They say a woman knows it's obvious when she's found the one.

Prince Charming isn't subtle.

She remembers every first with Mr. Right. Every second, third, and fourth.

Every beat of her own enchanted heart.

His face, his smell, the mischief dancing in his eyes that makes her all tingly and weak-kneed looking back on their wedding day, and then again many years later through the fog of love.

The lyrical cadence of his voice etches on her brain forever. His first kiss – the one that has to happen with storybook perfection – leaves the heart drumming on infinity shuffle, an echo of sweet nostalgia in her blood.

When I first saw Rex Osborne, there was none of that.

Just the roar of his old truck pulling into our lot. Two doors slamming shut. A half-second glance at him from behind while I hoisted the snow-packed shovel over my shoulder.

Another second spent staring harder. Maybe I thought his shoulders looked a little out of place in this small town.

Too big. Too broad. Too tall. Too heavy.

Too much urgency in his step.

Too much man for Split Harbor, and for me.

I heard two distant little voices at his feet, murmuring the happy nothings children do. Then the three of them disappeared inside the lodge.

It lasted all of three seconds before I tucked my head down and went back to work, scraping snow off the path. I only stopped for one more thing.

A growl rumbled in the sky, almost like thunder, totally out of place in frozen dead February.

I still don't know if I imagined it.

But I didn't imagine him.

I didn't know I'd met the man who'd ruin imagining for good, who'd tear what I thought I knew to pieces, who'd dynamite my heart, and who'd ground himself in my life's smoking crater.

Rex taught me so many things and showed me many more. Like what's real, what's undeniable, what's worth every shred of passion in two fiery souls.

Rex taught me how to live. How to love. How to hurt.

And then Rex set me free.

* * *

I tuck the shovel into the corner of the porch railings right next to the bucket of rock salt I’ll need again first thing in the morning. So far we've only gotten a light dusting of snow, but more is predicted.

No surprises. It’s winter. In Michigan.

My cheeks puff as I hold in the heavy sigh burning my lungs, wanting out. It is what it is. This is my home. My livelihood. My future.

I need to be thankful for that. All of it. And I need to be satisfied, too.

I owe Gramps big time. If not for him, Lord knows where I’d be right now. Rather than living in a lodge where people pay good money to rest, relax, and enjoy life, I might've ended up in a foster home.

Shaking off the melancholy that's been weighing heavier and heavier lately, I push open the employee entrance and remove my boots, coat, hat and mittens before sitting down on the bench to change into tennis shoes.

It'll be better when Russ returns, I tell myself. Who’d have guessed a guy could break an ankle so bad he’d need two surgeries by just stepping wrong off a ladder?

One less pair of strong hands. Which also means I’ll be shoveling a whole lot more yet this winter.

“Break time’s over.”

I glance up and crack a smile at my grandfather’s words. “Break time?”

The wrinkles around his twinkling blue eyes increase as he chuckles while walking down the narrow hallway. “I’ve been looking to hire someone to take over Russ’ duties, but –”

I laugh, interrupting him. “Everyone knows you too well, Gramps. Most who've worked for you before aren’t willing to do it again.”

“Only the lazy ones.”

“So, everyone in Northern Michigan?” I can't resist poking fun at my Gramps' impossible standards.

He scowls at me, which only makes me laugh harder. Pushing off the bench, I step closer to him and pat his upper arm. The softness my hand encounters reminds me he’s not as big and strong as he once was.

He’s run the Grand Pine Lodge for over fifty years. He'll continue until his old heart stops beating. And I’ll be right beside him. Probably after, too. This lodge has been in our family since the first building sprung up over a hundred years ago.

Like it or not, I know my destiny. My place. Some days, it's just harder to accept than others.

“I don’t mind shoveling the sidewalks. Never have and never will,” I tell him. Truth be told, it’s partly my fault that Russ broke his ankle. Fixing up the stables was my idea. A way to expand the services we offer, and hopefully increase occupancy and revenue. “Wes Owens will still plow. Just as long as Russ comes back by spring so we don’t have to hire lawn care, we’ll be fine.”

Gramps wraps an arm around my shoulder, nodding his thanks. “We make a good team, Tabby-kitten.”

“That we do, Pops.”

