“So who is this Monty.” Other than the person they were making the delivery to, Tamsin hadn’t told Sarge anything else. Hell, she’d barely talked to him at all.

“He's one of the older shifters that lives here on Shay Island.” Her eyes remained on the road ahead of them.

“Why does that make you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” she protested.

Sarge looked down at her bouncing knee and cocked an eyebrow at her.

She rubbed her hand down her leg and stopped twitching. “I’m not nervous,” she said with a little more force. She hoped he believed her because she didn’t trust herself at the moment.

“Fine.”

Other than basic directions of where he needed to go, the two barely said a word to each other as they drove deeper and deeper into the thick forest and up the mountain.

He'd rejected her that morning, and that hurt more than she wanted to admit. After they'd connected the night before, she'd allowed too much hope to seep into her heart. He didn't get that they'd experienced more intimacy with him doing practically nothing then she ever had with her ex-husband.

She hadn't known that being with someone could be that intense. That personal. Walls that she had allowed to drop were being erected brick by brick with every silent second that ticked by.

The paved road gave out after their last turn, and Sarge drove slower to protect his SUV from the numerous potholes. They passed posted signs that warned them of private property and encouraged them to turn around.

“Whoever Monty is, it seems he doesn't want any company. You sure we should be going there?” Sarge cursed when he splashed into another pothole.

“Do you want to go back and tell Maya that you decided to go against her wishes? Because if you can manage that, then I think you'd be the first in history ever to turn her down.” Venom laced her words, and she squirmed in her seat in discomfort.

After a second, Sarge chuckled once. “Yeah, she has a way about her, doesn't she?”

“She's famous for it,” admitted Tamsin. “I’m glad she's on my side most of the time.”

“I wouldn't want to make an enemy out of her, that's for sure. I might find out all kinds of things about my life. Geez, did you see that?” Sarge stomped on the brakes, screeching to a halt.

Ragged scars made by claws marked the trees on either side of them. Large animal tracks sunk into the dirt road in front of them. At least two small trees lay across the road.

“Guess he really doesn't want us up here,” Tamsin observed.

Sarge’s eyes surveyed the intentional destruction. “Monty did that?”

“Let's just say that our parents used to tell us stories about the man like he was the bogeyman. ‘Behave, or we’ll take you to Monty’s.’ ‘If you make a face like that, it will freeze into Monty’s.’ Stuff like that. He moved up here decades ago, lives up here by himself, and does his best to scare everyone away.”

Sarge got out of the truck and grabbed a branch from the nearest tree. With a little effort, he dragged it off the road. Tamsin admired his strength, but then remembered she was angry at him for this morning. She could get out and help him, but let the man who'd abandoned her in bed do all the work.

Once he'd cleared the way, he got back in the car. They drove up a steep hill the rest of the way until the ground leveled and a log cabin came into view.

At the foot of the porch stairs, Monty stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his amber eyes glaring at them. His snow white bushy beard gave him the appearance of Santa Claus, but his scrunched up face made him look more like Ebenezer Scrooge.

Sarge brought the car to a stop and turned off the key. “Anytime you're ready,” he goaded Tamsin.

“Give me a sec,” she implored. “Besides, you can get out anytime you want.”

Sarge chuckled under his breath in response, irritating Tamsin. “What's so funny?”

“It's just, we’re supposed to be bringing him packages. But it looks like he has a very specific package for us.” Sarge pointed at Monty's naked body. “No doubt he’s freshly shifted back from his bear, following us through the woods.”

Tamsin couldn't help the giggles that bubbled out. “That is not a pretty sight.” She opened the door and got out. “Monty, put some clothes on.”

The old man spit. “You're coming onto my territory. I don't have to do nothing that I don't want to. So if my dangling bits bother you, then turn around and go back to where you came from.”

Tamsin placed her hands on her hips. “But we've come to deliver some packages to you.”

“You and who else?” Monty squinted through the car window. “I see your feller sittin’ there, but I don't know him from Adam. You get on out of their, mister, and properly introduce yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “At least wrap a blanket around you or something, Monty. You don't want to shock strangers from never returning to say, do you?”

“You already know my answer to that question.” But the gruff old shifter had turned on his heels and walked inside by the time Sarge got out of the car. The curmudgeon returned with an old blanket wrapped around his naked body, some parts of the covering so worn that she could still see his flesh through the thin threads. But still, it had to be better than having to find somewhere else to look other than his dangling bits.

“Tamsin Webb, is that your long-rumored husband?” Monty asked. “I never did get to meet him. Not that I care to.”

Tamsin's heart sank. “No, it's not.”

“Why?” The grumpy man narrowed his eyes. “Things didn't work out with him the way you planned, did they?”

She didn't want to explain herself to someone so mean. Monty didn't deserve to know anything about her life since he didn't share any of his with others.

After a slamming his door, Sarge walked up to stand beside her, holding one of the boxes. “My name is Aaron Sergeants, sir. I'm a friend of the Berenger's. And Tamsin. Do you have a place where I can set this down?”

Monty pointed at the dirt ground in front of them. “You can put all of it down right there where you are and leave.”

“But some of these boxes have food and will need to go inside. Why don't you just let me carry them in.” Sarge didn't wait for the man's permission, and he walked up the porch steps into the house. Monty ran after him, the blanket flying behind him like a cape, his bare ass jiggling as he ran after Sarge.

