by Shaw Hart
Snowed in for Christmas
BLURB:
Catherine "Candy" Rockefeller hates Christmas.
Well, that's not true. She hates her family and the holiday means she'll be forced to spend time with them. Dreading it, she’ll take any excuse to delay it, including meeting her sister's potential client. But she wasn't prepared for Forrest.
Forrest Montgomery just wants to be left alone.
He built his cabin in the middle of nowhere to ensure he wouldn't be bothered, so the last thing he wants is to deal with is company. Then he sees Candy.
When a blizzard leaves them stranded, can Forrest convince Candy to stay forever?
Warning: This holiday romance is full of steam! Grab some hot chocolate, pull on those cozy socks, and light the fire because we're headed to the mountains with a growly loner and his curvy soulmate!
Chapter One
Candy
I sing along with the radio, albeit terribly, as I navigate. The sun set half an hour ago, and this far up in the mountains, the snow is already clinging to the road and hillside, so I adjust my speed accordingly. My little red Honda Civic isn’t exactly made to handle this kind of weather and I’m worried about the tires in the snow. When I left the city an hour and a half prior, there were only flurries falling. Now it’s coming down faster and thicker, reminding me I should’ve left earlier, despite the fact that I wasn’t in a hurry to reach my destination.
It’s two days before Christmas and I’m dragging from the work week. I rub my tired eyes and sigh when I realize that I still have another three hours before I’ll arrive at my parents' place. My teeth grind together and my fingers grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white as I think about where I’m going. The mere idea has irritation and stress coursing through me.
My left eye twitches as my mind flashes back to Thanksgiving. What a crappy experience that was, and that had only been for a freaking day. How will I survive them for six? Alcohol, I guess, though I’m sure they’ll have something to say if I drink for the entire time that I am there.
In case it wasn’t obvious, I hate my family. We come from old money, railroad, to be exact, and they’re greedy snobs that act like they’re better than everyone else because they had the good fortune to be born into wealth. They even look down on other rich people, those with ‘new money,’ claiming our bloodline is better. I’ve tried to explain to them that it’s who they are as people, not their last name or what’s in their bank account that determines a person but they don’t seem to believe me.
They think everything can be bought and women should be a size zero with their hair and makeup always on point. They spent the whole day criticizing each bite of food I put into my mouth. My sister even went so far as to call me fat a couple of times and no one corrected her nor came to my defense. Assholes. Imagining what they’ll say about the few pounds I gained from all of the holiday cookies I’ve been eating has me grinding my teeth.
They’re all blonde, blue-eyed, model thin, and wouldn’t dare dream of stepping outside unless they look perfect and every strand of hair is in place.
Me? I’m the exact opposite.
I have the hair, but where theirs is pristine and so pale it’s almost white, mine is more of a dirty shade bordering on brown and my eyes are green. They’re all tall and I’m the runt at five-six. We don’t even have a lot of the same features, something that used to have me dreaming I was adopted. In my opinion, it was the only explanation for how I could be so drastically different than the rest of them.
The biggest, though, is my curves. My mom and sister are more flat chested with tiny waists and long legs. I have the latter, but I’m not a size zero and never will be. My hips are wide, my ass big, and my boobs even more so. My parents have tried to put me on every diet they could find, except none of them have ever worked. I like pasta and desserts too much to ever be super skinny. Over the years, I’ve gotten used to my weight and have grown to love how I look. I just wish they’d back off me a little bit, that they would understand I like who I am and be happy for me.
Instead, they comment on it every single time I see or talk to them. My parents believe I wouldn’t have a muffin top or big ass if I’d followed in their footsteps. As an accountant, I spend most of my work day sitting at my desk, crunching numbers, whereas they all work for the family business. However, I knew if I had to see them that much, I would lose my mind.
The Rockefellers have other interests as well, such as real estate, investments, and now a specialty store where they find talented artisans, then sell their creations at a huge markup. The last is my sister, Veronica’s idea. She fancies herself an influencer and has set up her own blog and online store. She has other people run it, of course, but she does travel to meet with the artists prior to taking them on. Not sure why she needed a college degree from NYC to do this, and one she just barely earned at that, but she had to have it.
I went as far away as possible to obtain mine, only coming home when I absolutely had to. It’s not like I couldn’t afford to make the trip every break, but the truth is I just didn’t want to be near them or have to hear them run me down for days. I graduated from USC six months ago and moved back to New York. I’d missed the East Coast, although I couldn’t bring myself to live in the city with them.
I live a couple hours from Manhattan in a little town called Warwick. It’s quite the drive since you have to go through the mountains, so I still rarely see my family. In fact, if there’d been a way to get out of going home now, I would’ve found it. Trust me, I looked.
I’m almost to the top of Bearfort Mountain when the theme from Jaws begins playing and I groan, knowing who it is. I curse under my breath before I put on my most cheerful voice and hit accept. If I ignore it, she’ll just keep calling until I give in and pick up. I’ve learned that the hard way.
“Hey, Mom,” I force out, trying to sound happy.
“Charlotte, I need you to make a stop.”
