2. Alex

2

ALEX

T he storm was alive. Not in the romanticized, storybook way city folk imagined, but alive in the raw, unforgiving way Alex Carter knew all too well.

The wind howled through the pines, bowing their branches in reverence to Mother Nature, while icy gusts whipped at the windows of her cabin. From the warmth of her kitchen, Alex sipped black coffee, steam curling into the air as her mind cycled through the list of tasks she’d already completed.

The woodpile was stacked high, the generator ran smoothly, and the fire in the stone hearth burned steady. The scent of pine and cedar filled the small space, a testament to the freshly split logs she’d hauled in earlier. Her cabin was a sanctuary of practicality and self-sufficiency, every corner reflecting her need for order and efficiency. She’d built shelves to hold neatly labeled jars of dried goods and canned vegetables, made curtains from thick fabric scraps that kept the draft at bay, and hung her snowboarding medals on a beam out of sight—mementos of a life that now felt like a half-remembered dream.

The cabin was hers in every sense: simple, efficient, and functional. It was a far cry from the blaring lights and crowded slopes of the Winter Olympics, where her name had once been shouted by strangers who now only remembered her in passing.

Alex Carter? Wasn’t she the snowboard champion? The multiple gold medalist? Years ago? I can’t remember the year. It was a long time ago.

Here, in this corner of the Rockies, she was alone, and it suited her just fine.

Alex stretched, feeling the satisfying pull of her muscles after morning chores, and set the empty mug on the counter. Her reflection flickered in the window: sharp cheekbones, chapped lips, dirty-blonde hair in a short cut still mussed from her beanie. Outside, the world was white chaos. The kind of storm that turned roads into death traps and made every decision a matter of survival.

She glanced at the clock mounted on the wall, a basic analog she’d salvaged from her parents’ garage years ago. The hands pointed to 3:30. Her late-afternoon patrol would need to start soon.

She moved to the mudroom section of her cabin, pausing to adjust the line of gear hanging on a rack she’d built herself: snowshoes, ropes, ice axes, an old first-aid kit in a dented red tin. The items were as well-worn as she was, tools of a life spent knowing how dangerous the mountains could be. She added a flare gun to the pile, the bright orange handle a sharp contrast against the muted wood paneling of the room.

Alex pulled on her snow gear with practiced precision. Layers of warmth and water-resistance went on first, followed by her thick-soled boots laced tight, gloves snug, and a waterproof jacket lined with reflective tape. Each piece bore the scars of years spent navigating storms like this one—torn seams stitched back together, scuffed soles, and faded fabric. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and tugged it up to cover her nose.

Her breath clouded the lenses briefly as she glanced out the cabin’s small window. The storm seemed to mock her with its intensity, snow whipping in wild arcs that made it hard to distinguish sky from earth. The whiteout conditions would be perilous, but she wasn’t deterred.

Patrolling was a self-given responsibility, one she could technically ignore, but she wouldn’t. The mountain didn’t care who lived or died; it simply existed, indifferent and magnificent. Alex couldn’t afford that kind of indifference. Not since that one time?—

She shook her head, unwilling to let the memory surface fully.

“Just another day,” she muttered under her breath, steeling herself as she grabbed a radio from the shelf.

The familiar weight of the radio in her hand steadied her. She'd done this hundreds of times before, though something about today's patrol felt different.

She stepped outside, the cold biting at the strip of exposed skin between her scarf and hat. Snow swirled violently, stinging her cheeks and muffling the sound of her boots crunching through the drifts. The storm had erased all familiar landmarks, reducing the landscape to a uniform, suffocating white.

The cabin door shut behind her with a muffled thud, the sound swallowed instantly by the wind. Her truck waited just beyond, its dark shape barely visible. She trudged through the drifts, each step an effort against the storm’s fury, and climbed into the cab.

The truck’s interior was as no-nonsense as the rest of her life. A wool blanket lay folded on the passenger seat, a compact emergency kit tucked beneath it. A pair of snow chains clinked against each other in the footwell. She patted the dashboard affectionately. “Alright, girl. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The engine groaned awake as she turned the key, a low growl of defiance against the storm. Alex let it idle a moment as she adjusted the heater knobs. The map clipped to the dashboard showed her planned route: a loop down the main road leading to the highway before circling back to the cabin.

It was a routine she knew well, one that allowed her to check for stranded vehicles or signs of trouble. She didn’t expect to find anyone out here in this weather. No one should’ve been reckless enough to venture out, but “should” didn’t mean much when people panicked.

She eased the truck into gear, its tires gripping the icy ground, and began the descent. The windshield wipers fought against the barrage of snow, creating narrow strips of visibility that let her see just enough of the road ahead.

As she drove, the storm roared around her, and yet Alex felt oddly at peace. This was her element—the solitude, the challenge, the untamable beauty of the Rockies. It was a far cry from the life she’d left behind, but out here, she could breathe.

The snow had always been her first love. Only love.

