Christmas With A Mountain Man (Rich & Rugged: A Hawkins Brothers Romance Book 5)

by Ellie Hall

  It was true, Frankie relished every flavor, every sunrise, every moment of the day. Well, at least until earlier. Very little got her down, but Rocky was unnecessarily mean. Or maybe it was compounded by losing Mangia Bella and what Welk had done.

  She shook her head, trying to shake it off and gathered another bit of pasta onto her fork. “This one is for you, Nonna.” She lifted her fork, saluting her grandmother, and took a bite.

  Just as she was about to close her eyes and enjoy the richness of the sauce, the power blinked out.

  She tried several switches and had no idea where the breaker box was. Her phone with the poor reception wasn’t good for much more than a flashlight and as she blinked it on, a flash of light shone through the woods from the direction of Rocky’s cabin, indicating his power was running.

  Going over there was the last thing she wanted to do, but she needed his help to get the power back on. She loaded wood into the woodstove and then trudged through the woods, singing at the top of her lungs. Fine, she was afraid of one thing. Bears.

  But not Rocky Hawkins. Nope. Not at all.

  Chapter 6

  Rocky

  Kuma, Dude, Zeus, and Kinga sat at alert. They’d probably heard her singing before he did, but the queen was coming, announcing herself like a herald. He was surprised the dogs didn’t start howling along with her.

  He didn’t mean to hurt Frankie’s feelings, but pushing her away was for the best. He wasn’t expecting her to push back—least of all with the shopping cart. His shin still hurt.

  There was something about her he couldn’t resist apart from the fact that she was gorgeous. Any guy would be nuts not to see that. There was more to her though. She was feisty, bold, interesting. She lived from her heart. And what was so wrong with that? The question had floated around in his mind all night like the snowflakes swirling in the sky as the storm drove in.

  There were people in the world who’d do the opposite of what they were told. It was a kind of stubbornness. Frankie was one of those kinds of people. How’d he know? He was too.

  It was no surprise that the power went out. He had a generator and if he weren’t so stubborn, he would’ve gone to check on her. He should’ve. She was singing to keep the bears away along with anything else prowling around at night. Then again, no man nor beast would be out in that mess. But she could’ve gotten lost in the squall.

  He leaped to his feet and threw the door open, shining a light in the darkness, rushing to locate her. A flashlight bobbed, moving in his direction. They were like two beacons in search of each other.

  She trudged to his deck and shook off the snow. “My power went out. Why didn’t yours?”

  “Would you have liked my power to have gone out?” he asked, ushering her inside.

  She frowned. “Yes, but that’s silly because then I couldn’t have come over here to warm up.”

  “I don’t think that cabin is outfitted with a generator, meaning it could be a while before the town fixes the lines.”

  “You have a generator?” She glanced around at the lights and fixtures running.

  “I’m completely off the grid if I want to be.” He’d worked hard to be self-sustaining. To keep himself away from people.

  “Clearly.” She brushed past him and took off her hat and gloves.

  “Did you let the woodstove die out? You don’t want your pipes to freeze.”

  “No, it’s loaded full of wood. I’m not dumb,” she fired back.

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “But you didn’t say that you didn’t hate me.” She leveled him with that gaze of hers. Long lashes. Dark eyes. Tempting. Alluring. Despite her anger.

  He scrubbed his hand down his face. So that was what had earned him her ire. He helped her out of her coat and Kuma trotted over. The other dogs waited and then took their turns sniffing her in greeting. They really liked her, which was rare.

  “I don’t hate you, Francesca.” His voice was soft. He just didn’t want to do the opposite of hate her. It was too big. Too all-consuming. He didn’t trust himself. But she didn’t say that love was the opposite of hate, did she? What was it then?

  “If you don’t hate me, would you like some pasta?” She held up a container.

  “Thanks, but I already ate.”

  “Well, I didn’t get to finish my meal, so do you mind?”

  He got her a plate and fork.

