CHAPTER ONE
AARON
The blade of my ax bites into the frozen log with a satisfying thunk. Wood splinters fly as I yank it free and bring it down again. Each swing sends a jolt of controlled strength through my arms. This is the closest thing to peace I've found since Afghanistan.
Swing. Split. Stack.
The routine keeps me sane through the long Montana winters. Especially with Christmas bearing down like an avalanche.
My breath clouds in the December air as I pause to survey the growing pile of firewood. The temperature has been dropping steadily all morning, and the heavy gray clouds hanging over the mountains promise snow by nightfall. I need enough wood to last at least a week if the forecasted blizzard hits Grizzly Ridge.
I roll my shoulders, the familiar ache a reminder of the shrapnel still embedded too close to my spine for doctors to safely remove. Just another souvenir from my final mission with the SEALs.
Yesterday's trip into town still has me seething. I'd gone in for supplies, planning to be in and out of Hilda's General Store without speaking to a soul. Then I'd overheard that busybody Maggie from the diner telling someone about the Winter Wonderland charity event being planned for the meadow next to my property.
My property. My privacy. My goddamn peace and quiet.
I'd marched straight to Mayor Johnston's office and made it abundantly clear that I wouldn't tolerate strangers tramping through my land to reach that meadow. The mayor had tried to reason with me, talking about the children's hospital in Billings and community spirit, but I shut that down immediately.
"Find another location," I'd told him flatly.
He'd promised to take it to the town council, but the smug look on his face told me he thought he could change my mind. Or worse, ignore my objections entirely.
I bring the ax down harder, splitting a log clean through with a satisfying crack. Let them try to use that road without my permission. I'll block it off with fallen trees if I have to.
A flash of movement near the road catches my eye. My body tenses instinctively, muscles coiling as I scan the tree line. Living alone on this mountain for the past two years has made me hyperaware of any change in my surroundings.
A red SUV crawls up the narrow access road toward my cabin, tires spinning occasionally on patches of ice. Nobody drives up here unless they're lost. Or looking for trouble.
I lower the ax and narrow my eyes. The vehicle isn't familiar, definitely not one of the locals. I know every truck and car in Grizzly Ridge by now, which isn't saying much for a town with a population of about eight hundred.
As the SUV draws closer, I make out a woman behind the wheel. She's leaning forward, peering through the windshield like she's trying to find something. Or someone.
My jaw clenches. I bought this property specifically for its isolation. Five acres of dense forest at the end of a road that's not even on most GPS maps. The perfect place to lick my wounds and forget the world that had taken everything from me.
The SUV stops at the entrance to my property. The woman checks something on her phone, then nods to herself and steers onto my private drive.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I mutter, stabbing my ax into the chopping block.
I don't move to greet her. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and plant my feet shoulder width apart, the same stance that used to make new recruits straighten their backs when I walked into a room.
The SUV pulls to a stop, and the engine cuts off. After a moment, the driver's door swings open, and a woman emerges in a burst of color that seems obscene against the muted winter landscape.
A red wool coat hugs curves that any man would appreciate. Dark hair spills from beneath a knitted hat, framing a heart-shaped face. And her lips—Christ, her lips are the same deep red as her coat, full and lush in a way that makes my body respond despite my irritation.
She spots me and waves like we're old friends meeting for coffee instead of strangers on my private property.
"Hi there! You must be Aaron Wilson," she calls, her voice clear and cheerful in the cold air. She starts toward me, navigating the uneven ground in knee-high boots that look more fashionable than functional.
I don't respond, just continue glaring at her. Most people have the good sense to be intimidated by six foot three of scowling, bearded mountain man. This woman either lacks self-preservation instincts or has the confidence of someone who's never had it challenged.
She stops a few feet away, looking up at me with bright eyes the color of spring leaves. Her smile falters slightly at my silence but recovers quickly.
"I'm Leah Jones," she says, extending a gloved hand. "From the Grizzly Ridge Community Foundation. I work with Wren Taylor at the volunteer center. I understand you've spoken with Mayor Johnston about our Winter Wonderland event?"
I stare at her hand until she slowly lowers it.
"Yeah, I spoke with him. Told him to find another location." I shift my weight, looming over her a little more deliberately. "Not sure why you're here."
