Page 4 of How to Love a Mountain Man

I break into a smile. It’s hard not to smile around her, even with her icy demeanor. “Just wanted to see how your place is coming along. You know, I’ve got a great crew over there. They’re fast, efficient, and their rates are really reasonable. I’d be happy to give you their info.”

“I’m good.” She doesn’t look up from the beam she’s measuring.

“Seriously, they could have you closed in before winter. And they’re great guys, really professional?—”

“I said I’m good.” This time she does look up, her expression making it clear she’d rather I disappear. “And maybe tell them to turn down their music? I can hear it from here.”

“They’re just trying to keep their energy up. Nothing wrong with a little music while you work.”

“There is when I’m trying to concentrate on measurements that need to be exact.”

I lean against a nearby tree. “You know, you might enjoy the work more if you loosened up a little. Added some tunes, maybe accepted some help?—”

“Has it occurred to you that I’m enjoying my work exactly as it is?” She drops her tape measure onto the lumber with a sharp clatter. “That maybe I want to build my own home, by myself, in peace and quiet?”

“All right. Fair enough.” I flash her a grin that, as usual, bounces right off her walls. Oof. My attention shifts to the massive boulder marking our property line. “Hey, while I’m here—I was thinking about having that rock removed. That okay with you?”

Her entire body tenses. “That boulder is a natural feature of the landscape. It should stay exactly where it is.”

“It’s an eyesore. And it’s half on my property.”

“It’s not an eyesore, it’s beautiful. It’s been here longer than either of us.”

I smirk, unable to resist needling her. “Well, if you love it so much, we could always move it entirely onto your property.”

“You’re missing the point.” Her cheeks flush with anger, and I notice how gorgeously green her eyes are. She shifts her weight, her curves drawing my eye even as she's telling me off. “The whole point of living on the mountain is to exist within nature, not bulldoze it into submission.”

“The point of living on the mountain is to enjoy it,” I counter. “To share its beauty with friends and family. To create spaces where people can gather and appreciate everything this place has to offer.”

“No,” she says, her voice tight. “That’syourpoint. My point is to find some peace and quiet, which you seem determined to make impossible.”

If she’s this gorgeous when she’s angry, I can’t imagine how stunning she is when she actuallylikessomeone. One warm look from her and I’d melt.

I clear my throat. “Look, I’m just trying to be neighborly.”

“And I’m just trying to work. Alone. Like I was before you wandered over.”

Message received. I push off from the tree, trying to ignore how much I want to stay and argue with her more, just to keep thatfire in her eyes burning. “All right. I’m going. But let me know if you want my crew’s help, yeah?”

She’s already turned back to her work, ignoring me completely.

A week later, I’m on site going over final specs with the cabinet installer when Mike hurries over, looking concerned. “Storm’s coming in early. We should get the site secured and all the exposed materials covered ASAP.”

I check the forecast on my phone. The prediction has changed dramatically since this morning—heavy snow, high winds, possible power outages. My chest tightens as I glance toward Shae’s property. Her cabin is still half-open to the elements.

“I’ll help you get everything covered up,” I tell Mike, already moving toward a pile of tarps.

I spend the next hour helping the crew protect materials and equipment, trying not to think about what my stubborn neighbor is using—if anything—to protect her site from disaster.

When the wind picks up, I head to her property.

She’s on a ladder, struggling to secure a flimsy tarp over her roof frame. The wind keeps catching it, threatening to tear it from her hands. My heart lurches as the ladder wobbles.

“That’s a creative way to break your neck.” I try to keep my tone light, but seeing her wobble on that ladder has my stomach in knots.

She startles, then glares down at me. “Don’t you have your own property to worry about?”

“Mine’s taken care of. By professionals. You know, those people who do this for a living?” The ladder sways again and I lunge forward, grabbing it with both hands to hold it steady. “Have you seen the forecast? This isn’t a regular storm. We’re talking about eight inches of snow and forty-mile-per-hour winds.”

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