  They settled on opposite ends of the couch. Her hair was in a knot on top of her head and she wore a soccer team hoodie along with a pair of leggings that hugged her skin tight. She took a bite of the pasta and closed her eyes as though it was the best thing she’d ever eaten.

  When she blinked her eyes open, their gazes met.

  “You want a bite?” she asked.

  The desire inside of him was building. He wanted more. But he couldn’t let himself have that.

  The dogs settled around them on the floor except for Kuma who stood next to Frankie.

  “Does she want a bite?”

  “Nah, I make her meals. She has a special diet. Happens to a lot of German shepherds, but she’s not begging. She’s watching over you.” He smiled. “If any of the others tried to get ahold of your meal, they’d have to get through her and none of them have ever bested Kuma.”

  “So does that mean I’m part of the pack?”

  Rocky scratched his beard. “As the alpha, it’s up to me, but, uh, well, Kuma knows that I respect her wishes. She’s my girl.” The words fell from his mouth and he tried to avoid Frankie’s intense gaze but couldn’t because of what he really meant. What he could never say, what couldn’t be between them ever.

  “What do I have to do in order to earn my way into your pack?” she asked.

  There she went again, pushing boundaries. Why did she want to be friends so badly? “There’s an official entry form, some tests you’d have to pass, and I’d have to conduct a vote.”

  Frankie put down her fork. Her face went from neutral to squished up with laughter. “Rocky, I think you just cracked a joke.”

  He lifted and lowered a shoulder. He felt more comfortable on his turf and he hadn’t meant to upset her earlier. He didn’t hate her. Not at all. And whatever the opposite of love was, he reckoned he didn’t feel that either.

  “Is the official Hawkins wolf pack color green? I noticed you wear a lot of green.”

  He pinched the neckline of his green sweatshirt. “I guess I just like it?” He’d never really thought of clothing or colors.

  “It’s almost like you want to camouflage with the trees or disappear into the background.”

  What she was sure to call a caveman grunt escaped his throat.

  Silence passed between them.

  Rocky tossed another log on the fire.

  Between bites of her pasta, she offered commentary on food, including some of her favorite chefs like Louis Picard, Neil Wilbargerton, and Trisha Santos. Then she went on to tell him all about Tuscany along with the food in Italy, claiming that it was better than anything she’d ever eaten—and she’d traveled a lot.

  He enjoyed listening to her because she infused every word with passion, intent, and richness, bringing the recipes that she described to life. But she wasn’t done. She also told him all about how she backpacked across Europe and beyond after high school, visiting new places, trying the local food, and seeing the sites.

  “But mostly, I just ate and walked around.” She gazed toward the window as though recalling the time with a kind of fondness she couldn’t find in the present. Then she turned abruptly toward him.

  Dude lifted his head and then dropped it again when Rocky clicked his tongue, signifying everything was okay. The dogs had been trained to be at the top of their game, but as they aged the wiring sometimes got crossed and they startled at the littlest things, ready for action.

  “You don’t talk much do you?” she asked.

  “You talk enough for both of us.” It wasn’t an insult. The truth was, he really enjoyed liste
ning. as she’d told stories, he’d stretched out on the couch, kicked out his legs on the coffee table, and rested his head in the hammock of his hands. He wondered what it would be like with her in Italy. He’d traveled all over the world with the team, but the way she described her visits abroad added extra dimension and depth to places he’d simply passed through.

  She lifted off the couch and stepped toward him, her face hovering over his. He wasn’t lying on the couch, but he’d relaxed. The dogs had relaxed. Like it or not, she was part of the pack. Maybe even the beta. He let out a sigh.

  Her eyes narrowed and she peered around his beard as though looking for something. She was so close, chips of onyx shone in her dark eyes, glinting in the firelight. A few freckles dotted her nose. Her lips were so full, so perfect.

  His pulse quickened.

  She smiled. “I thought maybe it was getting in the way. But I see it.”

  “What?” He sat up, suddenly too hot.

