in from a video call that had ended an hour ago, and my laptop sat open at the kitchen table beside a glass of water and the production schedule I’d promised myself I would look at exactly once more.

The revised January location plan was good. More importantly, the problem I’d been about to fix had already been handled by the producer responsible for it.

I read the update, added my approval, and closed the file.

A new message appeared before I could shut the laptop. I read it twice out of habit. Nothing in it needed me tonight.

So I shut the laptop anyway.

The quiet afterward wasn’t really quiet. The stove gave a soft pop behind me. Wind brushed snow against the windows. On the couch, the cream-and-charcoal pillows Lucky and I had picked out in Hope Peak were slightly crooked, and one of my books had disappeared beneath the wool throw again. My camel coat hung in the mudroom beside his spare work jacket, with my snow boots tucked beneath them instead of packed into the back of my Audi.

The mudroom door opened.

Cold air swept through the kitchen before Lucky stepped inside, broad shoulders dusted with snow, knit cap pulled low over his brown hair and his cheeks reddened from the mountain air.