Page 33 of Mountains Divide Us

Forcing myself to look away, I didn’t see a TV, but there was a stack of cork coasters on top of a chunky wooden end table next to a deep-seated brown leather couch, with a matching recliner closer to the fire. And hiding beneath it all was what I hoped was a black faux cowhide rug.

Frank had style. A chic Western style that was understated, definitely masculine, and quite lovely. I still remembered the first books he’d checked out of the library, and I wondered if he’d used the information he’d read in A Mountain Man’s Guide to Home Décor when he’d bought his furniture. What a guy. It was so cute that he’d probably just converted the information into a numbered list. Number one: leather furniture. Number two: interesting rug. Number three: manly-colored matching accents throughout.

But some of it must’ve come from him, from his life in Texas. I liked to think it came from his soul because it was extremely inviting, even though his words and demeanor sometimes weren’t.

In front of his couch, on top of an old trunk with brass locks sat a pile of the books he’d borrowed from the library, one with a bookmark sticking out halfway through. He really did read all the books he took home every week. I’d wondered.

“Sorry,” he said when he was done with his call, and I turned to face him. For a split second, his eyes dipped down to my vintage carpet bag on his floor, and his left eye twitched, like he didn’t like that I’d set it there. Where else should I have put it? He looked up. “This was unexpected. I’d really like to talk to you, but I gotta go.”

“Where are you going?” I asked, rounding the couch, meeting him on the other side, but he passed by me and walked to his fireplace, which was absolutely stunning, made from what looked like large river stones. He stoked the coals inside with a poker, then scooped the ashes from the sides with a small clinker shovel and sprinkled the ashes over the fire. It died down, and then he placed an old-looking metal grate in front of the fireplace, on the stone hearth.

“When it snows like this, it’s best if one of us is out on the roads.”

“It’s been snowing for a while now.”

He shook his head, walking back toward me. Had he forgotten that he wasn’t wearing a shirt? “Not like this.”

Eyes up top, Sam! Jeez. “But if it’s going to be a bad storm, won’t you get stuck?”

Passing close by me—so close that I felt the heat from his workout-warmed skin—he sat at his kitchen table to put socks on. He yanked his T-shirt over his head, then walked to his front door and stepped into his boots. Lifting his brown canvas work coat from a hook on the wall, he shrugged it on and zipped it, then wrapped a matching scarf around his neck. “I got chains.”

“Oh, right. Of course you do.”

“C’mon. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling a disappointment I hadn’t expected flooding my chest. “Thanks.” I hadn’t even had time to take my coat off, so I zipped it back up and pulled my lavender beanie from the pocket.

Frank stepped toward me and took it from my hand, stretching it. He placed it on my head, pulling the edges down around my face while I stared at him, trying to breathe quietly as I memorized the darker flecks in his eyes. If I looked close enough, they were just as blue as the rings around the edges, but his eyes were most definitely gray. He tucked loose strands of my hair inside the hat, then stepped back, inspecting his work. “Where’re your glasses?”

“Contacts,” I said, really feeling like a little girl now. A little girl getting dressed to go play in the snow with her daddy.

He gazed into my eyes for what felt like forever and no time at all, and his next words wiped the father/daughter image out of my mind. “I’d like to dance with you.”

It wasn’t what he said but how he said it, all heat and intense eye contact. My heartbeat thumped low in my belly, and I blinked in confusion. Who said things like that?

“I’d like to wrap you up in my arms and dance with you in front of my fire.”

“Oh?” What in the world had just come out of my mouth? But I had no clue how to respond to that, other than to jump him, which I would never do. He’d probably arrest me.

“Another time,” he said in a low voice, and the sound had me humming in places that should definitely not have been humming. Places lower than the heartbeat in my stomach.

Thinking about having sex with Frank made me remember why I’d come to his house in the first place. “Wait. I came to tell you that I-I—” Suddenly, the confident and extremely mature speech I’d concocted in my head as an apology became a jumble on my lips, and then it disappeared entirely. All that came out was, “I-I’m, well, sorry.”

“What for?” he asked, fixing his leather deputy’s badge around his neck. It hung over his chest by some kind of shiny metal chain, making me imagine the outline of his chest muscles under his coat.

I was really struggling to keep my eyes on his. “For… you know. The other day. A-at the coffee shop?”

Frank laughed, and it was the first time I’d ever heard it. His laugh was beguiling, a slow chuckle coming from deep inside him. “Oh, that,” he said.

“Yes, that. Forgive me?”

“Didn’t you just hear me, girl? If I was mad at you, would I ask you to dance?”

“No, I suppose not.”

He winked at me, and all rationality left my body. “Could I ride you?” Oh, for the love of the sweet baby Jesus, I did not just say that out loud… Did I? “I mean, ride with you. Can I ride with you?”

A smirk began to form on his lips, but he cleared it from his face quickly. This man was a tough nut to crack, never letting his feelings show. “Yeah, that’s what I said. I’ll drive you home.”

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