“Three brothers who never asked for guests. Three women the mountain refused to let leave. One booking system that was never broken at all.”
Merriweather Mountain Cabins is fourteen cabins and a lodge at the end of Route 9 above Blue Spruce, Colorado — run on paper ledgers, grease pencil, four generations of stubbornness, and a booking engine nobody has understood since the elder Merriweather died. His three sons hold the mountain together through blizzard season while Richard Sterling, a corporate raider with a chequebook, circles the valley below.
What none of them knows is that their father left one last piece of code running in the booking system: a quiet little routine that keeps routing lonely travelers to exactly the wrong cabin at exactly the right time.
Snowed-in, only-one-bed, dual secret identities, enemies-to-lovers by marginalia — and a guaranteed happily-ever-after under every roof.
Book One — The Merriweather Override (Grady & Darcy)
“The booking system that put them under one roof in a blizzard was not broken — it was following instructions.”
Grady Merriweather has held the whole operation together alone since his father died — plowing his father’s route four times a morning because changing it would feel like burying him twice, and sleeping in Cabin One, the homestead cabin he has quietly marked out of service. On the nineteenth of December, in a whiteout, the system sells Cabin One to a stranger. Darcy Quill is a director of logistics made redundant by an optimisation model she built herself. She arrives with one hard-shell suitcase, a sourdough starter named Gerald, and a confirmation number that says PAID IN FULL — and finds a man holding a fireplace poker and a forty-year-old ledger insisting she does not exist.
Neither of them can get down the mountain. So they negotiate: a strip of blue painter’s tape down the middle of the floor, a second strip down the middle of the mattress, and a border neither of them has any intention of respecting — because the loft drops below freezing when the generator cycles, and the bed dips to a valley no adhesive on earth can argue with. By the time the road clears, the whole valley knows — because Mabel Higgins saw the tape on the floor and the city boots drying by the fire.
Then a black SUV comes off the county road with a corporate buyer inside it — holding a contract with the resort’s name already typed on it, and a job offer with Darcy’s name on the front page. And Grady, who has spent three winters getting very good at losing people before they can leave him, believes the worst story he knows.
Alternating First Person (Grady & Darcy) • HEA
Book Two — The Handyman Protocol (Monty & Goldie)
“She was sent to end his mountain — and neither of them knows who the other really is.”
Goldie Pham does not do kindness. She does accurate. She has the whole sequence memorised, because she lived it at sixteen from behind her mother’s front desk: the documented deficiencies, the reputation number, the offer that comes in low, and the sign coming down. Sterling & Crest have sent their most reliable auditor up the mountain with a corporate tablet and a rubric forty-one properties deep. Then the flue in Cabin 4 fills the room with smoke on her first night, and a man in a beanie opens the damper in ten seconds, tells her the same trick has kept his family warm for four generations, and does not charge her a dime.
Monty Merriweather is not the maintenance lead. He owns a third of the mountain, and he has spent ten years hiding inside the flannel because guests tell the handyman the truth and nobody is ever honest with the owner. So they lie to each other beautifully, and everything else is true — a frozen main line and a crawlspace with two feet of clearance, a bled radiator at midnight, a boiler that tries to walk off its mounts, and a steel door that seals behind them in the heat.
Then the message comes in. Sterling wants the preliminary report by tonight. He already has a buyer waiting. And Goldie is holding forty pages that will end the only place she has ever wanted to stay — with a man asleep two hundred yards down the path who still does not know what she is.
Alternating First Person (Goldie & Monty) • HEA
Book Three — The Correspondence Clause (Felix & Tansy)
“A broken booking system puts her in his cabin and him in her flat, four thousand miles apart — and she answers his rulebook in green ink.”
Snowbound in a stranger’s A-frame at the top of a Colorado mountain, Tansy Eldridge — the most intimate voice a hundred thousand strangers ever fall asleep to — finds twelve stapled pages on the kitchen island. Thermostat settings. Damper angles. A ledger she is expressly forbidden to touch. Written with terrifying sincerity by a man called F. Merriweather — who is, at this exact moment, four thousand miles east, standing in her lavender-scented London flat and alphabetising her spice rack. She should write back politely. Instead she picks up a green pen and vandalises every rule he owns.
Felix Merriweather has spent eleven years making certain nothing in his life can ever be disrupted again. He keeps the books for his family’s resort, he folds his shirts into thirds, and he does not talk about the afternoon he turned his phone face-down while his father died two hours down the valley. He has no idea what to do with a woman who defaces his manual, draws a goat in his margins, and then tells him the truth in the very next line. So they write. Then they call. Then the blizzard takes the power out, and a twelve-page manual keeps a stranger alive from four thousand miles away.
But Richard Sterling wants the Merriweather mountain, his offer expires at midnight on the thirty-first — and Felix has always known exactly what a good son chooses when happiness turns out to have a cost. He has simply never had to do the arithmetic in front of her before.
Alternating First Person (Tansy & Felix) • HEA
Throughout All Three Books
Series Details
Heat Level
What You Get
R6 000,00
1 in stock