Page 65 of Major Love

Seeing as her only other option was a pair of stilettos, it seemed like the cowgirl boots would work best for now. Her snow-boots are currently thawing out in the back of my truck, although I can’t deny that I wouldn’t mind having her stilettos chilling in here with them.

“How far up the mountain is it?” she asks, eyes wide as she takes in the view of the pines and peaks.

“It’s near the base,” I tell her, hooking an arm around the back of her seat. “I’ve got decent internet and cell service so ifyou have any Nashville work to do you can get that done up here no problem.”

We haven’t talked about how long she’s going to crash at my place for but, unless an external maintenance team can get to Casey’s, my plan is to head to his cabin tomorrow. For all we know, the electric problem might be a neighbourhood issue, so I’ll call some of the crew later and see if any of their places have been affected.

It takes over an hour with the snow to finally reach the inclining terrain, snow-topped trees bordering the path as I take us steadily up the lower mountain.

And after another ten minutes, I take the turn toward the cabin.

The driveway that I shovelled this morning is already dusted with a layer of snow and I pull the truck to a stop in the clearing so that Sunday can take it in.

She unbuckles her seatbelt so fast I almost chuckle.

“This is your place?” she squeals, spinning to face me with excited eyes.

Smile creases dent my cheeks. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s all mine.”

A laugh escapes her throat as she turns in her seat, doing a three-sixty. I sit back and spread out my quads, watching the curve of her waist as she leans and bends.

She twists back to face the house, eyes wide as she drinks it in – the large glass window that runs two storeys from ground to peak, and the deep brown wood that compliments the snow-covered landscape.

The garage is off to the right and set behind the house, one-storey but wide because I also use it as a workshop. And beside the garage is the sturdy log-beamed vehicle shelter, my black search-and-rescue snowmobile parked dead centre.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.

She smiles up at me and I murmur, “Yeah.”

Then I give her fluffy ponytail a little squeeze, making her laugh as I open up my door.

“Stay here,” I tell her, grinning when she impishly slides her hand along the door handle, a mischievous smile on her lips as if she’s going to open the door before I can do it for her.

I jump down onto the drive, rounding the hood of my truck, and then I pull open her door, unable to stop my grin as she giggles playfully.

She steps carefully down onto the snow and I reach in behind her to pull out her bag, closing the door with the back of my shoulder and watching her to gauge how much she likes it.

When she turns back to face me, she has a playful sparkle in her eyes.

She places her hands on her hips and rasps, “So you’re a mountain man.”

My dimples pull tight. “Damn straight, I am.”

And then she’s screaming in delight as I shove my shoulder into her belly, laughing uncontrollably as I toss her over my back and start storming toward the house.

“I thought I was going to get a tour!” she squeals.

“Yeah, after you change out of those pants.”

After spending way too much time in the cold while Casey’s truck was stuck in the snow we decided that Sunday should wait before she showers so that she doesn’t shock her system with too much heat too quickly. Which makes this situation even more perfect because this way I can keep her upbeat and distracted, so that she isn’t thinking about how frozen she is as she tries to reacclimatise to a better temperature.

I unlock the front door and haul my bounty inside, feeling Sunday’s thighs move under my palms as she tries to lift up and look around.

I give her a hard spank on the ass. “No peeking.”

“Hey!” she screams with laughter and then delivers a spank of her own.

Amusement crinkles around my eyes and I chuckle as I kick off my boots, and then I’m lifting Sunday’s ankles so that I can haul hers off, too.

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