Alpine Embrace

Chapter 3

There is a specific kind of humiliation reserved for wearing another person’s clothing when that person is roughly the size of a tectonic plate and you are... well, average.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection.

"I look like a toddler who raided a laundry basket," I whispered.

The gray sweatpants Jaxon had thrown at me were cinched so tight around my waist the drawstring was crying for mercy, yet the hems still pooled around my feet like fabric puddles. I had to roll them up four times just to locate my ankles.

But the hoodie. God, the hoodie.

It was black, heavy, and swallowed me whole. The sleeves hung inches past my fingertips. When I pulled the hood up, I looked like a Sith Lord who had shrunk in the wash.

But the worst part wasn't the fit. It was the smell.

The fabric was infused with him. That woodsmoke, pine, and expensive-soap scent I’d smelled in the mudroom. It was overwhelming. Every time I inhaled, I was breathing him in. It was a sensory invasion, a constant reminder that I was naked underneath these layers, wrapped in the scent of a man who had looked at me like I was a particularly annoying patch of dry rot.

I grabbed my wet clothes, my jeans were stiffening as they cooled, heavy and sodden, and bundled them into a ball.

"Okay, Kelsea," I told my reflection. "Go out there. Be polite. Ask to use a phone. Call a taxi. Get out."

I unlocked the door and stepped back into the hallway.

The warmth of the chalet was seductive. After the bone-chilling cold of the storm, the air here felt thick and luxurious. I walked toward the living room, my sock-clad feet silent on the hardwood runners.

I expected to see Jaxon, the Grump, the Yeti, the Titan, brooding by the fire.

Instead, I saw a pair of bright pink bunny ears.

I froze.

Peeking over the back of the large leather sofa, a pair of oversized, plush bunny ears twitched. Then, a small head popped up.

A little girl. She couldn't have been more than six. She had wild, curly dark hair that matched the man’s, big brown eyes that looked like saucers, and she was wearing pajamas covered in dancing unicorns.

She stared at me. I stared at her.

"Hello," I said, my voice cracking slightly.

She didn't blink. She slowly climbed up onto her knees on the sofa cushions, gripping the backrest with tiny hands.

"Are you the Snow Queen?" she whispered.

I blinked. " The what?"

"Daddy said he found a lady in the snow," she said, her voice filled with a solemn, reverent awe. "He said you were frozen. Like Elsa."

I couldn't help it. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "I definitely felt like I was frozen. But I don't have magic powers. Just really bad luck."

She considered this, tilting her head. The bunny ears flopped to the side. "Did you turn the world white?"

"No," I said, stepping closer. "The weather did that. I just got stuck in it."

"I’m Mia," she announced, as if this explained everything.

"I'm Kelsea."

"Kelsea," she tested the name, rolling it around. "That’s a pretty name. Do you like hot chocolate?"

"I would kill for hot chocolate," I said with feeling. "Figuratively speaking."

"Mia!"

The deep, gravelly bark came from the kitchen area. We both jumped.

Jaxon appeared from around the kitchen island. He had shed the black thermal shirt and put on a dark gray flannel button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that were corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair. He was holding a wooden spoon like a weapon.

His eyes landed on me, and then swept down to the floor where the sweatpants were pooling, then back up to the hoodie that was engulfing my frame.

For a second, just a micro-second, something flickered in his eyes. Heat? Amusement? Whatever it was, he clamped a lid on it instantly, his expression hardening back into the scowl I was beginning to think was his resting face.

"Mia," he repeated, his voice softer this time but still firm. "I told you to stay at the table. Don't bother the guest."

"She's not a bother," Mia said matter-of-factly. "She's the Snow Queen. And she needs chocolate."

Jaxon looked at me, one eyebrow arching. "Snow Queen, huh?"

My face heated. "I didn't claim the title. It was bestowed upon me."

"Right." He gestured with the spoon. "Kitchen. There's soup."

I walked into the kitchen area. It was stunning. Professional-grade stainless steel appliances, a massive slab of granite for an island, and copper pots hanging from a rack. It smelled like heaven, roasted tomatoes, garlic, and melting cheese.

My stomach let out a growl so loud it might as well have been a lion roar.

Jaxon didn't comment, which I appreciated. He pointed to a barstool at the island. "Sit."

I sat. Mia scrambled up onto the stool next to me, her unicorn pajamas rustling.

Jaxon placed a bowl in front of me. Tomato bisque with a swirl of cream and fresh basil. Beside it, a grilled cheese sandwich on sourdough that was toasted to golden perfection.

"Eat," he ordered.

"Thank you," I said. I picked up the spoon, my hand still shaking slightly, though whether from the cold or the proximity to him, I wasn't sure.

