Kissing Jenna (Big Sky 2)

“I’ll do my best.”

Chapter One

~Jenna~

LAST NIGHT WAS OFF the hizzy.

My beautiful tree houses, Snow Wolf Cottages, are finally finished and open for business. It took a year, several contractor changes, and more money than I anticipated, but here we are.

Thanksgiving weekend is just finished, and I waved my college buddies goodbye this morning as they drove down the hill to the airport, headed back to Port Hudson, New York, to take over the world with their uber-successful company, LWW Enterprises.

I couldn’t be happier for them. And because they’re proud of me, too, three of them came to Cunningham Falls, Montana, to celebrate the grand opening weekend for Snow Wolf Cottages with my local friends and family.

I hosted the party here in the largest of the three units, and we partied into the wee hours of the morning when everyone went home, and the four of us college friends laughed until it was time for them to leave.

I already miss them.

I’m sitting on the snowy deck, wrapped in a quilt, my feet up on the banister and a steaming hot mug of coffee gripped in my hands, taking in the silence of the early morning on a mountain.

Whitetail Ski Resort is blanketed in soft powder, ready for ski season to open tomorrow. My tree houses sit right along one of the runs, and I’m excited for my guests to be able to watch the skiers zip by from the comfort of the luxurious accommodations I’ve provided them.

This is my soul project.

I wanted a place where people could come to visit my hometown of Cunningham Falls and be surrounded by absolute rustic opulence while falling in love with the charm of the area.

And then they’ll go home and make room for someone else.

A deer meanders down the ski run in front of me, sniffing the air.

“Do you smell my coffee, sweet girl?” I ask softly, and she twitches her ears at me, then continues walking away.

Yes, this is where my heart is. This mountain. This town. These people.

I can hear tires crunching over the fresh snow before I see the sleek, black SUV turn the corner toward my place. It parks in the lot below my deck, and a man climbs out, walks around to the back to fetch his luggage, and then stops to take a deep breath and to take in the tree houses looming over him.

It seems Mr. Flint Stone is early.

I narrow my eyes, not moving, and take another sip of my coffee. He’s not supposed to be here until later this afternoon, and I’ve always been a stickler for a schedule. But one thing I’ve learned while being in the hospitality business is that you have to be flexible.

Even if being flexible includes greeting a guest in my pajamas and bunny slippers.

The man waves and offers me a smile, and I wave back.

“Mr. Stone?” I call down.

Of course, that’s not his real name, but he nods.

“Just climb that staircase,” I point to my left, “and I’ll meet you at the front door.”

He nods, and I stand to go inside, shedding my quilt but not setting down my coffee. No, someone would have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.

I open the door and step back, inviting the stranger inside. “Sorry, this won’t be your unit. I stayed here last night.”

Christ, he’s better-looking in person than on the movie screen. He sets his bag down and brushes some snow from his dark blond hair.

“Hi,” he says with a smile.

“Hi. I’m Jenna.” He shakes my hand, and I’m surprised by how warm his skin is.

“Sorry I’m so early,” he says. “The plane was ready, and I decided to take advantage of it.”

“No worries,” I reply with a shrug and hook my hair behind my ear. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet a guest without makeup, in my pajamas and bunny slippers, but here we are.”

He glances around the messy tree house with humor in his blue eyes. “Looks like you had a hell of a party.”

“Oh, we did,” I confirm. “That doesn’t happen often, and I’d anticipated the mess being gone before you got here. This is my grand opening, and my friends helped me celebrate.”

“Congratulations,” he says as his eyes land on the mug I’m holding. “I do not spew profanities. I enunciate them like a fucking lady,” he reads with a smile.

“Damn right,” I reply with a nod. “Now, let me grab my keys, and I’ll show you to your very clean, very comfortable space.”

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t move from the doorway as I walk into the kitchen and rummage in my handbag for the keys to his unit. When I return to him, his hands are in his pockets, and he’s waiting quietly.

“This way, Mr. Stone.”

His lips twitch with humor as I lead him from my unit to the one on the opposite end. “There are three tree houses, as you can see. I’ve put you in this end unit, called the Tamarack, named after the trees found on this property.”