Page 21 of Beastly Mountain Man

I walked them to the door.

“Six?”

Lucky stepped onto the porch and looked back at me. “I’ll be here.”

This time I believed the little surge of anticipation deserved more than ten seconds.

The first flakes appeared a little after four.

I noticed because I had finally stopped reading email long enough to look outside.

At first there were only a few white specks drifting lazily against the dark pines. One caught on the rear railing and disappeared. Another landed on the deck.

Then the air filled.

The storm did not arrive dramatically. There was no wall of white or violent gust. Snow simply began occupying the world one surface at a time. The exposed deck went pale. Frost vanished beneath something softer. White gathered along every branch and turned the service road into a narrow ribbon bordered by trees.

I stood at the window longer than I intended.

My phone sounded at four-thirty.

Restaurant delivery to Upper Ridge would end at five-thirty so the drivers could return to the main lodge before road conditions deteriorated. The final provisions run would come through before then. The lodge remained staffed, utilities were normal, and guests were asked not to drive the upper internal road after the cutoff unless conditions were cleared by staff.

No emergency.

Just weather being weather and competent people making decisions before it became a problem.

At five, two insulated bags and a grocery sack arrived with Lucky’s ingredients.

I had changed into dark knit trousers and a soft taupe sweater, pushed the sleeves to my forearms, and loosened my hair enough that it no longer looked as if I had spent the afternoon on a video call. The small gold hoops stayed. So did my makeup, although less of it than had been present that morning.

Flour, eggs, cream, butter, Parmesan, garlic, salad greens, vegetables, dark chocolate, cocoa, sugar, and a bottle of red wine covered the island.

For the first time, the gourmet kitchen looked as if someone intended to use it.

At five minutes after six, Lucky knocked.

He had changed into jeans and a dark green henley that fit across his chest well enough to destroy at least fifteen percent of my remaining interest in responsible thought. His hair was damp at the temples from a shower, and he smelled like clean skin and cold air when I let him inside.

Bear followed carrying the rope.

Apparently he had also dressed for dinner.

“I see you brought your assistant.”

“He refused to stay home after realizing where I was going.”

Bear walked straight to the hearth and dropped onto the rug.

“He appears exhausted by the commute.”

“It’s been a demanding day.”

Lucky took off his boots near the entry and washed his hands at the kitchen sink. There were no tools tonight, no work jacket, no professional reason for him to be standing in the middle of my rental cabin.

The difference mattered.

He turned toward the island and rubbed his palms together once. “All right. Pasta first because the dough needs to rest.”