I took a bite. It was the best thing I had ever tasted. The warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the last lingering chill of the blizzard.

"This is amazing," I mumbled around a mouthful.

"Daddy is a good cooker," Mia said proudly. "But he burns the cookies."

"I do not burn the cookies," Jaxon muttered, turning back to the stove to stir a pot. "I like them crispy."

"They were black, Daddy," Mia whispered to me, loud enough for him to hear. "Like coal."

I stifled a laugh. "Well, the soup is perfect."

I ate in silence for a few minutes, acutely aware of Jaxon moving around the kitchen. He was efficient, his movements precise. He poured a glass of milk for Mia and slid it across the granite. Then he poured a glass of red wine and placed it near my hand.

I looked up, surprised. "I thought you wanted me gone?"

He leaned his hips against the counter, crossing his arms. He watched me eat with an intensity that was unsettling. "I do. But I'm not a monster. You looked like you were about to go into shock. Alcohol thins the blood, helps circulation. Drink it."

I took a sip. It was a heavy, bold Cabernet. Definitely not the cheap stuff I bought at the corner store.

"So," I said, setting the glass down. "About me leaving. I really don't want to intrude. If I could use your phone to call a cab..."

Jaxon snorted. A harsh, derisive sound. "A cab? Kelsea, have you looked outside?"

"It seemed... windy," I offered.

He walked past me to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the valley. He pressed a button on the wall, and the heavy automated blinds retracted.

I gasped.

There was nothing. Literally nothing. The glass was a wall of white. The snow was piled halfway up the window pane, and we were on the raised ground floor. The wind was battering the glass so hard it vibrated.

"The roads are closed," Jaxon said, staring out at the violence. "The Col des Montets is shut down. The tunnel is closed. Even the plows have been pulled off the road. It’s a code red avalanche risk."

I stared at the snow. "Code red?"

"Maximum danger," he said, turning to face me. "Nobody goes in, nobody goes out. The power lines in the village are already down. We’re running on the backup generator right now."

I swallowed the bite of grilled cheese, which suddenly felt like a stone in my throat. "For how long?"

He shrugged, the movement stretching the flannel across his broad shoulders. "Could be twelve hours. Could be three days. Depends on the storm."

Three days.

Three days trapped in this house with a man who looked like he wanted to mount my head on the wall next to a deer, and a child who thought I was royalty.

"I can pay you," I blurted out. "For the room and board. I have money. Well, I have a credit card. I don't want to be a freeloader."

Jaxon’s eyes narrowed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop five degrees.

"I don't want your money," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"But—"

"I said no." He pushed off the counter, walking toward me. He stopped when he was standing on the other side of the island, leaning forward, his hands bracing on the granite. "You’re stuck here because I pulled you out of a snowbank. My responsibility. You sleep in the guest room. You eat the food. You stay away from the east wing of the house. And you don't talk about money."

"Why the east wing?" I asked, my curiosity piquing despite the tension.

"Because I said so," he snapped.

"Okay," I held up my hands in surrender. "Okay. No money. No east wing. Just... soup."

Mia, who had been watching this exchange like a tennis match, suddenly slammed her milk cup down.

"Daddy, can Kelsea sleep in the room with the fluffy pillows?"

Jaxon sighed, the tension draining out of his shoulders as he looked at his daughter. His expression softened instantly. It was like watching a different man. The hard lines around his eyes smoothed out, and his mouth lost its cruel edge.

"Yes, peanut. She can have the fluffy pillows."

He looked back at me, the wall going back up, though perhaps it was a few inches shorter than before.

"Finish your food," he said. "Then I'll show you the room. If the power cuts, stay where you are. I have flashlights in every drawer."

"You seem very prepared," I noted.

"I don't like surprises," he said, his eyes locking onto mine. "And today has been full of them."

He grabbed the empty pot and turned to the sink.

I took another sip of wine, watching his back. I watched the way the muscles in his back moved as he scrubbed the pot. I watched the way the kitchen light caught the dark ink of a tattoo peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeve.

I don't like surprises either, I thought.

But as I looked at the raging storm outside, and the hulking, brooding man inside, I had a feeling that surprise was going to be the theme of the week.

"Daddy?" Mia whispered loudly.

"Yes, Mia?" Jaxon answered without turning around.

"I think the Snow Queen likes you."

I choked on my wine. Jaxon stiffened, the sponge freezing in his hand.

"Eat your cheese, Mia," he gritted out.

I buried my face in my wine glass, feeling the heat rise up my neck that had nothing to do with the fire.

Three days.

I wasn't going to survive three days.