Page 24 of Surrender

After all he’s done for us today, I don’t think my heart could take the guilt.

Not to mention, it’s just stupid to go out in these conditions.

I return to the house and gently lay Bennett in the portable crib with his teething ring. Lucy plays at the table with her dolls, her hair still drying from where Jack cleaned what I assume to be Bennett’s mess from the strands.

Yes, he really has done more than enough for us.

I don my winter coat and yank the hood high on my head. The edges obscure most of my face. Tucking my arms around myself since I still don’t have gloves, I step into my boots and trek back outside.

Jack’s cleared another few inches. At this rate, he’ll be shoveling all night.

“Jack!” I call loudly to be heard over the whip of the wind.

He straightens sharply, picking up the shovel as if he’s ready to run with it or chuck it off to the side. “What’s wrong?”

The wind batters my jacket as I step out from the shield of the garage. “You should stay.”

“This isn’t that bad. I can leave.”

The numbness creeping into my fingers and toes calls bullshit.

“It’s not worth it. It’s too dangerous.”

The way he searches my face adds warmth to my cold skin. “I’ll take it easy.”

I step closer. “Jack. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m a bit selfish sometimes, and I don’t want to be alone here in case the cold bursts one of your pipes or the power goes out.” The lie passes easily through my cold lips.

His tongue rolls around his cheek. Those brows dip low over silver eyes that study my face. Maybe he wants to leave. Maybe the thought of being trapped here with my kids and me is enough to send him hightailing it out in the middle of a freaking blizzard, safety be damned—

“Fair enough. I wouldn’t want you to be alone to deal with that either.”

I rock back on my heels. “So you’ll stay?”

“If you want me to, I will. But you and the kids are staying put. I’ll sleep in the living room.” He walks steadily back to the garage.

If the cold hadn’t pinkened my cheeks, they’d pale as realization dawns. “You can’t sleep on your couch. It’s ruined.”

A heavy, gloved hand wraps around my shoulder. He dips his head. “Don’t worry about it. I want you to go in there and get yourselves settled. You had a rough night and a stressful day. I’ll finish up out here and be in. Okay?”

I gaze at him, a little stunned.

“Whitney?”

“Okay.”

He smirks.

I scamper back through the growing mound of snow into the warmth of the house. The sensual tilt of his lips plays in my mind.

The kids are right where I left them, so I drag my phone from my pocket and find Alice’s name in my call log.

“You must really miss me. Three calls in two days,” she says in an annoyingly cheerful voice rather than a greeting.

“You are never going to believe the last twenty-four hours I’ve had.”

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