Page 1 of Mountain Man's Winter Wonder
1
SHERATON
There was something about a snow globe. An entire world, encapsulated in glass. Fragile but complete.
And I had handcrafted each and every one.
Minutes before the Wildwood Valley Christmas Festival opened, I lingered at my booth, inhaling the cinnamon-sugar scent of roasted almonds drifting from the next stall. My snow globes lined the table in neat rows, catching the winter sunlight and scattering it into tiny rainbows.
Each creation was a piece of my daydreams. Kids rolling snow into lopsided snowmen while their parents laughed nearby. A cabin glowing gold against a snowy backdrop. A father lifting his toddler toward a Christmas tree while the mother looked on, eyes soft with love.
I picked up my favorite globe—the log cabin. If you tilted it just right, you could see the tree inside, delicate as lace, and I imagined the unseen family gathered around it. A life I’d never have, not as long as my parents insisted I return to help run the family restaurant. Not as long as love meant erasing myself to fit someone else’s plan.
I sighed and set the globe back down, forcing a smile as the festival began to hum around me. Bells jingled from the horse-drawn wagon rides. Children squealed, parents called after them, and the air carried the mingled scents of hot cocoa, pine garlands, and fried dough.
And then—disaster.
A pack of kids tore past, adrenaline-fueled and wide-eyed. They skidded to a halt at my booth, faces pressed close to the glassy little worlds. Excitement turned to chaos in an instant. One boy came barreling toward us, not stopping as he got closer.
“No—” My voice cracked like breaking glass.
He collided with the table. The globes wobbled and tipped, then the entire front row tumbled in slow motion. The crashes were heartbreaking—a series of dull thuds as glass met earth, followed by the soft tinkle of fragments scattering across the gravel and dirt.
My chest constricted. My hands shook as I dropped to my knees, ignoring the sting of cold seeping through my jeans. I grabbed for fragments, heart pounding, breath shallow. My cabin globe—my favorite—was ruined. Its tiny Christmas tree was snapped in two, the painted windows smeared with wet snowflake glitter.
The boy’s lip trembled. “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
If I looked at him, I’d lose it. My throat was too tight to answer.
And then—another voice. Low. Calm. Rich as melted chocolate.
“Hey, buddy. Accidents happen. Let’s see what we can do here.”
I glanced up and nearly forgot how to breathe.
He was crouched beside me, close enough that I caught the clean, woodsy scent of pine and cedar clinging to his jacket. Dark hair curled from beneath a knit cap, and his shoulders—broad enough to block out the chaos behind him—shifted as he carefully moved broken glass out of my reach. His hands were big, capable, and calloused yet startlingly gentle.
“You’re bleeding.” His gaze flicked to my palm, where a thin line of red welled.
“It’s nothing,” I whispered, though my pulse was thundering.
He pulled a faded bandana from his pocket, and before I could protest, he was wrapping it snugly around my hand. The heat of his fingers ghosted across my skin, and I was embarrassingly aware of every place we were almost touching.
“You know it’s clean, right?” he teased, knotting the fabric with surprising care. “I don’t usually hand out bandanas after chopping wood.”
A startled laugh escaped me. “Comforting. Nothing says first aid like a mountain man with a bandana.”
His mouth curved, just a little. “Better than nothing. Besides, I promise I’m more careful with people than I am with firewood.”
My cheeks heated—ridiculous because it was freezing. “That’s…good to know.”
“Kids,” he said then, voice firm but kind, “I need helpers. Pick up the big pieces and drop them in this box. Careful—sharp edges.”
Instant obedience. The little balls of energy who’d nearly destroyed my livelihood were suddenly a miniature cleanup crew. I stared, both relieved and absurdly impressed.
“I’ll grab my toolbox,” he said, eyes catching mine. They were warm brown, flecked with gold, like honey swirled into hot cocoa. “We’ll fix this.”
“You don’t have to?—”
