Page 20 of Christmas at Wolf Creek

I realized my mistake too late. “Nothing important,” I backpedal. “Just typical ‘we don’t like outsiders’ stuff.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but Frank calls her over to help with a particularly delicate piece of gingerbread architecture before she can press for details.

Left alone at my table of gingerbread people, I find my gaze drawn back to Jake despite my best intentions. He works efficiently alongside Cole, holding large panels in place while the carpenter secures them to the frame. There’s a fluid grace to his movements that belies his size—a controlled strength that speaks of physical labor and outdoor living.

I shake my head, annoyed at myself for noticing.The last thing I need is another complication in my life, especially one in the form of a suspicious, unfriendly cowboy with personal space issues.

“Lana!” Nora appears at my elbow, startling me from my thoughts. “Mom says you’re good at art stuff. Can you help me with the train station? I can’t get the windows to look right.”

I smile down at her, grateful for the distraction. “Lead the way, kiddo. Windows are my specialty.”

As I follow Nora to her workstation, I feel Jake’s eyes on me. When I glance over, he’s watching us with an expression I can’t quite decipher—something between suspicion and something else. Something that looks almost like pain.

I turn away, focusing on Nora’s chattering explanation of her gingerbread train station. Whatever Jake Brennan’s deal is, it’s not my problem. I have enough drama in my life without adding a brooding cowboy to the mix.

But as the afternoon wears on, I find it increasingly difficult to ignore his presence—or the way he keeps watching Ella and Nora with that same unreadable expression. There’s a story there, one that makes me uneasy for reasons I can’t quite explain.

Chapter 10

Kane

The snow crunches beneath my bare fingers as I clear the windshield. My hands sting with cold. Gloves would’ve been smart.

I think of the gingerbread monstrosity, hoping to keep my mind off of the sting of my flesh. When we finally finished, Frank’s face lit up like he was eight years old again, staring at presents under a tree.

“It’s magnificent,” he’d declared, practically bouncing on his toes. “Absolutely magnificent. Maggie’s Diner doesn’tstand a chance.”

I’d caught Ella’s eye then, saw her trying not to laugh at his competitive streak. She’d checked her watch, flour dusting her sleeve.

“We should probably head back to the lodge to clean up before the tree lighting,” she’d suggested. “Nora needs dinner, and we all look like flour bombs have attacked us.”

The kid had giggled at that, her face streaked white like war paint.

Now I finish clearing the windshield and glance up to find Kori watching me from the passenger seat. Something in her expression makes my chest tighten.

“What?” I ask as I open the driver’s door.

“Nothing,” she says, but her smile tells me it’s definitely something.

Behind us, I hear Lana say, “I can’t believe we spent an entire day building a gingerbread village. If you had told me a month ago this is what I’d be doing on a Saturday in November, I would have laughed in your face.”

“Life takes unexpected turns,” Kori replies, still looking at me.

I start the engine, cranking up the heat as soon as it rumbles to life. The temperature’s dropped since we entered the bakery this morning—typical mountain weather, turning on a dime from merely cold to bone-chilling.

“You’re all covered in flour,” Kori observes,brushing white powder from my shoulder. “It’s even in your eyebrows.”

“Occupational hazard of gingerbread construction,” I reply, pulling away from the curb as Kat, Wren, and Lana pile into the back seat. “I’ve probably inhaled enough sugar and spice to be considered a dessert myself.”

Kori laughs, the sound warming me more than the struggling heater. “You’d be a grumpy dessert. Probably something with a lot of dark chocolate and sea salt.”

“I’d eat that,” Kat chimes in from the back. “Sounds sexy.”

“Everything sounds sexy to you,” Wren counters. “Even gingerbread.”

“Did you see those candy canes I arranged? Tell me that wasn’t suggestive.”

I tune out their bickering, my mind already at the lodge, calculating how long I have to shower and change before the town’s tree lighting ceremony. It’s not my scene at all—crowds, forced cheer, children hopped up on hot chocolate—but Nora’s excitement was impossible to resist. The way her eyes lit up when Ella mentioned the tradition of the whole town gathering to sing carols and flip the switch on the massive tree in the square... I couldn’t be the asshole who said no.