He scowls again, but then we both laugh. He doesn’t like being called Pops any more than I like being called Tabby-kitten. Never have liked nicknames. Tabby is close enough to a nickname all by itself, and it's all I've got. But I do love the old man, despite how ornery he can be sometimes.

“We got a late arrival,” he says, kissing my temple.

“Oh? I didn’t see a reservation.” I saw the man with two kids from a distance while I was busy shoveling, of course, but I don't say anything. Some days, we have more quick stops here looking for directions than proper guests.

“Didn’t have one. I put them in room 205. You’ll need to take something up for them to eat.”

I nod. None of this is unusual. Exceptional guest service in the middle of nowhere is our specialty, and being as small as we are, it’s not like we’re ever bursting at the seams. However, this time of year, after the holidays and before spring, we can go weeks without a single guest. “How many?”

“Three. I already told Marcy.”

“All right.” I plant a kiss on his soft and wrinkled cheek. “I’ll see to it, no problem. You head on up to bed and I’ll lock up after delivering the food.” With a grin over my shoulder as I start walking towards the kitchen door, I add, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Not if I see you first.”

The joke is almost as old as him, but I still laugh, mainly because he expects it. Life here would be nothing without reflexes, habits, and little rituals. I wait near the kitchen door until after he turns the corner that leads to the back stairs. Then I let out the sigh that was still inside me and push open the door.

Hustling around the large kitchen like it’s on fire, Marcy takes a couple single serving milk cartons out of the double-door fridge and sets them on an already full tray. She’s been with the lodge as long as I can remember, a wonderful cook. With my baking skills, we make a good team.

I lift the metal lid off the plate on the tray. “Yum, chicken salad.”

“I have a sandwich in the fridge for you, too,” Marcy says with a smile.

Skipping meals is my specialty. Comes with running the lodge, where there's never enough hours in the day to cover everything. “What would I do without you?”

“Me? Nonsense, Tabby. This place wouldn’t run without you,” she answers. “Everyone knows it. Including that grumpy old man.”

Marcy loves Gramps as much as I do, and works just as hard. “I'll clean after delivering this and then lock up.” Lifting the tray off the center island, I say, “Goodnight.”

“Sleep tight,” she says, removing the apron she wears day and night.

She has dozens of aprons, all handmade. I still don’t know when she finds the time to sew them up in her room on the third floor. Both she and Gramps have rooms up there.

In that respect, I'm lucky. I live in the cabin out back – except when I have to evacuate due to a huge group of guests rolling in. Thankfully, it doesn't happen often.

I exit the kitchen and head towards the back service stairway. The large front steps, as well as the small but serviceable elevator, are reserved for guests only. I try to tread carefully. These stairs are known to creak and I don't want to disturb the few guests we have, making my way up them and down the hall to room 205.

There, I shift the tray in order to balance it against me so I can use one hand to knock. Before that happens, the door flies open. A huge hand grabs my arm, pulling me inside the room.

I manage to keep the tray from falling, but when I meet the nasty glare of the man still clutching my arm, I dang near drop it again.

“What the hell do you want and why are you sneaking around in the hallway?”

Holy crap. Guests have rarely dumbfounded me and never scared me. Until now.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Tongue-tied? Since when?

“Well?” he snaps before my mind has a chance to force my tongue loose.

I finally take a good look at Mr. Porcupine. My heart skips a beat. If he wasn’t so scary demanding, he’d be damn near gorgeous.

“Are those cupcakes?”

“Are they for us?”

The little voices coming from across the room snap me out of my deer-in-headlights mode. My heart slides out of my throat and back down in my chest where it belongs as I turn and see two little boys. Adorable little boys dressed in red and white striped pajamas with sandy-blond hair and big blue eyes.

The same shade of blue as the man still clutching my arm. No man, at least not one with an ounce of sanity, would accost a woman in front of his kids, so I jerk my arm out of his hold and carry the tray to the table in the center of the room.

“Yes, they're cupcakes, and they're yours.” My nerves are settling. Teasingly, I add, “But only if you like chocolate.”

“We do!” they sing in unison.

Twins. Identical, and with those eyes, the man could never deny parentage. Thankful my mind works again, I turn to their papa, whose scowl could rival Gramps any day of the week. Slowly exhaling my relief, because I know grumpy men far too well, I say, “I wasn’t sneaking. I was busy bringing you something to eat. Your sons are obviously hungry.”

