Page 19 of Naughty With The Mountain Man
I sprint toward the noise—ten yards, then fifteen—and see it.
Another package.
Sitting in the middle of the snow like an offering.
Or bait.
Ranger growls—low, vibrating—the sound of a wolf about to rend.
“Easy,” I warn.
I crouch. Eyes narrowing.
Box. Same brown kraft paper. Same rough twine.
Different ornament.
This one is a gold ring—snapped clean in half. The plastic holly on top crushed flat like someone ground their boot into it.
I don’t open the envelope yet—I don’t have to.
I already know the message.
He knows she’s here.
And worse—he wants us to know he knows.
By the timeI turn back, Ranger’s ears flick, nose high—warning me before I even see her.
Ellie.
Standing in the open doorway, barefoot in flannel pajamas, eyes wide and shining in the half-light like she might fly apart if I don’t get back to her fast enough.
I holster the weapon and close the distance in seconds.
“Inside,” I say—not snapping, but deadly certain.
She backs up, letting me shepherd her in. Ranger follows, tail rigid, not relaxing until the lock drops with a solid thunkbehind us.
The minute the door seals—she breaks.
Not crying. Not panicking.
Just silent, hands shaking where she grips the edge of the counter.
“Was someone out there?” she breathes.
“Yes.”
“And did they?—?”
I hold up the box.
She goes still.
No scream. No meltdown.
Just a sharp, cold inhale.
