Page 9 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
I grab the GoPro and the spare helmet. “Welcome to Snowbound 101.”
We gear up at the door. I lend her my backup goggles and tighten the strap beneath her chin. Her eyes widen, and she doesn’t blink for a full second. I step back like I didn’t feel that.
“Basic throttle,” I say once we’re outside. “Feather it. Don’t yank. You steer with your whole body, not just your hands. Keep your weight forward.”
She nods, absorbing it all like I’m about to hand her a chainsaw for arts and crafts. Ranger zips circles around us, ecstatic to be in his element.
We mount up with me in front for the first pass so I can run her through the feel of it. She listens. She’s good at listening. On attempt two, I swing off and let her take the bars.
“All right,” I say. “Ease it.”
She eases it. For exactly two seconds. The machine lurches forward, spraying a rooster tail of powder. Ruby yelps, overcorrects, and the sled fishtails. I jog alongside, ready. She almost saves it, almost, then buries the nose in a friendly drift and tips sideways with a muffled squeak.
Ranger prances over like this is the best show he’s seen all week. I can almost hear the dog laughing. Probably planning to upload this video before I do.
I kill the engine, plant my boots, and haul the sled upright. Ruby tumbles to standing, laughing and covered in snow like a Christmas cookie that lost a fight with powdered sugar.
“I’m fine,” she says, breathless.
“I can see that.”
“That was…” She laughs again, bright and unembarrassed. “…terrible.”
“Fearless,” I correct. “Which is worse.”
Her eyes spark. “Again?”
We try once more. She’s better. Then a little too confident. Then almost runs over my foot. I catch her by the waist when she stumbles off at the stop, and for a second, the world stills like we’re caught in a snowglobe.
She’s solid under my hands. Warm through all those layers. She looks up, and all the smart things I could say fall clean out of my head.
Ranger barks, tail whacking my thigh, and the moment breaks. Good dog.
“Not bad,” I say.
“Really?” she asks, like a child who’s ridden a bicycle without training wheels.
“Let’s try a few mild maneuvers.”
We do a few calm loops to end on a win, then head back in while our cheeks can still feel anything. Inside, I feed the stove,and the cabin inhales the heat like a living thing. Ruby peels layers with dramatic sighs of relief.
“That was fun,” she says, cheeks pink, hair escaping her beanie. “Dangerous, but fun.”
She bumps my shoulder as she passes to the kitchen. The GoPro footage ticks around in the back of my brain. Pride nudges up against something softer.
I boot the laptop on the table to dump the files … and the notifications hit like a hailstorm. Pings. Stacked comments. Channel dashboard rolling faster than I can scroll. I’ve seen spikes before. This isn’t a spike. This is a detonation.
“What the hell?”
Ruby sets two mugs on the counter. “What is it?”
The top comment stares back at me, smug.
Nice backdrop, Tinderwolf — followed by Santa and fire emoji’s.
Another:
I came for carb tuning, stayed for Santa’s laundry.
