My Mistletoe Truce

Snowdrift and Scars

Chapter 2: Snowdrift and Scars

Rhys Carroll’s first thought was not of Elara but of the engine. He hated idling his truck. Efficiency was the Carroll mantra, and everything about this pre-dawn encounter—the snow, the stranded vehicle, the presence of an Everett—was fundamentally inefficient.

He had been scouting the property line, armed with a thermal camera and a very old map, looking for a loophole, a forgotten surveyor’s mark that would finally invalidate the Everett ownership claim on this ridge. He was here on a mission for his grandfather, a man whose grudges had sculpted Rhys’s entire worldview.

Then he saw the car—a dented, dusty sedan that looked too fragile for this environment—and finally, the driver.

Elara Everett.

She stood twenty feet away, bundled in a ridiculous parka, her hair tucked under a practical knit hat, yet somehow still managing to look defiant. Her eyes, usually the sharpest shade of winter blue, were narrowed in focused dislike, and her cheeks were dusted with the cold.

Beautiful and belligerent, he thought, irritation spiking. That was always Elara.

“Well, well,” Rhys said, leaning against the door of his truck, making no effort to move closer. “Look what the early worm dragged out of the nest. Snooping for pine beetles, Elara?”

Her expression tightened. “I believe I was trying to leave the nest, Rhys. Unlike you, who is clearly trying to dig up ancient history again.” She gestured with a mittened hand toward his truck. “Do you need a thermal camera to find your way back to your precious, sterile factory?”

“I’m here protecting my interests,” he countered smoothly. “Which is more than I can say for you. This road is barely maintained. You knew better than to drive this far up alone, especially in that excuse for a car.”

“And yet, here I am,” she said, taking a single, determined step closer. “It's unfortunate you’re blocking the road. I have somewhere I need to be.”

Rhys crossed his arms, the early morning cold suddenly feeling electric. “Your car is stuck, Everett. Deeply stuck, judging by the look of that drift. And my truck is the only thing that could possibly tow you out of this—our—land.” He paused, letting the power dynamic settle between them. “So, why don’t you tell me what the grand daughter of Cyrus Everett is doing on the contested boundary at 6:30 in the morning?”

The question was loaded. He expected a lie, a fabricated emergency, or a counter-attack.

Instead, Elara’s shoulders slumped, just slightly, and the defiance in her eyes softened into a flicker of deep, profound frustration. It was the crack in her armor he hadn't expected to see.

“I was trying to watch the sunrise from Widow’s Peak,” she admitted, her voice low and drained of its usual heat. “It was something I needed to do today.”

Needed to do. Not wanted to do but needed. Rhys found himself unexpectedly thrown by the simple, earnest honesty. It didn’t fit the narrative his grandfather had drilled into him—that the Everetts only cared about profit and sabotage.

“The sunrise?” he echoed skeptically. “Why?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped, pulling her defenses back up immediately. “Just tow my car, Carroll. I’ll pay for your time, and you can get back to your… thermal imaging.”

Rhys pushed off the truck, the movement deliberate. He walked past her car, surveying the tires buried in the icy churn. “I could tow you out, yes. But that’s a twenty-minute job. Then I waste time driving you all the way back down, and I lose the rest of the morning. Time is money, Everett. You know that.”

He turned back to face her. The sun was now cresting the horizon behind her, spilling a shocking ribbon of orange and gold across the snow-covered valley below. It was breathtaking, even from this half-way vantage point.

“Tell you what,” Rhys proposed, a manipulative spark entering his eye. He was still determined to get something out of this. “I’m here looking for specific markers on this ridge. It’s tedious work. It could take hours. And I could use a distraction.”

Elara looked instantly wary. “What are you proposing?”

“A truce,” he said, letting the word hang in the charged air. “I’ll get your car out, and I’ll even drive you to the top so you can see your ridiculous sunrise.”

He paused, letting the offer sink in, before laying down the enemy's terms. “In exchange, you tell me why you needed to see the sunrise. And for the next few days, you let me tag along on whatever other eccentric, non-Everett-company-related thing you happen to need to do. And in return for my silence, you give me a clear path, an excuse to be on this land, a plausible reason why I am suddenly not working—all while I ‘help’ you with your bizarre little holiday agenda.”

He watched her carefully. Her face was a study in internal warfare—pride battling desperation. She wanted the sunrise, badly. And she needed her car. She needed him, the enemy, for both.

“You want to… spy on my personal life?” she asked, a dangerous edge in her tone.

“I want a temporary, mutually beneficial exchange of favors,” Rhys corrected. “I call it ‘The Mistletoe Truce.’ You get your car back, and your list gets a jump-start. I get to annoy my grandfather by being nowhere near the shop and perhaps find out what really makes an Everett tick, beyond the dollar signs.”

Elara bit the inside of her cheek. The truth was, she couldn't afford to waste time arguing. The sun was rising; her clock was ticking. She had to move.

She looked him dead in the eye, the blue fierce and uncompromising. “My agenda is small, pointless joys, Carroll. There is nothing to do with patents or profit. If you’re expecting to find a scandal, you’ll be disappointed.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Rhys smiled, a cold, challenging curve of his lips. “So, is it a deal, Everett? Do we call a temporary, highly volatile truce?”

She took a deep breath, the cold air stinging her lungs. The heat between them—part rivalry, and part grudging attraction—was already a physical presence. This was going to be a disaster.

“Fine,” Elara said, spitting the word out like a curse. “But you drive. And you don’t ask questions about my family business.”

“And you don’t ask questions about mine,” Rhys agreed, pushing off the truck. “Truce accepted.”

He walked to the rear of his truck to fetch the tow cable. Elara watched him go, a mix of panic and exhilaration bubbling inside her.

Experience true love. That was item number ten.

She just made a truce with her family's most hated enemy. This was either the most beautiful, reckless disaster of her short life or the fastest way to complete her final bucket list item.

She pulled her hat down tighter, ready to face the music, and the man, on the summit.