Excerpt of In From The Cold by Mary Sullivan

Callista Mackintosh didn't believe in beating around the bush. Gabriel Jordan had ignored the eight phone messages she had left in the past three days, and she was running out of patience. Hence, here she was on Jordan land to beard the lion in his den. The curtain at the front window of the house fluttered.

Must be Gabe. No one else lived here.

"He's a recluse," some of the townsfolk confided.

"He's crazy," others whispered.

Wood smoke scented the air. If not for the aging house—tired and grumpy against the snowy beauty of a Colorado forest—the scene would be idyllic. The house needed to be demolished. Her boss had been right about that.

Callie didn't know nearly enough about its inhabitant. She'd done her research before driving out here but knew little more than facts.

Thirty-seven-year-old Gabe had served in the army for eight years, including a couple of tours in Afghanistan, and then had come home to start a dogsledding business. He lived alone in the old family house that neither his youngest brother, Nick, nor the middle brother, Tyler, wanted. The land, though…that was worth a lot.

Their mother died four years ago. Apparently, their father died when they were children.

Despite Callie's research, who Gabe was remained as elusive as that shadow lurking behind the curtain.

She girded her proverbial loins and knocked on the door, rubbing her arms through her wool jacket. Cripes, it was cold in Colorado.

At last, the door opened and a dog peeked out, a Lab with a coat as glossy as melted chocolate. Then the door swung wide and the man she had all but stalked by phone stood in the entrance. For an instant, Callie couldn't think.

Her first thought stunned her. He's beautiful.

Wild dark hair framed a face with granite planes that mimicked the mountain behind the sky-kissing trees of the forest.

I should have brought my camera. She could shoot that face all day. Dark eyes, deep-set and alert, studied her without blinking.

Nick no longer knows his older brother. Her boss had warned that Gabe would put up resistance to their plan, but not to worry, that Nick had ways to get around him. Seeing Gabe in person, Callie wasn't so sure. He didn't look like the pushover Nick had described. This man had substance, presence.

Handsome in a rugged mountain-man way, the antithesis of lean and refined Nick, Gabe wore a plaid shirt and blue jeans, the shirt wrinkled in spots that weren't stretched tautly over muscle, and the blue jeans old and pale with wear on his thighs. Not only did Gabe look as though he could eat a bear, but he could probably wrestle it into submission with his bare hands.

His unruly beard and moustache, his black eyes and high cheekbones in a stone-chiseled face spoke of hard-earned character. But what kind? Was he as devious as Nick, as willing to do whatever it took to get a job done?

Maybe not, but Callie had the sense that he would fight for this land tooth and nail, and that her job had just become a whole lot harder.

He watched her with shadowed eyes.

He has baggage. If Callie could peek inside his head at the contents of those suitcases, she would know better how to approach this man.

Still he said nothing, simply stared with mute wariness, held by a deep, unnaturally quiet…waiting.

He had a right to be wary.

Callie was about to blow his world apart.

"I'm Callista MacKintosh," she said in the confident voice that put people at their ease. "Callie. I'm here to talk about your land."

"What about my land?" His voice sounded rusty, probably par for the course with recluses, but how would she know? She'd never met one before.

"Perhaps it would be best if I come in?"

"No." He slammed the door.

Her smile vanished. She stared at paint peeling from the old wood, stunned. People liked her. They didn't close doors in her face.

She raised her fist to knock again, but the door swung open and he barged out so quickly her hand hit his chest. And stayed there.

Heat radiated through her fingers and up her arm as though the man were an oven. For the first time since arriving in the state two days ago, a small part of her warmed.

She looked up. Way up. He stared at her fingers glued to the flannel of his shirt and then at her face. His stillness came alive, resonated with a new awareness. She knew that look. He found her attractive. Men often did.

Good.

Even so, she jerked her hand away.

Normally, she would use his awareness of her as a woman to her advantage, but an attraction to him resonated inside her, disturbing her. How could she control him if she let her emotions lead the way?

She didn't mix emotion and business.

Nick Jordan built developments that made oodles of money. Callie came in ahead of time and laid the foundation before the work started. She counseled, cajoled and convinced until home or business owners finally sold, gave in or gave up their spaces so Nick could have what he wanted.

