JILLIAN
What is it about master bathrooms that make people hem and haw? I glance down at my watch and offer the couple from Ontario a wide smile as they browse through the multimillion-dollar home near the ski resort on Whitetail Mountain. In all my years in real estate, it’s always been the master bathroom and closet that people get hung up on.
You’d think it would be the kitchen, and sometimes it is, but invariably, they want to take a second or even third look at the master suite.
“This home is beautiful,” Mrs. Langton says with a smile. “I love it. What do you think?”
Her husband smiles and nuzzles his wife’s ear with his nose, making my stomach turn. “You know I’ll buy you any house you want, my love.”
She laughs and takes another look around the great room as we descend the staircase, our footfalls echoing through the empty space.
“Out of all of the homes we’ve seen, this is my favorite. The view is fantastic. And we’re just down the road from the resort.”
I glance out the wide picture windows that overlook Whitetail Lake below and wince. The snow is coming down harder than it was this morning, so getting off this mountain in my little Honda sedan isn’t going to be easy.
“Does that mean you’ve finally decided?” Mr. Langton asks his wife.
“I think so.” She claps her hands and bounces on the balls of her feet. “We’d like to make an offer on this house, Jillian.”
“Fantastic,” I reply and shake their hands. “I’ll get the paperwork ready this evening and we can meet at my office tomorrow.”
“The weather sure has decided to get nasty,” Mrs. Langton comments as we make our way outside and I lock the door to the mansion behind us.
“They’re calling for a storm,” I reply. “We had a mild fall, but it looks like winter is going to be a doozy.” I glance longingly at the sturdy 4x4 rental that the Langtons are about to climb into.
I really need to replace my car.
“I’ll be in touch tomorrow.” I wave them off as they pull out of the circular driveway and head up the mountain toward the cabin they’ve been renting at the resort.
And now I get to make my way down this mountain in my two-wheel-drive Honda with no studded snow tires.
Fantastic.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I told the Langtons that we’d had a mild fall. Until about two weeks ago, we hadn’t had any snow that stuck around for more than a day or two, and that’s unusual for early December.
I’ll bet it’s seventy and sunny in LA right now.
I sigh and resign myself to struggling down the narrow road to the bottom of the mountain.
I adore my hometown of Cunningham Falls, Montana. I grew up here, along with my parents and their parents before them. It’s a town that welcomes the tourists that flock in by the thousands during both the ski and summer seasons to explore the wilds of Montana. But despite the many newcomers each season, the locals pretty much all know each other, whether we like it or not.
And there have been many times over the years that I’d rather they not.
I bite my lip and turn left out of the driveway, taking it slow. The snow is coming down so hard, it’s like a thick blanket draped all around my car, making it hard to see the road before me or the steep drop-off to my right.
If not for the dark trees, I’d be screwed.
I inch my way carefully down the hill, around two switchbacks, and breathe a huge sigh of relief when I safely come out at the bottom and, through the large snowflakes, see the stoplight marking the main road.
Just as I come to a stop at the light, I hear screeching tires and the unmistakable sound of rubber sliding on ice just before a Mercedes SUV comes to a stop against my rear fender.
Perfect.
I open my door and step out just as the driver of the Mercedes does too, and we survey the damage.
“Well, it could be a lot worse,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry,” the tall stranger says, kneeling by the wreckage. “I guess I took that corner too fast.”
“I guess so,” I agree with a nod. “You barely touched me, though.”
“Looks like you have a bit of a dent there,” he replies and stands, then grins down at me. “Jillian Sullivan! You haven’t changed a bit in all these years.”
I feel my eyes widen and I cover my mouth with mitten-encased hands, then laugh and throw my arms around the tall, broad man who slammed into my car.
“Max Hull!”
He hugs me tight and then pulls away, offering me a wide grin. His blond hair is short and styled conservatively. His green eyes are happy, if somewhat guarded, and he seems to be distracted.
God, the Hull brothers are hot.
“Are you here visiting Brad and Jenna?” Brad Hull is a cop here in Cunningham Falls, and Jenna runs a beautiful bed and breakfast called The Hideaway on Whitetail Mountain. I grew up with all three of the Hull siblings.
“I am.” He nods, frowns, and then adds, “Thinking about moving home.”
“Really? Is this good news?” I ask and then laugh, looking up into the snow that continues to fall around us. “Now that I think about it, maybe we should catch up when we aren’t standing in a blizzard.”
“Good plan.” He grins and kisses my cold cheek chastely, and I pray with all my heart that I feel a tingle of awareness, but there is nothing.
Damn.
“Let’s exchange numbers so I can at least have your car fixed.” Max pulls his phone out of his denim pocket and begins typing away on the screen. I rattle off my number, then grin when I see a text come through from him and save his number to my contacts.
“My brother can probably just knock the dent out with a hammer, Max, but thanks. I’m more worried about your expensive Mercedes.”
“Doesn’t look like I got a scratch. We got lucky.” He winks and backs toward his car. “How is Ty?”
“Good. He’s engaged to Lauren Cunningham, you know.”
“I had no idea. Speaking of brothers and dating, I heard you and Brad went out a couple months ago.”
“Yeah, once. We decided we’re better at being friends.” Because I’m a dating failure and I have too much damn baggage.
