Page 41 of Wind Valley

Maybe Maura should be angry. But she wasn’t. So he’d Googled her. That was pretty standard practice here in the twenty-first century, even in Firelight Ridge, apparently. Then he’d jumped to some conclusions that happened to be accurate.

Except that last one. The idea that she could never feel free or safe or happy with him—just hearing him say he wished for those things made her heart glow. Lachlan wasn’t trying to harm her. He was trying so hard to navigate his way through her situation—completely blind, thanks to her wariness. Why? Because he cared about her. How could she possibly be angry at that?

She finished unwinding her scarf, from which rose the comforting smell of wet wool. “Would it help if I told you everything?”

“Yes. No. You don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to. It’s your life.” His words stumbled over each other. “All I need to know is what you need from me. I like clarity.”

“How about…” She closed the gap between them, feeling her heart beat faster. Her heart welled with excitement. She hadn’t felt this way since…No, don’t think about the past. Think about right now. This uniquely lovely man standing before her. “This?” she said softly, once she stood flush against him. Rising up, she brushed her lips softly against his.

She lost herself in his gaze. His eyes were a wild green that spoke of hope and spring fields and mossy streams. His lips were sweet and firm and a little bit chapped. Winter lips. Confident lips. They returned her kiss and immediately turned the tables so he was the one kissing her. Her head swam and she relaxed against him while his arms—stronger than she’d expected—came around her.

Had he mentioned the word “safe?” This kiss didn’t feel safe at all. It felt like a portal to all kinds of unknown and wonderful things about to be experienced.

They pulled apart with a soft gasp. Lachlan ran his tongue over his lips, looking both greedy for more and confused. “Did I accidentally do something right?” he asked, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Because my science brain added things up to ‘no Maura for me.’”

“I mean, you could have asked me rather than Googling me. But—” She held up a hand before he could respond to that. “I understand why you didn’t. I haven’t been making it easy for anyone to ask those kinds of questions.”

“I’m sorry I Googled you,” he said gravely. His hands were on her back, warm and strong, and she leaned against them, loving the feeling of being supported.

“You know, I’m actually not sorry. I’m fine with you knowing everything. It’d be a relief.” She whooshed out a long breath and unzipped the down vest that had belonged to her grandmother and was now repaired with patches of silver duct tape curling at the edges. Even though she’d been so bundled up, and even though skiing at night was hard work, the cold had penetrated through the exposed skin of her face.

He helped her take off the vest, then added it to the pile of winter gear on a chair next to the door. The warmth of the house, after the exertion of skiing through the night, made her drowsy. “Come on,” he said, noticing her heavy eyes. “You sit down next to the fire and I’ll bring you some chowder.”

Had anyone ever said anything so inviting? She let him guide her into the living room, where reading glasses sat atop a pile of scientific journals on the coffee table. “I bet you look cute in your glasses,” she said through a yawn as she plopped down on the couch.

He slid them on and offered his face for her assessment. Definitely cute. “I’m sorry, I meant with just your glasses,” she teased.

He was even cuter when he was blushing, she decided, as he went back to the kitchen for the chowder.

Poor Lachlan, she must be confusing him with her switch from strictly friends to kissing. Even though he was rolling with it, maybe it seemed sudden. But she knew it wasn’t sudden at all. She’d been having these kinds of thoughts about Lachlan for a while; she just hadn’t shared them with him.

She yawned again and curled up with her head on the arm of the couch. Lachlan’s wood stove had a glass window through which you could see the flames. Pinky’s had one too, but it was so sooty you could barely see through it. As she lost herself in the soft flicker of the fire and the pleasant aroma of woodsmoke mixed with the creamy scent of heating chowder, she felt herself drifting off.

Safe, she thought with the last vestiges of consciousness. Lachlan makes me feel safe.

She barely woke up when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to something soft and warm—a bed. He pulled the covers over her and murmured in her ear that he’d be on the couch if she needed anything. She wanted him to get into the bed next to her, but wasn’t awake enough to express that out loud.

Then she fell back asleep so thoroughly that nothing else existed—the chowder, the kiss, the snow, the mountains, but especially, the fear.

When she woke up, it was daylight. Out the window, she caught sight of patches of coral pink sky behind the spruce trees. She was in Lachlan’s bedroom. Lachlan’s sheets—cozy plaid flannel—cocooned her in softness. Lachlan’s smell—outdoorsy and healthy—comforted her. She took a moment to stretch and survey the room. An overflowing laundry hamper sat in one corner, a set of weights in another. Framed pieces of art filled the wall space—a pencil sketch of a nude woman, a signed botany print of an orchid. A stunning photograph of a climber halfway up Ice Falls caught her attention—then she realized that it was Lachlan.

Was she the only one awake? She sat up and listened to the quiet. Where was Lachlan? Oh right—he’d told her he’d be on the couch if she needed anything.

Sure enough, she found him stretched out on his back under an orange crocheted blanket, a pillow squished between his ear and his shoulder, one leg dangling off the side. A soft snuffling snore made a rhythmic sound that followed her into the kitchen. She found her phone, which she’d left on the counter, and saw that it was nearly ten in the morning.

Did Lachlan have somewhere to be? Should she wake him up? She went back into the living room and gazed at him for a long moment. He must have stayed up late reading, because all those science journals were scattered across the table and even the floor. A yellow notepad held notes written in scrawling handwriting. Some ink from the pen had gotten onto his hand, which lay on his chest.

He was just so freaking adorable, she thought. Somehow he’d wormed his way under her defenses and all she wanted to do was wake him up and drag him back into his bedroom.

She’d make coffee and breakfast, she decided. What better way to wake up than to the smell of coffee? In the kitchen, she found the coffee maker and some eggs and got to work.

The coffee was dripping and she was whipping some grated cheese into the eggs when a sleepy, sexy voice made her look up from the counter.

“I’m dreaming, right?” Lachlan made a show of screwing his eyes shut, then opening them again. He was wearing thick fleece sweatpants and a t-shirt with a picture of the periodic table of elements. So nerdy, that shirt—yet she could see his bare skin through a hole under the neckline, and somehow that made it sexy. How was he so adorable?

“Hey, I’m hungry. I never got my salmon chowder last night.”

He tapped the side of his head. “I saw that coming. Put her to bed before she eats, I thought. That way she’ll have to make breakfast. Who says my science brain isn’t good for anything?”

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