Page 44 of A Bloom in Winter

“Right, yup.” He futzed around before the locks released. “Ladies first.”

As she passed by him, he shut his lids and breathed in. Her scent was a combination of fresh air and female spice, and for a split second, it was all he knew.

Then the cold hit him and he whipped back into action.

There was not going to be a repeat of last night. Nope, not on his watch—

Thump!

Mahrci dumped the bag in the snow, and reached for one of the sets of snowshoes that were hanging on pegs on the side porch. When she bent down to strap them on, he had to look elsewhere, otherwise he felt like a fucking letch—so he focused on the moon overhead. It was just a sliver, but it was super bright because of the clear night.

As he grabbed a set of the shoes, too, she glanced over from her crouch. “So you’re really coming with me?”

He let the tennis rackets fall to the snowy porch boards. “You mind? I’ve been cooped up all day. Need some fresh air.”

She straightened. “And you joining in has nothing to do with—”

“Your little furry forest friends? The ones with the matched sets of dental daggers?” He made a pshaw with his bare hand. “Naaaaah.”

Mahrci tilted her head as she stared up at him, in that way she did . . . and her dark blue eyes were so lovely in the moonlight, he briefly forgot his own name.

But stayed clear on his priorities.

“Please don’t argue with me.” He didn’t bother to hide the hard tone behind his words. “I’m not rolling any dice with your life, especially ones that come on four paws. That wolf? It’s still out there.”

And so was whoever had scared her so badly on the phone.

“All right,” she said roughly. “Thank you.”

As they just kept staring at each other, it was the oddest thing. He felt as though there were ties binding them together, physical ones, wrapping around and around their bodies.

“No problem,” he said.

Straightening, she cleared her throat and held up her forefinger. “I carry the bag, though.”

He saluted her as she hefted the weight up on her shoulder again. “Yes, ma’am.”

They set off as soon as he finished buckling in—and holy fuck. The snowshoes required coordination. As he pitched and Pisa’d, beat the air with his arms, and nearly ate the ground a couple of times, she waited for him and tried not to laugh.

“You’re doing great—oh!”

Catching himself a bush, he shoved himself back to level. “FYI, if this is your definition of ‘great,’ that word means something entirely different to me.”

“It takes some getting used to.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “But you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Yup. Absolute—fuck.” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, fudge.”

Now she didn’t hide the giggle as she started off. “Please don’t edit yourself for my benefit.”

Well, that’s a relief, he thought as he followed after her.I’ve always sucked at that.

“I feel like one of those dogs with booties on their feet.”

Mahrci glanced back at him and smiled. “You kind of look like it, too.”

The mental sound of an old-fashioned camera shutter preceded what he knew to be a permanent memory: Her hair was tied at her nape again, and the ponytail was tangled in the high collar of the parka. Her cheeks were bright red from the cold and her eyes were such a resonant blue, they appeared to glow in the darkness.

She was so beautiful in the winter landscape, his chest ached.

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