Page 3 of Mountain Man’s Holiday Home (Wildwood Valley Christmas #1)

LAINEY

Flavors exploded in my mouth as I lowered the disposable coffee cup to my lap. I licked off a stray glob of eggnog, closed my eyes, and rested my head back against the headrest.

“That was…” I said on a sigh.

I didn’t finish that sentence. I just let the thought hang in the air between us in the chilly cab of Hendrix’s truck. We weren’t moving yet, and when I opened my eyes, I realized he was still staring at the scene in front of us.

Seemed like he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words ‘phasing out my old trees’ before,” he said.

I shook my head. “Trust me, I’ve worked at a Christmas tree lot from the time I was able to talk, practically, and I’ve never heard those words.”

Apparently this year, Mrs. Doyle had discovered that artificial trees were bad for the environment, but throwing them away was part of what made them bad. So, as they started looking scraggly, she was replacing them with real trees.

“It’s good news for your Christmas tree lot, though,” he said. “If she eventually buys that many trees every year…”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t even count how many she had in that house. Maybe a dozen?”

The woman had at least one Christmas tree in every room, including the bathroom. And that was in addition to the nativity scenes, Christmas villages, ceramic trinkets, and other decorations she had covering her cabin.

“Back to the lot?” he asked, shifting into reverse as I took another long sip of my eggnog.

Mrs. Doyle had poured a cup for each of us, only revealing after I’d taken my first drink that it was spiked with rum.

Hendrix had declined after one sip, saying he had to drive.

Then he made a comment about “precious cargo,” which made my face heat up in a way I knew meant it had turned a little pink.

A flash of my immediate future played through my mind. Hendrix would drop me off at the lot, where I’d continue working until dinnertime. I’d close, then collapse in my childhood bedroom, alone and exhausted.

Meanwhile, in only a couple of days, Hendrix would head on to his next destination—a work trip to scout out land for a new development in the mountains of Tennessee. That was what he’d told Mrs. Doyle.

“I don’t want to go back,” I said. “Not yet. Maybe we could grab lunch.”

It was eleven—the start of the lunch hour in my book, so not that unusual. I wasn’t starving or anything. I just wanted to spend more time with this guy.

“That lunch date we talked about?” he asked. “You ready to call that in?”

“I think you originally invited me for coffee,” I said. “But you’re leaving town Monday.” I shrugged. “It looks like this is our only chance.”

“There’s only one restaurant in Wildwood Valley,” he said.

Was it my imagination, or was there a new huskiness to his voice? Like he was thinking about our conversation from earlier about my lack of sexual experience.

“My buddies and I are staying in a cluster of cabins on Reindeer Lane.” He laughed.

“I know the name sounds festive, but trust me, there’s nothing Christmassy about them—just basic bachelor pads in the woods.

They’re all working today, which explains why I got lucky enough to help you.

That’s one of the reasons I was more than happy to help out your brother when he needed it. ”

I was almost afraid to admit how much I hoped I was at least one of the other reasons. Yeah, I was definitely letting myself get too attached to this guy, which meant I was setting myself up for some serious heartbreak if I didn’t get a handle on things.

“I make a mean ham and cheese sandwich,” he said. “That’s what I was planning to do for lunch while everyone was working., but Luca had other plans for me.”

Hendrix made a left turn instead of a right at the main road. Right would have taken us down the mountain. Left took us toward adventure.

“A ham and cheese sandwich sounds amazing,” I said.

And it did, but right now, food was the last thing I was thinking about. The idea of being alone with Hendrix had me feeling warm inside. Would he kiss me? Would he do more?

The higher we climbed into the mountains, the warmer I got, my heart pounding as my breath came shorter. I hadn’t missed the physical stuff with all my friends—I’d sometimes had FOMO over my friends making out with guys. But suddenly, I got it. I’d definitely been missing out.

“Crap,” Hendrix said. The word pulled me out of my thoughts.

I followed his gaze up the winding drive in front of us. A beat-up blue pickup truck sat parked next to a rustic log cabin.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“That’s Gunnar’s truck.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “My buddy. It’s his cabin. He’s just letting me bunk here for the weekend.”

My heart sank a little. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” He pulled into the drive anyway, parking behind the other truck. “I thought he’d be working all day, but…” He shrugged. “So much for that plan.”

I stared at the cabin, disappointment settling heavy in my chest. After all that anticipation, we were going to end up at the crowded diner after all.

“We could still go to the restaurant,” he said, though he didn’t sound enthusiastic about it either.