No how are you, how’s the traffic, or any other small talk. Typical. They rarely contact me, and when they do, it’s only because they need something. I’m used to it by now and figured that’s what it would be when I heard her ringtone.
“Sure. Do you need me to stop at the store? You might want to send Veronica or dad since I’m still a couple hours away. If they can’t go, I guess I can do it when I get closer.”
“No, it’s not that,” she says in the annoyed nasally tone I hate so much. “There’s a client your sister wants to work with and he’s on your way. I need you to approach him with her offer.”
Her voice is prim and stiff as she barks orders at me as if I’ve already agreed to do it, without considering my opinion at all. I should probably be used to their selfishness. The Rockefellers never have time to think about other people, too wrapped up in themselves to even notice anyone else.
This is how she asks for a favor? I want to refuse, to finally put my foot down and stand up to them, but then I realize if I do this, I can claim that it took longer than expected and I had to stay somewhere for the night. That’ll give me another fifteen hours away from them and that fact is what makes the decision for me.
“Your sister will email you the address and contract. All you have to do is show it to him. Be nice to him, Catherine. I need you to remember you’re representing the Rockefeller name. I sure do hope you’re dressed appropriately. Don’t disappoint us.”
Following those words, she hangs up and I sarcastically mutter, “Love you too, mother.” I move to the side and put my hazard lights on as I shift into park. I check my email for the information, skimming over it out of curiosity. It seems standard, and I’m hoping I can be in and out quickly. Bringing up my GPS, I enter in the new destination,
surprised to discover it’s only twenty minutes away. I scan the map and see that the nearest hotel will be down closer to the base of the mountain. I’ll just have to get in and out of this guy’s place quickly and then I can relax in a hotel room for tonight. Rubbing my tired eyes, I let out a sigh and pull back out into traffic.
I continue up the mountain, leaning over the steering wheel and squinting to see through the falling snowflakes, so I can find the small country road I need to turn down. It’s really coming down and I’m only going fifteen miles an hour. Nerves churn in my stomach as I think about trying to drive my little car in this and back down the mountain to reach the nearest hotel. Maybe I should keep going and return tomorrow when the sun is out.
I’m debating what to do when I see the turn and decide to just get it over with. I ease onto the dirt road, bouncing over potholes and rocks as pine trees block some of the flurries from my line of sight. I can hear the wind howling and grip the steering, fighting to stay on the road.
I drive for what feels like forever and I’m starting to realize I’ll be alone with a stranger in the middle of nowhere. What if this guy is crazy? Or something happens to me? Will my parents even care that I’m missing? Why couldn’t Veronica do this herself? My muscles are clenched with anxiety as I finally see a light glowing up ahead.
The trees thin out and I can see the outline of a cabin. The driveway dead-ends in front of the house and I look around, trying to find a place to park. The snow is covering a big truck and I head in that direction. I pull next to it and shift into park, letting the car idle as I give myself a pep talk. I’m hoping this won’t take long, otherwise, I’ll have to scrape my car off when I go to leave. Judging by how fast it’s coming down, that’s a given regardless.
I glance at my high-heeled boots and mohair dress, an outfit I wouldn’t normally wear, but I knew my parents expected me to look my best. That means more makeup than I prefer and fancy clothes that are in no way suitable for this type of weather. I sigh as I think about standing in the cold, trying to clean the snow off later, and I want to bang my head against the wheel.
There’s a reason I chose a profession where I only have to deal with numbers. I always feel nervous and awkward around others and I don’t like making small talk because I never know what to say. My brain is racing now as I try to plan how to have a conversation with this man. I pull up the contract again, reading through it once more so the details are fresh in my mind.
As far as I can tell, Forrest Montgomery is an artist and his craft is woodworking. The contract is for a lot of money and I’m sure he’ll jump at it. I tell myself this shouldn’t take more than half an hour which helps a little.
You can do this, Candy. Just tell him you’re here for Veronica and that she wants to offer him a deal with her company. Then show him the contract and get the hell out of here.
Pep talk finished, I straighten my shoulders and smooth my hair before I throw the car door open. I suck in a breath, the freezing cold air stinging my lungs and waking me up. Feeling invigorated, I march up the front steps, raise my fist, and knock.
Chapter Two
Forrest
I finish staining and sanding, put the equipment away, then double-check that everything is in its place. I can hear the wind and I know I’ll need to hunker down for a couple days. Winters this far up can be brutal and with the speed the snow was coming down earlier, I have a feeling I’ll be losing power soon.
I close the shop, jog through the snow and to the rear entrance of my cabin, stop at the woodpile, then make a few trips back and forth to stack some inside prior to making dinner. I like to be prepared and I want to ensure I’ll have what I need in case things get rough. I’ve already stocked the pantry with enough food to last two weeks.
Brushing the snow out of my black hair, I stomp my boots on the porch before I head in. I’ve always been a bit of a loner but having a place so isolated from everyone else really takes it to a new extreme. I’ve never had much patience for people and I’m not very good at making idle chit chat. Growing up, I always just felt awkward, like I couldn’t connect with those around me.