  “I thought your beard was getting in the way of your smile. It’s there. I saw it. I just had to get close enough.”

  That was the problem. Letting people get close.

  He cleared his throat and got to his feet. “I should go feed your woodstove.”

  “I’ll come.”

  “No, stay here. The dogs seem to like your company.”

  And he needed to cool off and get his head on straight. He brought a few of the dogs with him—Dakota, Zeus, and Kinga. They needed some roam time. They had special footwear to protect their paws but didn’t seem to mind. Not too much anyway as they played in the snow, snapping at the falling flakes.

  As Rocky stomped along the path, his mind went to war. It said to keep up his guard. To distance himself from Frankie. To keep things simple.

  But the other part urged him to soften. To let her in. To trust things to unfold. To trust himself.

  Inside her cabin, the Christmas tree stood dark by the window. He let the dogs in to warm up a moment and then stoked the fire before adding some logs. He stood in the silent house, sensing she’d left her mark there and on him. It was subtle, a smile tossed his way, a hand on his arm, a quirk of his lips. He realized he preferred her presence to being alone. She brought light and energy and...something he was hesitant to define.

  Upon returning to his cabin, he found Frankie seated on the floor with the dogs curled up around her. This was bad. No, good. He couldn’t decide. Actually, his heart had, but his mind was warning him. She looked like she was writing a letter.

  He warmed up a moment by the fire.

  “Sending Santa a letter with your Christmas list?”

  “No, I’m writing a love letter.”

  He didn’t even offer a grunt in reply.

  Her hand glided across the page as she continued to write.

  He sunk into the couch. His heart was too soft. He’d given into his mind and it won.

  Without looking up, she said, “Aren’t you wondering who I’m writing a love letter to?”

  “Not really,” he grumbled. Not if it was some dude who was actually nice to her, who treated her like a queen like she deserved.

  “I don’t believe you. I think you’re curious.” She tapped the pen cap against her lip.

  He looked away, no longer able to avoid thinking about her perfect lips as more than the part of her body that she used to form words.

  “Is there a Mr. Costa?” he asked.

  “Do you mean my father? Yes. Did I keep my maiden name? Am I married? No.”

  He grumbled. That was a relief, but she probably had a sweetheart.

  Kuma lifted her head and stared at him. She could read him from across the room.

  “Rocky, you are such a grouch. It’s no wonder you’re alone up here.” Frankie said absently.

  “Maybe I like it that way.” He settled back on the couch.

  She glanced up. “What, you don’t enjoy my sparkling company?” There was laughter in her voice. Laughter he wanted to hear. But he shut the notion down, crushed it.

  Kuma sighed a long doggy sigh.

  “No, I prefer the companionship of the dogs, the woods, the quiet.”

  “Maybe so, but I also think you’re pleased to have a neighbor. I think you like me.” Her lip curled into a smirk.

  “I do not.”

  “Your dogs disagree.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They like me. They trust me.”

  In a flash, she launched herself across the couch and clobbered him with a throw pillow. He reached around for another pillow and gently whacked her back. Frankie giggled and knocked him in the arm with her pillow again. The dogs yapped playfully and wanted to play. They all were romping and bumping into each other. Kuma started licking Frankie’s face—something he’d never seen her do.

  She gave Kuma a belly rub and then climbed back on the couch, pillow in hand, bonking Rocky on the head. He tossed his head back and laughed and then started tickling her. She gasped for breath, laughing and writhing. “Okay, okay. I give in.”

  He stopped. But she grabbed a pillow and hit him again, knocking him back on the couch. She lost her footing and fell on top of him. He gripped her upper arms, holding her far enough away that he could see her clearly. Her eyes, shining in the low light. Her smile that lit up the room.

  “See? You like me. I made you laugh,” she said.

  It was true, she was crumbling his walls, one pillow, one bite, one smile at a time. But the last bits of his resistance reared up.

  He shook his head. “I’ll prove that I don’t like you. Your last name is Costa.”

  “So?”

