Page 16

Rugged Hearts Series

Poppy

The snow crunches under my boots as I step out of the rental car, my breath puffing into the crisp air like little clouds. Devil’s Peak sprawls around me, blanketed in pristine white, the kind of winter wonderland I’d dreamed about since the minute I booked this last-minute Christmas getaway. My fingers tingle with the chill, and excitement courses through me as I take in the cozy cabin tucked into the woods, its sloped roof piled high with snow, smoke curling lazily from the stone chimney.

I heft my duffel over my shoulder, balancing a paper bag full of cookie ingredients in my other hand. I’m already planning the first batch—gingerbread men with a little too much frosting—and picturing myself curled up with hot cocoa and a holiday movie.

My grin falters when I step up to the porch and hear something that doesn’t fit my idyllic picture—a low voice, deep and rough, drifting through the slightly ajar door, followed by the sharp crack of wood splitting.

I push the door open, the warm cabin air hitting me full force, carrying the scent of pine and sawdust. And there he is, all flannel and broad shoulders, bending over a wooden beam with a mallet in one hand and a scowl so fierce it could split the room.

I gape for a second too long. The guy could walk straight out of a lumberjack calendar and steal every month of the year. His dark hair is tousled, a little too long, and his jawline sports a beard thick enough to make my knees weak. I can’t help imagining the feel of it rasping against my skin in all the right ways. When he glances up, catching me mid-stare, those eyes—blue, sharp, like a glacier’s edge—narrow.

“You lost?” His voice is deep, unfiltered, with an edge that suggests he’s not in the habit of indulging strangers.

I find my voice, ignoring the heat that rises in my cheeks. “Nope. Just wondering why Santa dropped a lumberjack in my Christmas cabin.”

One brow lifts, and there’s a flicker of amusement, quickly smothered by irritation. “This isn’t your cabin.”

I open my mouth, then snap it shut, pulling out my phone and showing him the booking confirmation. He wipes his hand on a rag and leans in, eyes scanning the screen before shaking his head.

“The app messed up. This cabin’s under maintenance for the next few weeks. I’m staying here to refinish the deck and loft stairs.” He gestures to the half-finished woodwork and the chaos of tools scattered around.

The realization hits like a snowball to the face. I drove hours for a holiday escape only to find out it’s double-booked. “But—there’s nowhere else nearby, is there?”

He leans back, crossing his arms, which only makes him look more imposing, more unfairly attractive. “Not unless you want to bunk in at the lodge with the ski crowd. Doubt they have availability, though. That place gets booked up a year in advance.”

I stare at him, at the fire crackling in the stone hearth, the wreath on the wall, and my plans start to unravel. Just then, my phone buzzes, and I see Winter’s name pop up. I swipe to answer, and before I can say a word, she’s already talking.

“Poppy! How’s the cabin? Is it as cute as it looked in the pictures?”

I move to the side, turning my back to Mr. Glacial Gaze. “Yeah, it’s… occupied,” I whisper, shooting a glance over my shoulder. The sexy lumbersnack’s brow rises, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. Great. He’s listening.

“Occupied?” Winter’s voice sharpens with interest. “By who? Don’t tell me a hottie in flannel.”

My face heats up like the fireplace, and I mumble, “Something like that.”

There’s a deep chuckle from over my shoulder, and I realize he heard every word. I want to evaporate on the spot.

“Oh my god, Poppy. Are you snowed-in with a lumberjack?” Winter’s laughter rings through the speaker.

“Shut up, Winter,” I hiss, turning away and lowering my voice. His smirk grows, like he’s enjoying this a little too much.

Winter keeps talking. “Listen, don’t run off. Have a little fun, even if it’s just eye candy. You never know—these mountain men can surprise you.”

I hang up before she can say anything else embarrassing and turn to him. He’s still watching me, arms crossed and eyes glinting with amusement.

“So, what’s the plan, Little Miss Mistletoe?” He gestures to my sweater, which is a bright red with little sprigs of mistletoe and reindeer dancing across it. I’ve never felt more out of place in my life.

I swallow hard, straightening. “The plan is I stay. Unless you’re going to kick me out into the snowbank.”

His eyes flicker over me, assessing. “You can stay. But no decorating this place like Santa’s workshop and no interruptions while I’m working.”

I shift the bag of cookie ingredients in my arms and grin, deciding to take a little of my power back. “Deal. But you might want to get used to the smell of gingerbread.”

The man’s smirk softens into something else, something that makes my heart thud a little faster. “I’ll survive.”

The tension in the room shifts, charged, and I feel it in the way he watches me, like he’s weighing every word, every move.

“I’m Poppy.” I thrust out a hand.

His eyes shift down my form and back up to my eyes. “Of course it is. Think I’ll stick with Little Miss Mistletoe.” His smirk deepens. “Name’s Cade.”

And with that he turns back to his work, leaving me in a puddle of embarrassment and something else…something I don’t quite have a name for but hate to say I like all the same…

When the grumpy loner of Devil's Peak and a curvy city girl looking for a holiday mountain escape share the same tiny cabin, sparks fly and hearts ignite...