The first half-hour passed in eerie quiet, the only sounds coming from the heater and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. The road wound through dense forest, the lodgepole pines leaning under the weight of the storm. Visibility was abysmal, and Alex kept her hands steady on the wheel, her eyes scanning the terrain for anything unusual.

The storm was relentless, battering the truck with sheets of snow that turned the windshield into a flickering blur. Alex adjusted the defroster, watching as a small patch of glass cleared again, revealing the swirling chaos outside. The map clipped to the dashboard wavered in the heater’s gusts, but her route was committed to memory, even the parts that the map didn’t reveal. The sharp turns, sudden dips, and narrow shoulders of this mountain road were as familiar to her as the callouses on her hands.

It was near the base of a hill when something caught her eye—a flash of metallic gray through the swirling white. She eased her foot off the gas, and the truck slowed to a crawl. At first, it looked like it might be debris—a fallen branch, maybe—but as she rolled closer, the shape solidified into the unmistakable outline of a vehicle.

A luxury SUV, utterly useless in conditions like these. Snow had already begun to pile on the roof, and ice crept like spiderwebs along the windows. Alex shook her head, incredulous.

“Of course,” she muttered, pulling alongside the stranded car. She killed the engine and slipped on her gloves as she braced herself against the cold. When she stepped out, the storm greeted her with ferocity, slapping her like an angry ghost. Snowflakes stung her cheeks and clung to her lashes as she trudged toward the vehicle, her boots crunching through knee-high drifts.

The SUV was in bad shape. Snow had packed itself tight against the wheel wells, and the tires—cheap all-seasons, from the looks of them—were no match for the icy incline. Alex glanced at the plates: out-of-state, naturally. She rapped on the frozen driver’s window, the sound muffled by the wind.

The figure inside jolted, then fumbled with the controls until the glass slid down a few inches. Perfume-laced air spilled out, a floral note that felt absurdly out of place here. Alex suppressed a groan.

The woman in the driver’s seat was striking—too put together for this rugged backdrop, like a porcelain doll dropped into the wilderness. High cheekbones, dark brown hair falling in soft waves, and wide blue eyes that regarded Alex with equal parts annoyance and relief. But it wasn’t her beauty that caught Alex off guard; it was the absurdity of her outfit.

She was dressed for a holiday catalog, not a life-threatening snowstorm. A sweater dress clung to her figure, accentuating her breasts and Alex could see the shape of her freezing nipples through it. It was paired with knee-high boots that probably cost more than Alex’s entire wardrobe. A crinkled space blanket, thrown over her shoulders like an afterthought, did nothing to protect her from the cold.

“You lost?” Alex asked, her voice rough.

The woman’s expression tightened. “Obviously. My car broke down, and I’ve been trying to call for help, but there’s no signal.” Her tone was clipped, each word enunciated like she was speaking to someone beneath her.

A total bitch. A beautiful total bitch.

Alex arched a brow, leaning her weight onto one hip and letting her eyes drift over the stranger’s body. “No kidding. You’re lucky you didn’t freeze to death out here. ”

“I wouldn’t have been out here in the first place if this stupid mountain hadn’t swallowed my GPS signal,” the woman shot back, her ungloved hands clutching the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to sanity.

Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The SUV’s engine was silent, the hood blanketed in snow—whatever had gone wrong, this car wasn’t going anywhere without a tow truck. And in this weather, that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“Right,” Alex said, her tone deadpan. “Well, you can’t stay here or you will die. Grab whatever you need and come with me. I’ll get you somewhere warm before you do something else dumb, like walking into the woods.”

The woman’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing in indignation. Alex recognized the type: proud, stubborn, the kind of person who would rather dig in their heels than admit they were in over their head. But there was a flicker of uncertainty beneath her haughty exterior, a crack in the polished veneer.

She hesitated, her hands tightening on the wheel again. Alex could almost see the internal debate playing out—the desire to argue clashing with the harsh reality of the situation. Eventually, the woman huffed and reached for a designer bag on the passenger seat.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, more to herself than to Alex. She rummaged through the bag, pulling out a leather wallet and a phone that was probably worth more than Alex’s truck. A scarf, far too thin for the weather, followed.

“Is that it?” Alex asked, incredulous. “No extra layers? Boots that won’t land you in the ER with frostbite?”

The woman glared at her, cheeks flushing pink—not from the cold, Alex guessed, but from offense. “I wasn’t exactly planning to get stranded in the Arctic.”

Alex bit back a retort, her breath misting in the icy air. Instead, she took a step back and gestured toward her truck. “Fine. Just hurry up. The storm’s not going to wait for you to decide whether or not you’re above accepting help.”

The woman shot her one last frosty glare before shoving the items back in the bag and climbing out of the SUV to grab the rest of her luggage in the trunk. She teetered for a moment, her impractical boots skidding on the ice, and Alex had to fight the urge to reach out and steady her.

“This is going to be fun,” Alex muttered under her breath, turning toward her truck as the storm howled around them.

Getting her luggage secured in the truck bed was a battle against both the elements and the woman's protests about designer leather in the snow. By the time they were both inside the cab, Alex's patience had worn as thin as the visibility.