His piercing blue eyes practically burn holes through me, but I hold my own. He’s mad, that’s a given, but there's something deeper in those eyes. Fear almost.

Odd.

What would scare a man like him? He’s over six feet tall, buff, and certainly not a weakling. His jawline looks strong pinched tight, built like it's made for kicking butt and kissing girls stupid. And the rest of him...sweet baby Jesus. The longer I stare, the harder it is believing there's such a bastard stuffed in this Adonis. I rub my arm, hoping it won't bruise tomorrow from my grabby mystery man.

“Can we have one, Daddy?”

“Please?”

I bite my tongue to keep from answering. We've had enough kids at the lodge to teach me a thing or two. Whether I like it or not, it’s never my place to get between a guest and their children.

Cagey, like a trapped beast, he walks towards the table, keeping his eyes on me. I don’t move, not even a step when he stops close enough to lift the lid off the plate of sandwiches. I'm not about to let him know he’s frightened me, but I do get a whiff of his cologne. That has me biting the inside of my cheek. Damn if he doesn’t smell as good as he looks.

Another suspicious look from his haunting eyes breaks the spell.

Clinging to the good sense God gave me, I say, “Again, sir, I wasn’t sneaking around. I’m not trying to poison you, either. Whenever guests check in after meal time, we provide them with an evening snack.” He doesn't look convinced. “Try it. Simple. Delicious. Yummy.”

He doesn’t respond, but picks up half a sandwich and takes a bite before nodding to the boys.

You're welcome, jerk, I think to myself. Some people.

The boys each take a cupcake and as they peel back the paper holders, I open the two cartons of milk and insert the straws Marcy included on the tray.

Then I pour him a cup of tea, using the hot water provided. “I can make you coffee if you’d prefer. It's instant, but it's not half bad.”

“No, this is fine.”

He’s still grumpy, but his voice has lost some of its growl.

I hand each of the boys a milk carton, who both have pink frosting mustaches by now. “My name's Tabby.”

“My name's Adam.”

“I’m Chase, and daddy...” The second sweet boy pauses, his eyes going big as he looks at his father.

“Rex,” he growls. My sinfully handsome porcupine has a normal name. Small relief.

“Well, I’m happy to meet you, Adam and Chase.” I purposefully don’t extend my welcome to Grumpy. “I hope you’ll have fun here at the Grand Pine Lodge.”

“Do you live here?” the one I think is Adam asks.

“Yes, I do, and I work here, too. So, if there's anything you need, just ask.”

“Like more cupcakes?” Chase asks hopefully.

My first instinct is to say yes, but I hold back. “That would be up to your father...”

His eyes, as cold as ever, are on me. Not my face, but my sweater. It might be because it’s the same color of pink as the frosting on the cupcakes and his sons' faces, but I doubt that.

Chills criss-cross my spine. My poor battered heart beats faster. It's like he can see right through the heavy wool. My nipples tingle, harden, adding to my shame.

Why? I’ve been hit on by men three times my age and boys alike, but I’ve never had this reaction.

“I think one’s enough,” he says. “You each eat a sandwich now and drink your milk.”

I grab the menu off the tray before my mind, and body, reacts to how kind and gentle he suddenly sounds. “How long will you be staying?”

He picks up the tea and drinks it down before answering. “Just a few days.”

“Well, here’s the menu for the next three days. You can either have your meals delivered to your room or eat in the dining room. We’re small, so the meal times are also listed, however, we can provide sandwiches and other items all day.”

“And cupcakes?” Adam beams like the sun.

I can’t help but smile. I used to dream of having children as adorable as these two, but it'll never happen. Reality and the roots I've laid down here go deep. I'll have to just enjoy the kids who visit the lodge. There aren’t many men out there willing to give up their lives in order to help manage a place in the middle of nowhere. The few who might think they're willing would soon change their minds. This is a twenty-four hour, three-hundred and sixty-five day job, that also includes one very grumpy old man. My life has no place for children.

Besides, this is a small town. Split Harbor's dating pool isn't exactly extensive or quality. One very lucky lady already landed the resident billionaire a couple years ago.

“More cupcakes?” Chase echoes.

