Page 13 of Training the Heart

My cabin is quiet when I enter rather clumsily, juggling everything. I drop my purse onto the bench in the entryway and flick the light on with my elbow, only it doesn’t come on. I run the standard drill of turning it on and off quickly two or three times to convince myself it really doesn’t work, and then move through the small hallway to my kitchen at the back of the house. The time is dark on the stove, and when I open the fridge, it’s clearly not running.

Shit.

What do I do in this house if the power goes out? I set my pie down on the old butcher block counter and tap my nails on it for a moment, looking out the front window toward the barns. The light is on over the doors there, and so is Wade’s living room light across the path. So it’s obviously just me. I fiddle with a few of the circuit breakers in the mechanical room but nothing happens.

I chew my bottom lip for all of ten seconds before I text Wade to see if he can help. I wait for him to answer but he doesn’t. Five minutes later, my impatience takes over, and I toss my boots on and push through the front door, making the quickwalk down the gravel road to Wade’s cabin. I still have to shower and I refuse to be late for my first Ashby dinner.

It’s a nice night for Kentucky in October, no breeze but a slight chill in the air. I shiver on the porch as I wait for Wade to answer my knock. His lights are on and his truck is here, back from the Horse and Barrel. I cross my arms over my chest to cover my nipples, which could cut glass right now in my t-shirt. I knock again. A little too hard maybe, because the old wooden door creaks open just slightly.

“Wade?” I call. “Sorry to bother you but I think something is up with my power.”

I poke my head in and look around his clean and orderly cabin that is one hundred percent his personality. Tyler Childers plays through a set of vintage speakers on vinyl, and a half-empty glass of honey-colored whiskey sits on the counter. The cabin is warm and homey, there are throw blankets on the worn, chunky brown leather sofa and chair. That surprises me a little. I didn’t picture Wade as the throw blanket type.

“Wade?” I call again, coming fully into the cabin. “Knock knock.” I shouldn’t be in here, but the door was open, so he has to be here somewhere—

Every thought in my mind floats into the air like bubbles rising in a glass of freshly poured prosecco when Wade walks into the living room, wrapped in nothing but a towel that hangs low on his narrow hips. His wavy hair is wet and disheveled, a few strands touching his forehead. He’s freshly shaved and his wide jaw flexes as he crosses the room, droplets of water clinging to the broad, powerful shoulders that anchor his smooth, muscular arms and chest. It’s a chest that doesn’t disappoint, like it’s chiseled from sun-kissed marble; a light dusting of hair trails down to a serious six-pack—hell, maybe even eight—and it leads my eyes like a lit runway to the deep V that disappears into his towel.

Even his calves are mammoth and strong as he turns to flipthe record. His entire back and part of his left shoulder is covered in colorless tattoos, a symphony of black and various shades of gray. I take inventory quickly of what I can make out. What look like tree branches stretch over the planes of his skin, some sort of tribal designs weaving through them, and his spine is etched in one single column of armored writing:“All things share the same breath, the beast, the trees, the man.”

Holy shitballs. Ranching makes that kind of body? I should really speak. Say something, anything. But I don’t. Instead, my eyes feast on my boss’s sneaky-hot body for a full twenty seconds before he even notices I’m in the room.

“Jesus Christ, Ivy.” He startles as he sees me, a moment frozen in time as we just stare at each other, but Wade gathers himself together almost instantly.

He moves toward me. Although you’d think he would be, he doesn’t appear to be self-conscious in the slightest. I guess, why would he be with that body? That body makes me wish bath towels were the new official uniform of Silver Pines cowboys.

I swallow and pray my voice doesn’t betray me as Wade pushes a hand through his wet hair, picking up and draining the glass of whiskey off the counter only an arm’s length away from me, his eyes never leaving mine.

When he swallows his jaw flexes before he speaks. “There a reason you just barged into my house?”

My mouth pops open.Speak, Ivy.

“My power … cold … I have none,” I fumble. “Pie.”

Pie? Shoot me now.

I clear my throat as he looks at me like I have a second head.

“Have you already been to the big house? Mama Jo got you drinking?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, I was just … cold. I have no power, I texted to see if you could help, I got a pie.”

Pretty sure I just gave him finger guns. I want to die now.

I avert my eyes from him.

“S-sorry to intrude.” I’m a blubbering mess staring at this man from his foyer.

Wade’s brow furrows. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my fault for leaving the door unlocked,” he says with absolutely zero emotion.

Ouch.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be over.” He sets his whiskey glass in the sink and nods to the back of the cabin.

I smile awkwardly and turn to leave, but my forehead stops me as it smacks into the still-open front door.

“Fucking shit,” I curse, holding a hand to my throbbing brow bone. Maybe the floor could just open and swallow me whole? Even the fiery pits of hell would be better than the embarrassment of ogling my boss so hard that I just walked into a goddamn door. I’ve always been a bit of a klutz but this is just next-level.

Wade is beside me faster than I can fathom, gripping me as I hold my own head and force the dots from my vision.

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