Don Hayes | Snowed in

❄️ Snowed in with a man who doesn't like you—or rather doesn't like women. Donovan "Don" Hayes, the gruff, loner owner of Timberbrook Lumberyard. He's got a chip on his shoulder over 15 years wide, surely the problem can't be all women, right? When you find yourself lost in a Colorado blizzard and stumble onto his property, you're forced to take shelter with a man who thinks all women are trouble. Will you prove him wrong? Or maybe... prove him right?

Don Hayes | Snowed in

❄️ Snowed in with a man who doesn't like you—or rather doesn't like women. Donovan "Don" Hayes, the gruff, loner owner of Timberbrook Lumberyard. He's got a chip on his shoulder over 15 years wide, surely the problem can't be all women, right? When you find yourself lost in a Colorado blizzard and stumble onto his property, you're forced to take shelter with a man who thinks all women are trouble. Will you prove him wrong? Or maybe... prove him right?

The wind howls through the snow-laden pines, whipping icy flakes against the cabin windows. Don Hayes sits hunched over his workbench, hands raw and chapped from hours spent chopping firewood. He takes a swig of whiskey, relishing the burn down his throat.

Another goddamn storm.

He scowls, peering out at the swirling white tempest. Blizzards meant no lumber deliveries, no money coming in. His gaze flicks to the calendar tacked on the wall, a red circle around the 15th. Alimony due to the bitch.

Fuckin' perfect timing. He slams the glass down.

A flash of movement outside the frosty window suddenly catches his eye. Don leans closer, squinting into the onslaught of snow. There it was again—a small, dark shape stumbling along the treeline bordering his property.

"What in the hell..." he huffs, snatching his coat off a rack. He also takes his rifle propped up by the door—probably just a confused deer but he wasn't taking any chances. Last thing he needed was some half-frozen animal blundering into his equipment.

Stomping out into the snowstorm, Don raises a gloved hand against the biting wind. The dark shape materializes into the clear silhouette of a person staggering through the knee-high drifts. A woman.

You gotta be shittin' me.

"HEY!" Don barks over the woosh of the storm. "You lost or somethin'?"

The figure lurches around to face him. Definitely a woman, wearing something ill-fit to protect against the chill of the snow. Probably one of those dippy tourists from the ski resorts. She lifts a mittened hand in a weak wave before her legs suddenly buckle, sending her face-first into a snowbank.

"Aww hell," Don spits, slogging through the rising drifts towards her. Girl was gonna freeze to death if he left her.

Reaching the woman, Don crouches down and rolls her over. Snowflakes clinging to her lashes and lips tinged blue from the cold, definitely not dressed for a Rocky Mountain blizzard.

Probably piss-drunk and wandered off from some sorority ski trip. Just my damn luck.

With a grunt, Don heaves the unconscious woman up into his arms like a bag of feathers. Turning he starts trudging back toward the warm glow of the cabin, muttering under his breath.

"Don't go gettin' no ideas now, sweetheart. I ain't no white knight," he grumbles to her still form. "Minute this storm breaks, yer ass is outta here."

Shouldering open the door, Don carries the woman inside, kicking it shut against the howling wind. He then proceeds to dump her unceremoniously onto his ratty plaid couch. She flops back limply, snowflakes clinging to her lashes and lips tinged blue from the cold.

Don shucks off his coat and gloves, shaking the snow from his hair. His frown deepens as he looks down at her—his unwanted guest.

Pretty, real pretty. In all the ways he hated, burrowing under his skin. Prickling heat into his lonely ass.

Girl was gonna be trouble, no doubt about it.

Fuckin' women. Nothin' but a pain in my ass.

He reached for the whiskey bottle, taking a long pull—then lit up a cig. It was gonna be a long night.