The truck cab was warmer than the SUV, but the tension inside could have frozen the windows. Vivienne Blackwood—she’d introduced herself with all the self-importance of someone who expected the name to mean something—sat stiffly, her shoulder bag clutched in her lap as if the seat itself might stain the fabric.

Alex glanced at her sideways, biting back the urge to say something cutting. Vivienne looked wildly out of place in the rugged cab of the truck, like a high-gloss magazine ad shoved into a survivalist catalog. Her hair, still styled in soft waves despite the snow, gleamed faintly in the dim light from the dash. She’d managed to drape the too-large coat Alex had given her over her shoulders but wore it like it was an affront to her dignity.

“Put this on too,” Alex said, tossing her a second, more practical coat she kept stashed in the backseat, her eyes never leaving the road ahead.

Vivienne caught it midair with the tips of her manicured fingers, holding it at arm’s length as if it might bite her and making no move to actually wear it. Vivienne stared at her for a moment, clearly debating whether to push the issue, but eventually slipped the coat on with a delicate shrug. It swallowed her, the sleeves falling far past her hands, and the sight tugged at something in Alex’s chest. She dismissed the twinge.

They drove in silence for a while, the storm howling against the truck as if trying to break inside. The wipers struggled to keep up with the snow, and Alex leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as she peered into the blinding white ahead.

“Why are you out here?” Vivienne asked abruptly, her tone sharp enough to cut through the noise.

Alex didn’t look at her. “I live out here.”

“In this?” Vivienne gestured vaguely to the storm, her brows arching in disbelief.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because I like it,” Alex said simply, her focus never wavering from the road.

Vivienne frowned, her confusion palpable. “It’s...isolated.”

“That’s the point.”

Another silence stretched between them, tense and brittle. Vivienne huffed softly, clearly unimpressed with Alex’s brusque answers. Alex, for her part, had no intention of elaborating. Let the woman think she was a recluse or a weirdo; she didn’t owe her, or anyone else, an explanation for her choices.

The road grew rougher as the snow piled higher, the truck’s tires crunching over patches of ice and buried gravel. Alex adjusted her grip on the wheel, her knuckles whitening as the vehicle slid slightly on a turn. She corrected effortlessly, her body attuned to the movements of the truck.

Vivienne, however, was another story. She flinched at every skid and bump, her hands gripping the dash with white-knuckled intensity. Her breath came in shallow bursts, visible puffs in the cold air.

“Relax,” Alex said, her tone bordering on exasperated. “This truck’s built for this kind of weather.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” Vivienne snapped, her voice tinged with panic.

Alex glanced at her, smirking despite herself. For all her poised exterior, Vivienne was flustered, her cheeks flushed and her composure cracking. She looked like a cat dropped into a puddle, outraged and utterly miserable. It was almost…endearing.

No. Not endearing. Just annoying.

“You’re not going to die in my truck,” Alex said, her voice softening despite her best efforts. “I know these roads. I’ve got this.”

Vivienne didn’t respond, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the swirling snow outside. The faint light from the dash highlighted the curve of her jaw, the line of her neck as she tilted her head slightly. She was really pretty, Alex realized with a flicker of irritation— far too pretty for someone who was so determined to be a pain in her ass.

By the time they neared Alex’s home, the storm had reached a crescendo. Snow whipped across the windshield in dizzying spirals, and the truck’s headlights barely pierced the swirling white. Alex slowed the truck to a crawl, her eyes narrowing as she searched for the unmarked turnoff to her cabin.

“Almost there,” she said, more to herself than to Vivienne, who still didn’t look reassured.

Vivienne huddled deeper into the coats, her wide eyes staring out into the dark with a distant, almost haunted expression.

Alex clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the pang of sympathy that twisted in her gut. She didn’t want to feel anything for this woman, especially not something as inconvenient as concern. But there was something about the way Vivienne had gone quiet, her earlier defiance replaced by a fragile kind of fear, that made Alex’s chest ache.

Finally, the cabin’s silhouette emerged, a dark shape against the endless white. Relief coursed through Alex’s veins as she pulled the truck to a stop in front of the porch. The sudden silence when she cut the engine was almost jarring, the storm’s roar muffled now by the walls of the truck.

“Stay here while I get the door open,” Alex said, her voice curt. She didn’t wait for a response, shoving the door open and stepping out into the biting wind.

The cold hit her like a wall, stealing her breath and numbing her face in seconds. Snow crunched under her boots as she trudged toward the cabin, her body hunched against the storm. She fumbled with the lock for a moment before the door creaked open, the familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke wafting out like a welcome.

Turning back toward the truck, she caught sight of Vivienne through the windshield. The woman was sitting stiffly, the coats still swallowing her frame, her face half-lit by the dim glow of the interior light. She looked small, almost fragile, and for a moment Alex felt an inexplicable urge to go back and reassure her.

Shaking her head, Alex dismissed the thought. Fragile or not, Vivienne Blackwood was here now, and that was Alex’s problem to deal with.