To do that, she couldn't think of them as men or women, only as clients and, when necessary, as obstacles.

No doubt about it, Gabe would be an obstacle. She couldn't possibly think of him as a man.

Oh, but Callie, you already do.

"We'll walk." Gabe shrugged into a beige rancher's coat, setting muscles rippling and flowing.

Callie stared, then registered what he'd said. He wants to walk? Really? In this cold?

Why didn't he want her inside the house? What was he hiding?

The dog stepped out. Gabe reached inside, retrieved a beige cowboy hat from a hook and snugged it onto his head, then closed the door.

When he stepped from the veranda, the dog followed.

"He doesn't need a leash?" Callie asked.

He flicked a quick glance over her, then took huge mittens from his pockets. "You have gloves?"

"In the car. I didn't think I'd need them inside the house."

He didn't acknowledge her sarcasm. "Get them."

She retrieved her leather gloves from the passenger seat but his lips flattened when she put them on. Before she could close the car door, he stepped close, took one of her hands in his and pulled the thin glove off. He tossed it into the car.

She should object to his presumption that he had the right to touch her, especially given what it was doing to her nerves, but his fingers were warm and hers too cold. He slipped one of his big mittens on her hand and then did the same with the other, his actions gentle, almost tender. A lot of restraint for such a big man.

"Won't you need these?" she asked.

He shook his head and walked away. She caught up to him easily. With his long legs, she expected long strides, so he must have shortened them to accommodate her. Soon enough, she realized it had nothing to do with her.

The chocolate Lab walked with a slow stiff gait and the man checked his stride for the dog's sake.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked.

She almost thought he wouldn't answer, then he said, "She. Arthritis."

"Oh. How old is she?"

Callie waited. He had to think about it?

Finally, Gabe said, "Fifteen."

Hmm. Not too talkative.

He led her along a path through a wood of tall pines behind the house. A carpet of snow hushed their footsteps. Sun shone through the pines, sending Jacob's ladders to the forest floor. A soft breeze whispered through the tops of the trees, dropping dollops of snowflakes through the sunbeams.

Callie stopped and stared. Lovely. Charming. She so rarely had the opportunity to appreciate nature. Maybe it was time to take a vacation. Ha! As if Nick would let her.

Gabe pulled too far ahead. The woods might be charming, but she didn't want to be alone in them and ran to catch up to Gabe and the Lab.

You 're going to have to get comfortable alone here, girl. Nick wants shots of every part of this land.

Without warning, the dense forest opened into a huge clearing. There, in amongst the trees, were the trappings of Gabe's dogsledding business.

In the center of the clearing, a low brick fire pit held a couple of huge stewpots on a grate. Steam rose out of them. That explained the source of the burning wood smell.

A large white tent sat at the far end—a squat rectangle maybe eighteen by twenty feet at a guess. Ropes running along the sides anchored it into the ground. A stovepipe broke through the snow-topped roof.

"Do people actually camp here?" He ignored her. "They sleep in that tent?"

Still he didn't respond. "Yes," he said finally.

Did the man really have to think that long to answer? Her questions were only going to get harder.

On one side of the clearing, a thick chain lined a row of trees, with dogs attached at regular intervals, each lying in a bed of straw. When they saw Gabe, they jumped to their feet.

He tore a hank of straw from a nearby bale and made a nest of it near the fire pit. The Lab curled onto the straw, her motions jerky.

Tired of waiting for Gabe to turn his attention to her, Callie asked, "Can we talk?"

She waited for his answer, but Gabe seemed completely absorbed in his task of pouring the steaming liquid from the pots into a row of stainless steel bowls. It smelled like chicken soup.

"Why were you in the house when I got here?" she asked. "Why would you leave a fire untended in the middle of the woods?"

This time, since the question was specific, she knew that if she waited long enough, he would eventually answer. She thought she was beginning to understand the man. He wasn't ignoring her questions with these tactics. Rather, he seemed to be composing appropriate responses. At least, that's what she suspected was happening. But why did it take him so long to do that? She could see in his eyes that he was an intelligent man.

"The can," he said, not making eye contact.

The can? What did that mean?