As soon as I finished high school, I bought a piece of land high in the mountains and started building my cabin. It took six years since I worked on it in between work, but now it’s complete. It’s small with only one bedroom, a kitchen, living room, a tiny laundry room, and bathroom, though that’s all I really need.
I love how remote it is. I’m set back from the main highway that cuts through the range, so you have to drive through the forest and down a dirt road to get to me. My nearest neighbor is twenty-five miles away, and that’s in the small town at the base. With no one stopping by, I have plenty of time to focus on my business.
I’ve always been good with my hands and I’ve always loved working with wood. Growing up, my dad and uncle would hire me for their construction company during the summers. I’d help them build houses, learning all about tools and grains of wood from them. That was where I first knew that I wanted to be a craftsman. After that, I took woodshop every single year in high school, and I did an apprenticeship under a few local woodworkers and furniture makers after graduation. I soaked up as much of their advice and wisdom as I could until I was ready to be on my own.
Two years ago, I started Montgomery Designs. It took a couple months to figure out how to create a website and a place to sell my products, but now I can barely keep up with the demand for my furniture. There’s a waitlist half a year long and a number of companies and stores begging me to sign with them so they can offer my work. I’ve turned down every single one because I’m not doing this for the money, and I know if I had to deal with those soulless corporate execs every day, the pleasure would be taken out of what I do.
I want to create my designs by hand, not allow some factory to mass-produce thousands just to make a profit. My creations will last and be loved by those who own them and that’s the way I want it to stay.
In the kitchen, I heat up the last of my leftovers before sitting on a kitchen chair. I don’t cook much, but I can make a mean stew. I stare out the window as I eat, watching the flurries as I think about my latest project, a dining room table big enough to fit twelve. I wonder what it would be like to have a family that big.
As I’m placing the bowl in the sink, I see headlights flash across the window and frown. I’m not expecting company, especially in this snowstorm, but they have to be here to see me. Otherwise, no one would drive all this way if they were merely headed through the mountains. They would’ve realized they’d taken a wrong turn immediately. Hell, my road is pretty hard to find even if you’re looking for it.
Annoyance grips me as I stalk to the front door. I’m reaching for the knob when I hear a knock and bite back a curse. Touching the handle, I twist and yank it open, ready to snap at whoever thought it was a good idea to bother me until I get a look at the beauty standing there.
She looks like an angel, reminding me of every fantasy I’ve ever had and my cock hardens in my jeans. Her dirty blonde hair is covered with a dusting of snow and she’s shivering, obviously not dressed for this weather. Who wears that in a blizzard? I’m not used to seeing anyone in such fancy clothes, and all I want to do is drag her inside where she’ll be safe and warm.
She’s curvy and comes to mid-chest on me, even in her high heels. She’s beautiful with a round face and big green eyes upturned at the edges. She’s staring at me as if she’s surprised and her full, red, pouty lips are parted. As I watch, her tongue darts out, licking across the plump bottom one.
My mind flashes to her on her knees in front of me, my hands tangled in her hair as I ease my aching cock past those lips, letting her lick and tease my length. I bite back a groan at the visual and blink, trying to come back to the present. I wait while she clears her throat and shifts on her feet. That’s when I really take her in, without the lust clouding my vision. She looks like those rich executives who sometimes visit and my heart sinks, disappointment
hitting me hard because I want her and was already thinking of her as mine.
I shift on my own feet, trying to get blood back to my brain as I wait to see what she’s here for.
Down boy, she’s not for you.
Chapter Three
Candy
I don’t know what I was expecting, but the giant hunk of a man standing before me was definitely not it. His clear blue eyes stare down at me, growing heated the longer he watches me. He has to be at least six-three with a slim build, though he’s not lacking for muscle. He looks strong and my eyes scan his body, taking in the way his black long-sleeved shirt clings to his chest and his jeans are molded to his legs. His feet are bare and oddly attractive, not a thought I’ve ever had before, but there’s something about his cute toes that I just dig.
“Hi. I’m Candy, err Catherine,” I force myself to say after realizing I’ve been staring at him for too long. He nods, seeming at a loss for words and I shiver, clearing my throat to ask, “Mind if I come in?”
He shakes his head as if dispelling a fog and steps back so I can walk past him. I step closer to the fireplace and sigh with relief as the heat starts to warm me. My eyes adjust to the brighter light and I take in his home. Everything is wood -- the floors, walls, ceiling, and furniture – and I can easily see why my sister wants to sign him to her website. His work is gorgeous and handcrafted to perfection. Trailing my fingers over the dark finish of a table close to the front door, I find it smooth and sturdy. I love it instantly. I wonder if I could afford to buy one of his pieces?
I flex my toes inside my shoes, the fancy clothes and heels I never wear becoming uncomfortable. The material is itchy and I try to discreetly scratch my side before facing Mr. Forrest Montgomery once more. His home is relaxing and comfortable, a lot more inviting than mine is. My mind flashes to my small apartment and I remember how bare it is. Suddenly I’m no longer in a rush to leave, though I probably shouldn’t overstay my welcome.
