The bear of a man nods toward my car. “You got luggage?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Sorry. I can—”

He sort of grunts in response but says nothing. It surprises me when he steps toward the car to open the back door and grab my bag—so much so that I reach out to try to stop him, which earns me a puzzled look.

“You don’t have to,” I tell him, a little distracted by how dark his eyes look up close. “I can get my things.”

There’s a scent tickling my nose—one that reminds me of rain and sunshine—and I think to myself that it seems terribly out of place here in the snow. Maybe it’s his cologne? It’s really…nice, actually.

He looks from me to the bag and back again—finally shrugging before he releases it to turn and stomp up the steps onto the main deck. He taps his boots against the last stair, and I’m left to my own devices. I remember myself after only a few seconds, grabbing my bag and hurrying after him. He leaves the front door open when he slips inside, disappearing into the warm glow of the lights beyond.

“Sorry,” I offer again as I step in after him. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Didn’t give it,” he tosses over his shoulder as he shrugs out of his flannel coat.

“Totally something a murderer would say,” I tease with a cluck of my tongue.

He turns to look at me strangely even as I try for what I hope is a friendly smile. “Hunter,” he concedes. “Hunter Barrett.”

Hunter.

I almost laugh at the utter appropriateness of his name. He definitely looks like a Hunter.

I close the door behind me and let my eyes sweep the room. There’s a giant elk head mounted behind the front desk—its horns decked in dusty old Santa hats despite it being October. An old brass chandelier that has seen better days hangs above us in the wide entryway; thick cobwebs dangling between the fixtures make me grimace as I stare up into them. The walls are a rich stained wood that feels warm even covered in dust, and I think to myself that with a little TLC, they could shine up nicely.

All that’s missing is a bearskin rug.

Honestly, I’m not convinced I won’t find one with further exploration.

I notice Hunter rounding the front counter, which is built of treated cedar, reaching up to pull off the beanie he’s wearing. The hair beneath is a thick heap of dark curls that frame his face and make him seem wilder somehow—not to mention the way I’m filled with a sudden curiosity as to what it might feel like if I pushed my fingers through them. He climbs up to take a seat on a wooden stool, settling there as he braces his hands on the counter in front of an open ledger.

“So, you do work here, right?”

“Sort of goes with owning the place, yeah,” he tells me with a slight smirk.

I blink dumbly. “You’re the owner?”

“Last time I checked.”

My mouth parts in surprise, and it takes me all of three seconds to realize that I made murder jokes to my new would-be employer of sorts, most likely giving him the impression that I’m completely unhinged.

Perfect.

When Jeannie told me she was hiring someone to renovate the lodge, I was wholly against it for a myriad of reasons. I still am, truthfully. I’ve fought my headstrong aunt every step of the way, from the conception of this half-baked plan right up to her informing me that someone was well on their way, but I have to admit, of all the people I might have pictured showing up at the lodge with a mind to “fix up the place,” this tiny scrap of a woman is the furthest thing from anyone my imagination toyed with.

Her soft chestnut hair falls in her eyes, her bangs just long enough that she seems to make a habit of blowing them away from her face. Her big brown eyes give her a permanent quizzical expression that would almost be cute if I weren’t determined to dislike her. Plus, she really is positively tiny. How in the fuck does she expect to overhaul this entire place? I don’t think they even make stepladders that would allow her to reach some of the higher bits.

Her owlish eyes are even wider as she comes to terms with the fact that it is actually me who she’ll be working for rather than Jeannie, more or less, and her admittedly plush pink mouth makes a perfect O shape as she blinks her long lashes repeatedly.

“But I…” Her lips purse in a pout. “But I’ve been talking to Jeannie all this time.”

And I can’t help it; the irritation that she’s here in the first place is still bubbling just beneath the surface, and her puzzled look and scrunched nose, which are one step away from being downright adorable, aren’t enough to eradicate it.

“Probably because I didn’t want to hire you.”

Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing to excuse,” I answer flippantly.

“You didn’t want to hire me?”

“Wasn’t as convinced as Jeannie that we need all these renovations.” I shrug, eyeing the way her arms cross over her chest, her shoulders hunching up around her ears, making her look like a cat that’s three seconds from hissing. “You been doing this for very long? Kind of tiny for a contractor.”

That gets the rise out of her that I’m looking for. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t mean anything by it,” I say, using that same disinterested monotone. “Just an observation.”

I watch her bristle, her fists clenching at her sides as she takes what I assume is meant to be a menacing step toward me moments before she thrusts a finger in my direction. “I’ve been doing this for ten years now,” she sputters. “My dad did it for eighteen years before that.” She gestures wildly around the room. “I could rip this dingy little place down board by board and put it back together twice as nice if I wanted to.”

I feel a pang of irritation at her assessment, a memory creeping forward of another time someone called it as much. “Dingy, huh?”

“Shit.” Her expression turns sheepish as she reaches to unwind the scarf from around her neck, suddenly looking flushed. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She narrows her eyes, pointing a finger at me again. “But you shouldn’t go around making snap observations. If you don’t want me here doing this job, just say the word, and I’ll turn right around and go back to the airport.”

I still don’t really want her here—that hasn’t changed—but honestly, now I’m almost intrigued to see what she has planned. I eye her cheeks, which are tinted pink with an ire that seems bigger than her stature, and I’m strangely curious about this woman who looks like she would have no qualms with, at the very least, attempting to kick my ass despite being half my size.

“By all means,” I tell her drolly. “But then again, you’re already here. I’m sure you’ll do a bang-up job, Miss Fixit.”

I’m rewarded with another gaping expression, her lips mouthing the moniker back at me in a daze. “Oh, sure,” she huffs, throwing up her hands. “Since I’m already here.”

“Exactly.” I lift my arms above my head in a stretch, and my black Henley strains across my chest. “Well…there’s no one staying here right now, so you can pretty much take whatever room you want. The suites are upstairs. They’re all available except the one to the left of the landing. That’s mine. There’s an attached bath in every room. Living area is just through there.” I nod my head toward the wide entry across the room. “Got a pool table if you play. Jeannie cooks breakfast, lunch, and dinner—gotta be down by eight in the morning if you want to catch breakfast though. Lunch is at twelve, give or take a few, and dinner is at six. Got it?”

She nods at me with visible confusion, and I round the counter, sticking out my hand. She glances at it with a brief frown, flicking her gaze back up to my face warily before sliding her palm against mine.

“Okay,” she says. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Good.” This close to her, I smell a blast of something heavy and sweet, and my nostrils flare of their own accord as I try to breathe in more of it, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. The fuck was that? “Well…” I say, clearing my throat and wrenching my hand from hers. “Welcome to the Bear Essentials Wilderness Lodge.”