Page 11 of Her Steamy Cowboy

But Jace beats me to it, pulling out his credit card. “I got this.”

“Jace—”

“Lindsay.” There’s something in his voice that makes me pause, something that makes the air between us feel suddenly thick with possibility. “Let me take care of it. Please.”

The please undoes me, like he probably knew it would. I’ve heard him say that word a thousand times—please pass the coffee, please help me with this spreadsheet, please come to the New Year’s party—but never quite like this. Never with this edge of something I’m afraid to name.

While he handles the payment, I pretend to be fascinated by the collection of old ranch photographs on the wall. They’re beautiful, actually—sepia-toned snapshots of life on the Circle J through the decades. Anything to avoid thinking about how this night is going to play out. About how I’m going to lie next to him and keep all my secrets—about my dad, about my feelings, about everything—when he’s close enough to touch.

“All set,” Jace says, appearing at my elbow with our bags.

He’s standing closer than strictly necessary, and I catch a whiff of his cologne mixed with leather and cold air. It’s not fair that he can smell this good after hours in a truck and a trek through a snowstorm.

“These are pretty incredible photos,” he adds, nodding at the wall. “Look at this one—must be from the first cattle drive through the valley.”

I lean in to see where he’s pointing, trying to ignore how his proximity makes my skin tingle. “The composition is amazing. We should do something like this for the welcome center too.”

“Already thinking about work?” His voice is teasing, but there’s warmth there too. Understanding. He knows how much the ranch’s history means to me, how passionate I am aboutpreserving it. It’s one of the countless reasons why being just friends is getting harder every day.

I take a deep breath and reach for the key. “Well, I guess we should?—”

“Oh!” Grace calls after us as we head for the stairs. “I forgot to mention. The heat’s been acting up in that wing of the house. Maintenance is coming tomorrow, but for tonight...” She gives us an apologetic smile that doesn’t quite hide the twinkle in her eyes. “Just thought you should know.”

Jace’s hand finds the small of my back as we climb the stairs, steady and warm through my sweater.

It’s a casual touch, the kind of thing he’s done a hundred times before. A gesture that says I’ve got you, I’m here, trust me. But now, knowing we’re about to share a room—a bed—it feels different. Everything feels different.

And we’ve still got hours until bedtime.

After Grace’srevelation about the heat, we made a detour to the kitchen.

Despite my protests, Jace insisted we eat something, and I have to admit—not out loud, of course—that he was right. Grace’s homemade tomato soup and thick-cut sandwiches were exactly what we needed. It’s hard to maintain anxiety on a full stomach, even if watching Jace roll up his sleeves to eat created a whole different kind of tension.

Now, following him down the hallway to our room, I feel marginally better.

At least about the hunger part.

The rest of my nerves are still very much present, doing a complicated dance in my stomach as Jace unlocks our door.

The room is... cozy. That’s the polite word for small, right? A queen-sized bed takes up most of the space, topped with a handmade quilt in shades of blue and cream. There’s a wooden dresser, a small sitting area with a worn leather armchair, and—thank god—a decent-sized bathroom.

The window looks out over snow-covered pastures that are rapidly disappearing in the growing storm.

“Home sweet home,” Jace says, dropping our bags by the dresser. He seems so calm about all of this, like sharing a tiny room with me is no big deal. Like the sight of that single bed isn’t making his heart race the way mine is.

I watch, trying not to be obvious about it, as he shrugs out of his coat.

His henley pulls tight across his shoulders with the movement, and I have to look away. But then he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in that way that makes him look unfairly attractive, and I’m staring again.

My phone buzzes, interrupting my spiral. It’s a text from my dad:

“Looking forward to seeing you, sweetpea. Still good for New Year’s eve?”

I look up to find Jace watching me with an expression I’ve never seen before. “So what’s his name?”

I blink at him. “Who?”

“The guy.” He’s trying to sound casual, but I know him too well. “The one you’re meeting on New Year’s Eve. The one you’ve been texting all day.”

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