“Sounds like there’s lots of news to catch up on.”
“Be careful, they haven’t sanded that road yet. I’ll see you later!” We wave and I climb back into my car, soaked through from the quarter-sized flakes. I shake my head and send snow spraying through the interior, put the car in drive, and make my way home.
I slide several times while turning corners, and curse myself for not replacing my tires before the snowy season arrived.
Truth be told, I should just get a new car. A bigger one, with all-wheel drive. Especially since I show homes all over this valley, which means I drive through snow, mud, and the elements every day. It hasn’t been a matter of not being able to afford a new vehicle, it’s been a lack of time. Between the move home, starting the new job, and my soon-to-be sister-in-law’s horrible attack at the hands of her ex-husband, there just hasn’t been time to car shop.
As I approach the little house that I rent from my best friend, Cara, I see the snowplow has thankfully been down my street already, but they blocked in my driveway.
I hit my fist on the steering wheel and curse a blue streak as I pull my car to a stop at the side of the road, jerk my ballet flats off my feet, and toss them in the passenger seat, then reach into the backseat for my boots and stuff my feet in them.
I have to shovel the goddamn driveway.
It’s almost dark now and it’s only 4:00 p.m. The days are so short this time of year.
I trudge through the knee-high snowbank that is currently blocking my driveway, grab my snow shovel from the front porch, and trek back, gazing over at Ty’s old house, which now sits empty with a FOR SALE sign perched near the curb.
I miss having my brother close by.
I dig in, shoveling the clumps of snow left behind by the plow, throwing it into my front yard, and when I’ve finished, I pitch the shovel in the snow, standing straight up, and sit in my still-running car.
It takes me three tries to get it into the driveway.
I definitely need a new car.
Finally, I stomp up to my front door, wet, sweaty from the workout of shoveling snow, and bone tired. I knock the snow off my boots and shake my hair and coat out, shedding the snow that’s fallen on me in the last fifteen minutes while I shoveled.
I push inside and frown at the cold air that greets me.
Did I turn the thermostat down that far?
I immediately cross to the thermostat and crank the heat, then rush into the bedroom and strip out of my wet clothes, replacing them with warm sweatpants, a T-shirt and a heavy gray sweatshirt over that.
I pull on some wool socks and rub my arms briskly as I walk swiftly into the kitchen to warm up some soup in the microwave, hoping the heat kicks in sooner than later.
When the microwave dings, I stand over the sink and quickly eat my hot chicken noodle soup.
Damn, burned my tongue.
This day just gets better and better.
I wrap my favorite quilt around my shoulders, grab my laptop, and settle on the couch, ready to type up the paperwork for the Langtons.
The Langtons who can’t keep their hands off each other.
I smirk and rub my cold nose on my sleeve, then sniffle. Damn, it’s really cold in here.
Maybe I need something to help keep me warm, like a dog. Or a cat.
Not a man!
“Why am I in Montana in the middle of winter in a cold as hell house?” I ask the room at large and stomp across the room to check the thermostat again.
Fifty-eight degrees.
No wonder I’m freezing my nipples off.
Maybe the pilot light thingy on the furnace blew out? I have no idea what to do. I dial Ty’s number with numb fingers and curse when I get his voice mail. He’s probably keeping warm with Lo.
Well, that leaves Cara.
“Hello?” she answers on the second ring.
“Hey, I think there’s something wrong with the furnace in your house. It’s fifty-eight degrees in here, and I’ve cranked the heat and nothing is happening.”
“It’s way too cold outside for you to be sitting in a house with a broken furnace.”
“You think?” I roll my eyes and burrow under my blanket again. “I can’t reach Ty. I know the roads are horrible right now, I’m just not sure who to call after 5:00 p.m. around here. Everyone has gone home for the day.”
“I’m sure Josh can fix it,” she replies and I hear Josh laugh in the background.
“It’s a long drive into town in the snow, Cara.”
“Josh can handle the snow,” she replies confidently. “He’ll be there in about a half hour. Are you okay until then?”
“Yeah, I’m bundled up. If need be, I can shovel my driveway again and I’ll be nice and sweaty in no time.”
“Well, that sounds . . . gross,” she replies with a giggle. “No sweating. Just stay warm.”
“I’ll try. Tell Josh thanks.”
I hang up and walk into the kitchen, the brightly colored quilt hugged tightly around me, dragging behind me on the floor, and I fix myself some hot cocoa while I wait. Josh will fix the furnace and everything will be back to normal in no time.
Just as I’m settling back into the cushions of the couch, surrounded by all of my throw pillows and blankets, there’s a knock at the door.
Thank God. I thought I was going to suffocate under all that fabric.
With my trusty quilt held around me, I jog to the door and fling it open.
“I’m so happy to see you!”
The man on the other side of the door offers me a slow grin, allows his chocolate brown eyes to roam from the top of my messy hair to the soles of my wool-covered feet, and then steps inside out of the snow and takes his army-green beanie off his head, uncovering messy brown hair. He stomps the snow off his boots and sets a tool chest on my floor.
My brain has paused. I was ready for Josh.
I wasn’t prepared for Zack and the damn tingle of awareness that zings through me at just the sight of him. The man is a good twelve inches taller than my five foot two and he’s just . . . big.
And the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Hey, Jilly.”