Tamsin grabbed a box and followed. Monty was in the middle of a stream of complaints as he unpacked the first box of food onto a table. Sarge passed her to go back out to the SUV, shooting her a wink that made her stomach flip.

“What's in that one?” Monty grunted.

Tamsin set it down and opened it up. “Looks like there are some Christmas decorations in here.”

“That one can definitely go back with you. No need to put up anything. I don't celebrate, and you well know that.”

“But it's only one time a year, Monty. And it would make your place…a little nicer.” Hell, it would make the place look like a freaking mansion compared to its bare-bones appearance now.

“I don't need my place to look nicer. Looks how I want it to look. You think I need to decorate to fancy it up for others to visit? I don't want anybody else here. I don't want you here.” Agitated, he slammed a jar of pickled something down hard enough on the table that Tamsin feared he'd broken the glass.

Sarge returned and set another box down. She waved her hands at him to help. “Tell him that he should let me put up the Christmas decorations.” She silently implored Sarge with her eyes.

“I don’t know if I’d be any help.” The infuriating man avoided her gaze.

“Why not?” Tamsin huffed.

“Because I don't put up any decorations either.” Sarge shrugged.

“I knew I liked you for some reason.” Monty clapped him on the back and lost a grip on his blanket. It slid off the old man, who stood with no shame or even awareness of his nudity.

“I don't understand you two. It’s Christmas! Time for Ho-Ho-Ho, not Bah, Humbug.” Giving up, she left to retrieve the smaller items from the back of Sarge’s SUV. When she returned, she found both men bonding over not liking Christmas.

She understood why Sarge might not like it after what he shared with her the previous night. But she didn't think he would be at Monty's level of dislike of the season.

She held up the decorated wreath. “At least let me hang this.”

“No way. No wreath, no tree, no lights, no ornaments, and definitely no mistletoe.” Monty held up his finger to make his point. “No good can come from mistletoe.”

Sarge shot her a look, and Tamsin chose to gaze upon Monty's nakedness instead. “That would imply that you know and have experienced what takes place under mistletoe before,” she accused.

“I wasn't born this old, missy. I have experienced life.” That same familiar sadness that she’d recognized in Sarge's eyes rested in the old man's. “As I said, no good can come from mistletoe.”

Sarge brought in the last box, and they discovered a decent stash of clothing in it. With a little coaxing, Tamsin managed to encourage Monty into a pair of sweatpants and a hand-knit sweater.

“Okay, this isn't half bad,” he admitted, fingering the pattern. “You tell old Flossie down at the retirement center that I said thank you.”

“How can you tell that Ms. Florence made it?” Tamsin asked, impressed with his use of the endearing nickname.

“I’d recognize her handiwork any day. Always had a talent for knitting and crafty stuff, she did.” Something akin to a smile ghosted over the old man’s lips.

“You know, you can see her if you come to the Christmas Eve celebration,” pushed Tamsin.

“I’ll say to you what I've said to every person who's invited me each year. No. Now, I suppose I should show some good manners and offer you something warm to drink after you've taken the effort to come all this way. But as you can tell, I have no manners, so get. Both of you.”

He shooed them away with his hands, forcing them towards the door. “Here. Take these infernal decorations with you.” He kicked the box of Christmas stuff.

When they reached the porched, Tamsin turned around to say goodbye, but Monty slammed the door in her face.

“Well, he puts the G in Grinch, doesn't he?” Sarge took the steps down and loaded the box of decorations back into his car. “I’m not even sure he has a heart that could grow bigger. I mean, I haven’t been a fan of Christmas, but he takes it to a whole other level.”

Tamsin slunk into the passenger seat and waited for Sarge to join her. He got in next to her but didn't start the engine. “You know what I said back there, about not liking Christmas. I think you can understand why.”

“I can guess,” she admitted.

“But I'm not like him. At least, I don't want to be. I don't mind decorations at other people's houses. And I definitely don't hate mistletoe. I just want to be with the right person underneath it.” He gripped the steering wheel, the leather crackling under his fingers. “I’m sorry for this morning.”

His sincere apology deflated the rest of the anger Tamsin still held onto. “You know that Maya had a purpose in sending us up here, don't you?”

Sarge let out a deep sigh. “I had a feeling. She’s warning us like the Ghost of Christmas Present. No, Future? I don’t know which one.”

Both of them gave into the humor of the situation, the tension between them evaporated. He turned on the car first, then reached out his hand and grasped hers. “I guess what I’m saying is that I don't want to be like Monty.”

“Me, neither,” she agreed.

“Does that mean I can get a second chance?”

In her heart, she knew she’d give him a third, a fourth, or a billionth chance if that meant he might stay in her life. “I guess that's what Christmas is for.”

He squeezed her hand. But instead of turning on the car, he got back out and opened up the back door.

“What are you up to?” asked Tamsin.

He sneaked back up the stairs onto the porch and then ran back down, scrambling into the car and driving away.

“Whatever you did, he might actually come to town and kick your ass. You know that, right?” she asked him as he scooted in the driver’s seat.

“I hung the wreath on his door. Maybe that will cure his Bah, Humbugs. And he can try, but I don't go down that easy.”

They drove back down the hill in silence. But he never let go of her the entire way back to town.