Page 52 of Snowed In with the Rancher

“Asher,” she called through the open door out to the backyard. “Crisis averted. You can come back in now.”

He must be out there in his socks, since like her, he’d probably ditched his snow-covered boots by the front door. And he hadn’t been in more than a red-checkered flannel shirt from what she remembered. He was probably freezing.

There was no sign of him though.

Dashing back into the house, she proceeded to close all the windows and doors again, grabbed her jacket and her boots, along with his jacket, then walked through the house to the laundry room and out into the backyard.

Maybe he just jumped into the hot tub to keep warm. That’s what she would have done if she’d run out in her socks and nothing but a shirt and jeans.

“Asher?”

There was no sign of him. The hot tub was still closed.

But it wasn’t that difficult to follow the tracks in the snow to a small potting shed near the back corner of the yard.

What had he been thinking walking all the way through the snow in his socks? His feet were probably turning blue.

She raced back into the house, grabbed his boots, too, then trudged through the snow toward the shed.

The door was open a crack, so carefully, not wanting to spook him, she opened it.

He was sitting on an overturned bucket, his hands to the side of his head and he was rocking back and forth while resting his elbows on his knees.

Her chest tightened.

What had he gone through? What did he see to trigger him like this?

“Here,” she said softly, setting his boots down in front of his feet, then stepping into the freezing shed and draping his jacket around his shoulders. “Come back in when you’re ready.”

“I’m not coming in until you’re gone,” he said, not bothering to lift his head, let alone look at her.

“What?” She shook her head. Did she hear him correctly?

“Plow came through. Driveway is clear. You should go. Call a cab, book a flight and go.”

Crouching down in front of him, she pressed her hand to his arm, gently. “Asher … I’m not mad about what happened. It was an accident. I’m sorry if it trigger—”

He lifted his head and glared at her. “It was stupid and irresponsible and you could have burned down the entire fucking house.” His voice dripped with acid, sending ice streaking through her veins.

Something big and scary trembled inside of her and she sucked in a sharp breath. “It was an accident. You were distracting me, but I’m not blaming you for it. These things happen, that’s why there are smoke alarms and fire extinguishers, not that I needed one.”

His head shook and he dropped his gaze back to the floor. “I think it’s best if you just go. I can’t predict the next time you’re going to have an accident and make a noise that triggers me. I just … you need to go. I’m not …” His shoulders slumped. “I’m not well. Not in the head anyway. I’m fucking broken. This was a fling and nothing more. You need to leave. Now.”

Her heart hurt for her cowboy

With her chin trembling and throat full of spikes, she stood back up. She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave him, but she wasn’t sure what else to do.

She could wait him out, hope he returned to the house and they could talk things through, or she could do as he asked and just leave.

She wasn’t his to fix. He’d made that clear.

Clenching her jaw to keep her emotions in check, at least until she got away from him, she nodded. “All right. I’ve obviously over-stayed my welcome. I will call a cab and be gone within half an hour. Thank you for your hospitality. I appreciate you letting me stay here. It was nice meeting you.”

She waited for him to lift his head and look at her, but he didn’t.

But she also wasn’t going to leave without saying her piece. Without clearing her conscience and doing what she could—a last ditch effort—to let him know how she felt. “You’re not broken, you know. And even if you were, that doesn’t mean you can’t put the pieces that remain back together. Most of us are a variation of a Kintsugi bowl. Cracked and damaged, but with a little patience, some lacquer, and gold dust we can still be beautiful and useful. We’re not defined by our flaws and painful past, but it is a part of who we are, a part of our structure, and what makes us uniquely us. And I believe it’s the same with you. You are not your trauma or your triggers. You are not broken.”

She waited for him to respond, to even look at her, but when she got nothing, not even a shrug, she turned and left, closing the door behind her just as the first tear slid down her cheek.

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