Page 3 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
I approach cautiously, years of law enforcement training kicking in. Through the window, I catch movement. A woman, moving quickly back and forth, arms loaded with what look like books and papers.
I knock firmly. "Sheriff's department."
The door flies open immediately, and I find myself face to face with a woman who seems entirely too happy to see. "Oh thank God," she says, then falters as she registers my uniform. "Wait. You're not the heating repair person."
"No ma'am. I'm Sheriff Tom Parker. This is my property." I take in the chaos behind her. Suitcases open on the floor, papers spread across every surface, a laptop balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. "You're not supposed to check in until tomorrow."
"I know, I know. I'm so sorry." She pushes wild curly hair away from her face. "I was making good time on the drive and thought I'd get settled early since the app said it was available. I changed the date on the app before I came in, I swear. Then the heat died, and I've been trying to reach property management for the past hour, and I'm from San Diego. I don't do cold."
She says this all in one breath, hands fluttering expressively, glasses sliding down her nose. She's wearing what appearsto be coffee stained sweatpants and an oversized university sweatshirt. Somehow, she manages to look both frazzled and adorable.
I clear my throat. "You must be Kelsie Walsh.”
Her eyes widen. "How did you... wait. Parker? As in Mason's friend Tom?"
I nod. "Your brother mentioned you were coming."
"My brother. Right." Something flickers across her face. "He told you I was coming to work on my book?"
"He mentioned you're a writer. Contemporary fiction, he said."
She makes an odd choking sound that she quickly covers with a cough. "Yes. Contemporary... fiction. That's... accurate."
I step inside, moving past her to check the thermostat.Dead."The heating system in this cabin is ancient. I've been meaning to replace it." Kneeling, I open the access panel beneath the heating unit. "I can patch this temporarily, but it's going to take a few hours. System needs replacing, but that won't happen until after Christmas. Everything's backed up this time of year."
"So I'm going to freeze to death in a cabin with no heat?" Her voice rises slightly in panic. "Because I really can't work if I'm hypothermic. Trust me, I've tried."
I glance back at her, surprised I’m almost smiling at her dramatic tone. Almost. "You won't freeze. I've got a guest room in my house. You can stay there until this is fixed."
"Oh no, I couldn't impose." She hugs herself, already shivering as the cabin grows colder.
"It's not an imposition. It's basic human decency." I stand, wiping dust from my hands. "Besides, the temperature's dropping fast. It'll be in the low forties tonight."
She looks around at her scattered belongings, biting her lower lip. The gesture draws my attention to her mouth, full andpink even without lipstick. I quickly avert my eyes, annoyed at myself for noticing.
"Grab what you need for tonight," I tell her. "We can get the rest tomorrow."
"Thank you." She begins gathering her laptop and a stack of papers with surprising efficiency. "I really appreciate this. I promise I won't be any trouble."
I seriously doubt that. Everything about Kelsie Walsh screams trouble, from her chaotic energy to the way she keeps shooting nervous glances at the papers she's collecting. Mason definitely didn't tell me everything about his sister.
As I help her carry a bag to my house, I catch myself wondering what exactly I've gotten myself into. A writer with secrets, staying in my guest room, three weeks before Christmas.
The timing couldn't be worse. The last thing I need right now is a distraction. Especially one with wild curls, expressive brown eyes, and a tendency to ramble when nervous.
But as she struggles with her overstuffed laptop bag, dropping papers that scatter across the path, I slow my pace to help her gather them. One page flutters open, and I catch a glimpse of words that make my eyebrows shoot up before she snatches it away, cheeks flaming red.
"Research," she mutters, stuffing it deep into her bag.
I don't comment, but inside I'm revising my understanding of what "contemporary fiction" might mean in Kelsie Walsh’s world.
Christmas just got a lot more complicated.
CHAPTER TWO
KELSIE
Iwake up disoriented in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by the scent of pine and something I can’t quite place. For a moment, panic grips me until the events of last night come rushing back. The broken heater.Tom.His surprisingly gentle insistence that I stay in his guest room rather than freeze to death in his rental cabin.