Touching the tip of Adam’s nose, I say, “Some days it’s cookies.”

“I love cookies!” Chase yells.

“I like cupcakes more,” Adam says.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to make both, won’t I? Cookies and cupcakes. I like staying busy.” I wink at them before turning back to their father and hand him the menu. As he takes it, I get another whiff of that amazing cologne mingled with his scent. It’s faint, but intoxicating and very good at making heat swirl deep inside me. The sandwich must have done him some good because he’s no longer scowling. He’s no longer quite as scary. His hair is darker than the boys, but I imagine when he was young it was just as sandy blond as Adam and Chase’s. He was probably as adorable as they are, too.

“Where are you from?” I'm pulling my mind back where it belongs.

He sets the menu down on the dresser. “We’ll be eating in our room, but aren’t fussy. Whatever gets brought up will be fine. Along with coffee and milk. The earlier, the better.”

I get the hint. It’s none of my business where he’s from. His clothes, jeans and a flannel shirt, could be worn in the city or country, but his accent reminds me of Russ, who is very proud of being born and raised in Chicagoland.

I should leave, but for some reason, it's hard peeling my eyes off him. I’m intrigued. Curious to know where his wife is, the boys' mother, but can’t simply blurt it out.

He’s staring back, harder than before, which has my insides tingling again in ways it shouldn’t. Ridiculous.

“Well, Cupcake,” he says slowly. It takes me a second to realize he means me. “You going to stand there all night, or let us finish eating in peace?”

Fine, whatever. I deserve that. He is a guest, after all.

Still, I’m irritated. And know I need to leave before saying something that will really piss him off. “I’m going,” I say, “but the name’s Tabby. I'd appreciate it if you'd –”

“Short for Tabitha?”

“No. Just Tabby.” I cringe a little more than I usually do, giving up my nickname masquerading as a name.

He gives me one more solid toe-to-head stare that has me holding by breath before he whips around. “Let me get the door, Cupcake.”

Nicknames. They shouldn’t irritate me the way they do, but I can’t help it.

Not when everyone always assumes Tabby is a nickname. It’s the only thing my father ever gave me – whoever he was. One among many boyfriends who came calling on mom. My throat thickens slightly as I glance towards Adam and Chase. Those two boys don’t know how lucky they are. Neither does their jackass father. I give them a small wave, walking out the door that’s being held open impatiently by daddy's huge hand.

“Goodnight, Rex,” I say, simply because he's a guest. A jerk, but a guest nonetheless, and we can’t afford to lose customers in the winter. Not even a giant asshole.

He merely shuts the door.

I huff out a breath, and though I’d like to take a moment and lean against the wall to catch my bearings, I need space pronto, so make a beeline for the stairs.

Once I’m in the hallway safely downstairs, I place a hand on the wall, taking a few deep breaths. I’ve never had a man affect me like Rex. For no apparent reason, too.

It's so perplexing anger mingles with the heat he's left in my blood. Okay, so most women would be intrigued by six feet of mystery and muscle, especially one that freakin' sexy. But it doesn't explain why I'm coming undone for a Neanderthal who just wiped his feet on my back.

Annoyed, I push myself off the wall and head for the front desk. There, I move the mouse to wake up the computer and type in the password. The main screen appears.

Rex Osborne. Blue Chevy pick-up. No license plate number listed.

No, of course not. Gramps thinks that’s a silly question even though I've warned him it might be important for security. Paid cash for two nights.

I log out and walk to the front door. Tall, dark, and sometimes handsome strangers are nothing new to the lodge. Insta-fascination I really shouldn't be experiencing is.

Maybe it's because our other handsome strangers come here to unwind, relieve the stress in their lives. Not this one. The man upstairs was wound tighter than a drum, and the blue pick-up backed up so it’s practically hidden beneath the trees confirms something tickling at the back of my mind since he accused me of sneaking around outside 205.

Rex Osborne is hiding something. Or maybe, he’s hiding from someone.

Either way, I want to know more. After locking the front door and turning down all the lights, and checking the kitchen, where I also leave a note for Marcy, I put on my coat and leave through the employee entrance. Rather than taking the shoveled pathway to my cabin, I walk around the lodge, to the far end of the parking lot. I'm able to get a better look at his truck from here.

Illinois plates. I knew it.