Page 8 of Stone Cold Mountain Man (Cold Mountain Nights #7)

T aylor

If you’d told me this morning that I’d end the day snowed in at Wade’s cabin, playing Uno by lamplight, I would’ve laughed you off the mountain.

Yet here we are—me curled on one end of a sofa that’s about as wide as a plank, Wade sitting on the other, the storm whispering against the windows while a deck of well-worn Uno cards sprawls between us.

“No mercy this time,” I warn, fanning out my last card with theatrical flair. “Seven losses are enough.”

He doesn’t react—just that maddeningly calm expression, like he’s negotiating a high-stakes deal instead of deciding between a blue reverse and a green skip.

My final card matches the pile color. Victory is so close I can taste it. All I need is for him to play literally anything that isn’t a Draw Four.

Wade studies his hand, slow as molasses, then lays a card on the stack.

Black.

Draw Four.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I throw my hands in the air. “That’s your fifth one in two games! You’re stacking the deck.”

A rare, full laugh bursts out of him—deep and warm, rolling through the cabin like a log tumbling in a fireplace.

I narrow my eyes. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

“Little bit.” He leans back, relaxed and infuriating.

Before I can think better of it, I lunge across the cushions, reaching for his cards. “Let me see that hand, mountain man.”

He moves fast—too fast for someone who claims to hate company. His arm snakes around my waist, steadying me before I fall right off the sofa. Suddenly I’m half in his lap, his fingers splayed against my side, holding me still.

The room goes very quiet.

I’m close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest under my palm.

My teasing grin fades as a new kind of awareness hums through the air. He’s looking at me like he’s not sure whether to pull me closer or bolt for the door.

For one heartbeat, I swear he’s going to kiss me. The thought sends a pulse of warmth down my spine, pooling somewhere low and dangerous.

Then Wade gently pushes me back toward my cushion, breaking the spell.

“We should get some sleep,” he says, voice rougher than usual.

The words land like a pebble dropped into a pond, rippling through me. I paste on a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Right. Sleep.”

He stands, gathering the cards with unnecessary precision, stacking them into a neat pile. I smooth my sweater, pretending I don’t feel the sting of rejection buzzing just under my skin.

“Thanks for the game,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t feel.

He nods, still not meeting my eyes. “I’ll get the blankets.”

I watch him cross the room. His broad shoulders outlined by the soft glow of the lamp. Outside, snow drifts against the window, thick and silent. Inside, everything suddenly feels—complicated.

I remind myself that it’s fine, that I came here to escape the city, not fall for a man who looks like a lumberjack catalog come to life.

But when he turns back, arms full of blankets, his jaw ticks like he’s trying to hold something back, and I know sleep won’t come easy tonight.