Mountain Man Santa (Naughty and Spice)

Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

STACEY

T he world is a dizzy blur of winter when we reach Jerry’s cabin. His windshield wipers squeak back and forth, barely making a difference against the chaotic ivory swirl dancing in front of the windshield. Snowflakes come so quickly and thickly that staring at them makes me feel disoriented.

I study the giant out of the corner of my eye, admitting how gorgeous and manly he is. I’ve known this all along but refused to let myself really look at him or think about the possibilities. Misplaced loyalty for Elliott, and my need to stay professional always got in the way.

Pulling into his driveway, Jerry lets out a long sigh. “Glad we’re here. Because that was getting pretty close to undrivable.”

“Yeah, it was. Staring at it made me feel hypnotized or something.”

He nods. “It was rough.”

Rounding the truck, he opens my door, reaching in without hesitation to unbuckle my seatbelt and grab me around the waist before hoisting me down onto the snowy ground. “Watch your step,” he warns. “It’s damn slippery out here.”

I’m a plus-sized girl, and while I’ve always had a lot of body confidence, I’ve never been around a burly, strong man like Jerry. There’s something ridiculously sexy about the way he manhandles me like I weigh nothing.

Offering me his arm, I loop mine through his, squeezing his thick bicep and listening to the snow crunch under our boots as we approach his front door. I expect him to go for his keys when we reach the entrance, but instead, he wheels around, staring at me long and hard.

“First things first, I wasn’t expecting any guests over, and I’ve been cooking sauerkraut and split peas in the crockpot all day. So, get ready for a…unique smell.”

I scrunch my nose. “Sauerkraut and peas?”

He nods. “It’s a tradition in my family. I’ll air the place out, so it’s not so bad. Believe me, though, for as awful as it smells, it tastes fan-fucking-tastic, especially with a nice loaf of homemade black or marble rye bread and some kielbasa.”

Until this morning with my brothers, Jerry’s always given off a bit of an Italian vibe, probably because of his aggressive Brooklyn accent. I have yet to entertain what his Polish heritage looks like.

Unlocking the door, he starts to open it before turning around again. “There’s also wild mushroom borscht in a second crockpot, which can also have an iffy odor. Just for the record, outside of Christmas, my cabin usually smells like evergreen candles and shit like that.”

“Sauerkraut, kielbasa, borscht. Is that how Polish people eat at Christmas time, Jerry?”

He nods, his lip curling up a little bit. “I understand it’s not for everyone.”

“Do you have any pierogis in there somewhere?” I ask, my stomach lurching with hunger. I haven’t eaten dinner yet.

“Of course,” he says with a laugh. “You know about pierogis?”

“I’ve only ever had the store-bought ones stuffed with cheese or mashed potatoes and onions. But they’re delish.”

His smile widens. “I’m not sure which kinds you’ve had before, but I hand-make my own, of course. I’ve got some with mashed potatoes and onions, others with cheese, and a couple of dessert varieties. One with wild strawberries and the other with prunes.”

“Sweet pierogis? I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“Absolutely,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me inside.

My eyes narrow as I scan his darkened living room. A large, well-decorated tree looms in one corner, sparkling with pretty white lights, and as my eyes adjust to the dark interior, I make out warm wood floors lined with thick rugs, a coffee table, and a rugged couch and loveseat set with western-patterned pillows. A large fireplace made of local granite, rustic and cozy, invites me to get cozy.

Letting go of my hand, he heads for the lights, sliding them up slowly so my eyes adjust. Now that I can see more, I notice the Arts and Crafts Style accent lighting and chandelier. The walls of his cabin are a deep, burnished wood color…and the smell from his kitchen makes me pinch my nose and grimace.

“Oh my!” I exclaim, taking in the pungent fragrances. “You weren’t kidding when you warned me about the smell.”

“See what I told you,” he says. “Polish Christmas dinner is a bit of an acquired taste. But if you can get behind pierogis, you’re halfway there.”

“The Sutherlands came from England, which doesn’t mean a lot when it comes to culinary traditions. So, a stench like this is new to me.”

He chuckles. “Glad I could pop your cabbage cherry. How about you make yourself at home. Take a shower and slip into something more comfortable, if you like. I’ve got plenty of extra clothes, although you’ll be swimming in them. While you do that, I’ll get the cabin aired out and work on a fire.”

“That sounds good,” I say, stepping forward onto my tiptoes to plant my lips on his. He wraps his arms around me, growling until his chest rumbles. Finally stepping back, he tangles his fingers with mine, drawing me through the living room and down the hallway into a large room with a California king and fluffy white duvets. It looks like a bed fitted with clouds, comfortable and inviting.

“There are hoodies and shirts in my closet,” he says, nodding towards a door to his right. And the bathroom’s through there. Do you need anything?” He arches an eyebrow, scowling and looking incredibly adorable.

Stepping forward, I palm his chest, saying, “Apart from you, I can’t think of anything.”

He growls again, his eyes softening. “Good, because I’ve got big plans for you and me, and something tells me you’re gonna like them. All of them.”

“Big plans, huh?”

He nods, his lips forming a satisfied grin. “I wasn’t joking about the naughty list.” Planting another kiss on my lips, he pulls away reluctantly, heading for the door. Calling back over his shoulder, he asks, “Egg nog, wine, beer, or something else?”

“I’ll take a beer, please.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You know, for as long as we’ve worked together, you keep surprising me.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” I ask.

“It’s a keeper thing,” he says, frowning as he leaves the room.