Page 8 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
“This is where the magic happens?” I ask.
“Repairs happen,” he says, moving with that smooth competence that calms something in my bones. “Magic is when people haul their machines in before they destroy them.”
I wander around the space, careful not to touch. There’s a calm order to everything, a certainty. He explains a carb issue in a way even I understand. I find myself nodding like an eager student. He doesn’t perform here. He just … is. It’s weirdly attractive.
“You get a lot of clients in storms like this?” I ask.
“After,” he says. “Storms make people brave. Bravery breaks things.”
“Poetic.”
He gives me a sideways look. “I talk to cameras, not crowds.”
“And yet people watch. A lot of them,” I say. “I’m starting to see why.”
We tromp back to the cabin, cheeks stung red, and peel off layers by the door. I’m glad Beckett is sharing with me what he does, but it’s a lot of trouble getting suited up in this weather and then stripping back down.
He grabs a coil of cable and a small LED panel from a shelf.
“I’m filming my weekly video in the office,” he says. “Routine. Fifteen minutes, then I’m done.”
“I’ll stay out here and read.” I hold up the paperback I found on his shelf earlier — something about winter trails and avalanche safety. Fitting.
He nods, then hesitates. “Try not to make any noise.”
“Copy that, Director.”
He disappears into the office. A moment later, I hear the soft clink of the lamp chain and the tiny click of a camera.Ranger debates, then chooses me, circling once before flopping against my legs with a contented sigh.
I sink into the couch with my book and let the snowed-in cabin life take hold of me. In the other room, Beckett’s voice starts … low, steady, unforced. Not for attention. For instruction. The kind of voice you trust when the world turns white.
I run a hand over Ranger’s warm fur and realize I’m smiling for no one. Beckett isn’t gruff to be mysterious. He’s built a life where silence isn’t absence — it’s comfort. It fascinates me. It scares me a little, too. Because the longer I sit in his quiet, the more I want to stay around for a while.
Chapter 6
Beckett
Idon’t watch my videos before I post them. Never have. I trim the front, trim the tail, slap on the title card, and let it go. Consistency beats perfection. It’s a rule that’s kept the channel alive and my sanity intact.
Today’s no different. I save the file, queue it to upload, and click through the description by muscle memory. My head’salready somewhere else — out in the snow with a GoPro and a woman who can turn a quiet cabin into a snow day party. She seems like she needs an adventure.
“Ranger,” I say, snapping the camera case shut. “Field trip. Ruby, I’m going to teach you how to operate a snowmobile and use it as an instruction video. You good with that?”
Ruby looks up from the couch. “Oh, my lifelong dream—to be mansplained about snowmobiles by a guy named Tinderwolf.”
I blink. “It’s just a brand name.”
“Sure it is,” she says, standing. “Please tell me there’s a certificate and a parka-patch involved.”
“Only if you pass the practical exam.”
“What’s that?”
“Survive my teaching.”
“Hard pass, but let’s do it anyway.”
Why do I have this feeling that teaching her anything could end with me needing first aid or therapy?
