Her smile dims a few watts, but she doesn't retreat. Instead, she reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper.
"The town council approved our permit for the space this morning, despite your objection." She unfolds the paper, revealing an official-looking document. "We're setting up tomorrow for the Winter Wonderland fundraiser this weekend. It's for the children's hospital in Billings."
My teeth grind together so hard I'm surprised they don't crack. "That land might be town property, but the only access road runs through my land. And I'm not giving permission for anyone to use it."
Her smile disappears completely now, replaced by a look of determination that warns me this conversation isn't going as easily as I'd hoped.
"Mr. Wilson, this event has been planned for months. We've already sold tickets, booked vendors, and arranged for families from three counties to attend." She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, revealing a small snowflake earring that catches the weak winter sunlight. "Wren has put her heart and soul into organizing the volunteers. Surely we can come to some arrangement."
"Not my problem," I say, turning back to my woodpile. I pull the ax free from the chopping block, a clear dismissal.
Instead of leaving, she steps closer. Close enough that I catch the scent of something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or cloves.
"Look, I understand you value your privacy." Her voice has softened, but there's steel beneath it. "But this event raises money for children with cancer. Children who spend their Christmases in hospital rooms instead of with their families."
Something twists in my chest, sharp and uncomfortable. I know what it's like to spend Christmas in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines instead of people who care. But that's not a memory I'm willing to share with this woman and her too bright lips.
"Find another location," I say flatly.
"There is no other location!" Frustration colors her voice now. "Not in time. The meadow is perfect—it's sheltered from the wind, accessible for families, and large enough for all our attractions."
I heft the ax, setting up another log. "Should have secured your access rights before selling tickets."
She makes a sound of pure exasperation that shouldn't be as appealing as it is. "Mayor Johnston assured us it wouldn't be a problem!"
"Then the mayor should have gotten my signature." I bring the ax down, splitting the log cleanly.
Leah Jones takes a deep breath, visibly composing herself. When she speaks again, her voice is calm and measured.
"Mr. Wilson, I'm trying to be reasonable. This event means everything to the children who benefit from it. I'm happy to discuss compensation for the inconvenience?—"
"I don't want your money," I interrupt, setting up another log. "I want to be left alone."
"Well, you're going to be sorely disappointed," she says, folding her arms across her chest. "Because I'm not leaving until you agree to let us use the access road."
I snort, splitting another log with perhaps more force than necessary. "Then you'd better get comfortable, sweetheart. It's dropping below zero tonight."
Her eyes narrow at the endearment, which I'd deliberately made sound anything but sweet.
"You know what? Fine." She turns on her heel and marches back to her SUV. For a moment, I think I've won, but instead of driving away, she yanks open the back and pulls out a large canvas tote.
"What are you doing?" I ask, frowning as she hauls the bag toward me.
"Getting comfortable," she replies, mimicking my tone. "If you won't be reasonable, I'll just wait until you change your mind."
I stare at her, wondering if she's actually insane. "It's twenty degrees and dropping. There's a blizzard coming."
She shrugs, pulling a thermos from her bag. "I checked the forecast. The real snow won't start until morning. I have plenty of time to convince you."
"You're out of your mind," I say, genuinely baffled by this tiny woman who apparently thinks she can outstubborn me.
"No, I'm determined." She unscrews the thermos cap and the rich scent of coffee drifts through the cold air. "And I have hot coffee, hand warmers, and snacks. Do you know what I don't have, Mr. Wilson? Options. So here I'll stay."
For a long moment, we just stare at each other, a silent battle of wills with nothing but the sound of the wind in the pines around us.
Her cheeks and the tip of her nose are already turning pink from the cold, but her green eyes are blazing with resolve.Despite myself, I feel a reluctant spark of admiration. It's been a long time since anyone stood up to me.
"Suit yourself," I finally say, turning back to my woodpile. "But I'm not changing my mind."
