Page 12 of Grumpy on the Mountain

My hand shoots out instinctively, grabbing for support—and lands squarely on his thigh. A very firm, very warm thigh.

Oh my god.

I snatch my hand back like I've been burned, heat rushing to my face.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to—I was just—the hole—"

"It's fine," he growls, slamming the gearstick down with a force that makes the engine roar loudly.

As I'm trying to compose myself, I notice something has slid out from under the center console, somehow coming dislodged by that bump we just hit.

It's a small box with what looks like a medal inside. Military issued, from the glimpse I catch before Beau swiftly tucks it back out of sight.

"Were you in the military?"

His entire body hardens, jaw clenching. "I don't talk about it."

The finality in his tone shuts me up, but instead of being put off, I feel a strange protectiveness toward this gruff stranger. Whatever happened to him in uniform left more than just the physical scars visible on his neck.

"Sorry," I say softly. "I tend to ask too many questions. I don't stop until—"

"Stop."

I bite my lip. "Someone tells me to."

Beau reaches across me to adjust the heater, his arm brushing mine.

"Cold?" he asks, the blatant attempt at changing the subject working.

"No, I'm fine. Toasty, actually. Your truck has better heating than my last apartment."

"It's reliable," he says, and I get the distinct impression he's talking about more than just the vehicle.

We drive in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes, the storm gradually lessening as we wind through residential streets. Finally, Beau turns onto a quiet road lined with small, charming homes.

My heart leaps when I spot a blue house with a crooked mailbox. Exactly as Etta and Mabel described, although it's most certainly not fixed.

"That's it," I say unnecessarily as Beau pulls up to the curb.

Before he can even put the truck in park, the front door flies open and a tiny human tornado in pajamas and snow boots comes barreling out.

"AUNT MOLLY!" Maisie shrieks, her high-pitched child's voice carrying even through the closed windows of the truck.

Sienna appears in the doorway behind her, wrapped in a cardigan. "Maisie! Get back inside right now!"

Beau kills the engine and turns to me with an unreadable expression. "We're here."

"Thank you," I say, suddenly reluctant to leave the warm cocoon of his truck. "Seriously. You saved me from becoming a very fashionable ice sculpture."

He nods once, then climbs out and comes around to my side. The door swings open, and he offers a hand to help me down. His fingers wrap around mine, engulfing them completely, and that same electric current zips through me.

My boots hit the snow, and I wobble on shaky legs.

Beau's hands instantly find my waist and for one heart-stopping moment, we're standing close enough that I can see the flecks of green in his gray eyes.

The moment shatters as Maisie plows into my legs.

"AUNT MOLLY! AND BEAU! MOM! IT'S BEAU! BEAU IS HERE TO FIX MY TREEHOUSE!"