  “It would never work between us.” The words froze like ice between them. At least he wanted them to, but the room was warm. She was too and she’d stoked the fires inside of him.

  She bit her lip.

  He was sure she was suppressing a smile. She knew she’d worked her way inside his head, his heart. Those vestiges of protection warned him like an alarm. Danger. Danger. Don’t let her any closer.

  “What wouldn’t work?” she asked as though baiting him.

  “Anything,” he answered.

  “Anything? That’s broad. Like what? Like watching a movie?” She rocked back to her spot on the other end of the couch, taking the warmth with her.

  He cleared his throat. “It would be an utter failure. Plus, I imagine you like sappy romances with happily ever afters.”

  “Why’s that? Afraid that a rom-com with two people falling in love would give you cooties?”

  “Cooties?” he said as though he’d never been afraid of them, not even in Mrs. Niddler’s class.

  “How about dinner together?”

  “I’d lose my appetite.”

  “You’ve never eaten something that I’ve prepared fresh.”

  “Wrong. There was the risotto.”

  “Those were leftovers.”

  “Hardly.”

  She shrugged. “How about a date?” she asked, upping the bid instead of lowering it and giving up. “Or are you afraid to be seen with me?” She bobbled her shoulders and shifted closer.

  “Francesca, it would be an utter disaster.” His pulse quickened again.

  “Okay. What about a kiss?” She planted herself in front of him. She went from movie to a date to a kiss instead of backing off. She was persistent.

  He shook his head and swallowed hard. He knew it was a losing battle. Still, he gave one last attempt at salvaging what he’d worked hard to build. Autonomy. Anonymity. Separation. “I’d never kiss a Costa.”

  She didn’t move. She was undeterred. He didn’t understand it. But then he did. As much as he was resisting letting her in, she was pushing as forcefully in the other direction, moving closer with every step he took back. It made a strange kind of sense.

  “No, you wouldn’t kiss a Costa? Not even one like me wearing this oh-so-flattering sweatshirt, with my hair a frizzy mess, and these socks.” She wiggled her feet. “I mean, who wouldn’t find a woman wearing these hu
ge wool socks attractive?”

  Oh, fudge. He did. He found everything about her attractive. From her hair to her eyes to her socks. To everything in between. Her gentle curves, the healthy fullness to her figure that a lot of women might try to hide under baggy clothes. With the exception of her sweatshirt, she wore clothing that flattered rather than hid her gorgeous shape. In a word, she was a bombshell. And her heart. So big. Her talent. So delicious. Her voice. Her stories.

  “Prove to me it won’t work,” she whispered.

  He was going to demonstrate how awful it would be to kiss him with his scratchy beard. The fact that it had been years—he was probably out of practice and it would be terrible. Without another thought, he closed the space between them.

  Their lips met.

  Hers pressed against his.

  His gave back.

  Her hands laced behind his neck.

  His cupped her jaw.

  It was a bit tender. A bit fierce. A bit sweet. A bit spicy. It was them, coming together in their own unique way and it sent Rocky’s pulse into overdrive. Something buzzed inside in his mind, his chest, his blood, his bones.

  The kiss deepened, widened, exploded. And they didn’t stop. They were failing wonderfully at proving that anything between them wouldn’t work.

  Chapter 7

  Frankie

  Frankie had never met anyone as irritable or irritating as Rocky. Nor as attractive. She was drawn to him despite his grouchiness. His rock-hard muscular build didn’t hurt either. She didn’t even mind the beard. In fact, she kind of liked it but was curious about what was underneath. It didn’t matter though because the kiss they had shared lit her up like the Christmas tree in the living room of the cabin. Since she’d never met anyone like him, it made sense she’d never been kissed that way before. The moment they’d shared was sparks, pure fire. It was a rainbow of light, like the strand of bulbs glowing on the tree, streaking through the dark. Like the flames in the hearth, flickering and dancing. The heat of it had consumed her and she was hardly able to think straight the following day...or in the days since.