“Right.” I turned to face him, studying his profile. “Or…”

“Or what?”

“We could find somewhere else. Somewhere warm where we could be alone.”

The words came out braver than I felt, and I saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“Lainey.” His voice was rough. “What are you suggesting?”

“I don’t know. You know this area as well as I do these days. Any ideas?”

He was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the mountains rising around us. Finally, he shifted the truck into reverse.

“Actually, yeah. I might know a place.”

We drove in charged silence, the tension between us thickening with every mile. He took us down a narrow road I’d never been on before, past overgrown fields and abandoned homesteads. The mountains here felt wilder, more remote.

“There used to be mills all through these mountains,” he said finally. “Textile mills, paper mills. Most of them shut down decades ago, but some of the buildings are still standing.”

My pulse quickened. “And you think one might be…warm?”

“Maybe. There’s an old textile mill about ten minutes from here. Last time I drove past, it looked like part of the building was still intact. Some of those old places still have their boiler systems, or at least machinery rooms that hold heat.”

The idea of ducking into some abandoned building with him sent a thrill through me that had nothing to do with adventure and everything to do with the man beside me.

“You think it’s safe?”

He glanced over at me, his gray eyes dark with something that made my stomach flip. “Probably safer than sitting in this truck much longer.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because if we don’t find somewhere private soon, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret. Like kiss you in broad daylight where anyone could see.”

My breath caught. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d regret.”

The look he gave me could have melted snow. “Jesus, Lainey.”

The mill appeared through the trees like something out of a fairy tale—if fairy tales included crumbling brick buildings wrapped in ivy. It sat beside a narrow river that caught the afternoon light, its windows mostly broken but the main structure still solid-looking.

Hendrix parked beside what used to be the main entrance, now partially hidden by overgrown vines. “Stay here while I check it out?”

“Not a chance.” I was already unbuckling my seatbelt. “I’m not waiting in the truck.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that.”

We approached the building together, our footsteps crunching on fallen leaves and broken glass. The main door was long gone, but the opening was clear. Hendrix stepped through first, then reached back to help me over some rubble.

Inside, shafts of dusty sunlight streamed through the broken windows, illuminating what had once been the main floor of the mill. Old machinery sat covered in rust and vines, but toward the back of the building, I could see a doorway that seemed to lead deeper into the structure.

“It’s warmer in here,” I said, surprised.

“The river probably helps moderate the temperature. And if I’m right…” He led me toward the back doorway. “There should be a boiler room back here somewhere.”

Sure enough, we found a heavy wooden door that opened to reveal a smaller room lined with old brick. The space felt noticeably warmer, and though the boiler itself was long dead, the thermal mass of all that brick seemed to hold onto whatever heat the afternoon sun provided.

“This could work,” he said, but his voice sounded strange.

I turned to look at him and found him staring at me with an intensity that made my knees weak. “Hendrix?”

“We shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because I want you too much. Because you’re inexperienced and I’m leaving town, and this is a really bad idea.”

I stepped closer to him, close enough to see the war playing out in his eyes. “What if I don’t care about any of that?”

I closed the remaining distance between us, my heart hammering against my ribs. The air in the small, brick-lined room was thick with dust and desire. I placed a hand on his chest, feeling the solid, frantic beat of his heart matching my own.

“All I care about is right now,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I saw the last of his resistance shatter. His hands came up to frame my face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the raw hunger in his gaze. I rose on tiptoe, tilting my head up, an unspoken invitation. For a breathless second, he just looked at me, as if memorizing the moment.

Then, with a low groan that seemed to be torn from the depths of his soul, he crushed his mouth down on mine.

It wasn’t the tentative, exploring kiss I’d always imagined.

This was a claiming. A revelation. His lips moved over mine with a desperate, searing intensity that stole the air from my lungs and the strength from my legs.

The world—the dusty mill, the fading afternoon light, the reasons why this was a mistake—all of it vanished, burned away by the sheer, overwhelming force of the kiss. This was it. The kiss of my life.

When we finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested against mine. His eyes were dark, stormy with a need that mirrored my own.

“Lainey,” he breathed, a warning and a plea all in one.

His hands slid from my face, down my neck, and over my shoulders, coming to rest at the hem of my sweater. His thumbs brushed the strip of bare skin just above my jeans, and a violent shiver racked my entire body. The question in his touch was unmistakable.

My answer was a single, shaky nod.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. His gaze locked on mine, holding me captive as his fingers slowly, deliberately, began to move up my back. My breath hitched, every nerve ending alight with anticipation for what his touch would do next.