Page 13 of The Mountain Man's Fake Christmas Bride
I throw my snowball directly at his face. He ducks easily, which is exactly what I counted on. While he's distracted, I lunge forward and tackle him around the waist. We both go down in a tangle of limbs, landing in a deep snowdrift.
For a moment we just lay there, me sprawled across his chest, both of us panting. Then his body starts shaking. At first I think he's cold, but then I realize he's laughing. Deep, rumbling laughter that I feel more than hear.
"Are you actually laughing?" I push up onto my elbows to see his face. "The Mountain Hermit knows how to laugh?"
"You caught me off guard." His smile transforms his entire face. Makes him look younger. Lighter.
"I'll add tackling to my list of wife skills. Right after snowball marksmanship and coffee appreciation."
Our position suddenly registers. I'm literally laying on top of him, our faces inches apart. His hands rest naturally on my hips, either to steady me or keep me from escaping, I'm not sure. His laughter fades, replaced by something more intense. More heated.
"Jennifer," he says, voice rough.
"Jen," I correct automatically. "My husband would call me Jen."
His hands tighten slightly on my hips. "Jen."
The way he says my name does things to my insides. Fluttery, warm things that have no place in a business arrangement.
"We should go," I say, reluctantly pulling away. "Town awaits. Supplies to get. Cover story to establish."
He helps me up, his large hand engulfing mine. Even through our gloves, the contact sends warmth up my arm.
"You have snow in your hair," he says, reaching out to brush it away. His fingers linger for a moment at my temple, a touch so gentle it makes my breath catch.
"So do you." I resist the urge to run my hands through his dark hair. "It's a good look for you."
The drive to town is quiet but not uncomfortable. The snow has been plowed from the main roads, and Jared's truck handles the mountain curves with ease. I find myself stealing glances at his profile. The strong jaw covered in scruff. The scar that cuts across his cheekbone. The intensity in his eyes as he focuses on the road.
Whisper Vale looks like a Hallmark movie set. The main street is decorated with twinkling lights and pine garlands. Shop windows display festive scenes. A giant Christmas tree dominates the town square. It's almost aggressively cheerful.
"You really weren't kidding about this place going all out for Christmas," I say as we park in front of The Outpost.
"The town depends on holiday tourism. Skiers passing through on their way to the resorts, families looking for that small town Christmas experience."
"And you participate in this festive extravaganza how exactly? Let me guess. Extra grumpy scowling? Perhaps some strategic 'bah humbug' muttering?"
He snorts. "I stock extra wool socks and emergency supplies for the tourists who show up unprepared for mountain winter."
"Such a humanitarian," I tease as we enter the store.
The Outpost is larger than it appears from outside, with an impressive array of outdoor gear, camping supplies, groceries, and home goods. It smells pleasantly of pine, leather, and coffee.
"Boss!" A woman with short spiky hair and multiple ear piercings spots us from behind the counter. "And the fake wife! Nice to finally meet you."
"Chloe," Jared warns.
"What? She knows she's the fake wife. You know she's the fake wife. I know she's the fake wife. No secrets here."
I like her immediately. "The fake wife has a name. Jen Walsh." I extend my hand.
"Chloe Martinez. Assistant manager and keeper of all Jared's secrets." She shakes my hand with a firm grip. "Like the fact that he special ordered those fancy German colored pencils you bought just because he overheard you telling Darlene at the diner that you couldn't find them anywhere."
Jared's ears redden. "They're a standard stock item."
"That takes eight weeks to special order and costs three times what we charge for them? Sure, boss." Chloe winks at me. "He's a softie under all that mountain man gruffness."
"I'm standing right here," Jared grumbles.
