Page 12 of A Snowstorm & A Stronghorn

I sip my hot chocolate, savoring its rich sweetness. “What’s your favorite thing to make?”

“Chess sets,” he says without hesitation. “Each piece is a little work of art, and when they come together, they create something greater than the sum of their parts.”

“Like Evershift Haven?”

Bram nod with a smile. “Exactly like that. You’re catching on quickly, Fiona.”

The way he says my name sends a little thrill through me. I try to focus on the conversation. “Do you sell your work in town?”

“Some of it. I have a small shop where I sell furniture and smaller items, but a lot of what I make is custom work for the townspeople.”

“I’d love to see it sometime,” I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it.

“I’d like that. As soon as the storm clears, maybe?”

Our gazes meet, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. There’s heat in his gaze that has nothing to do with the fire crackling nearby. I wonder what it would be like to touch his face and run my fingers through his wild mane of hair.

The moment stretches, charged with unspoken possibility. Then Bram clears his throat and stands, breaking the spell. “We should probably get back to work,” he says. “There’s still a lot of snow to clear.”

I nod, both disappointed and relieved. As we head back outside, I steal glances at Bram. The fear I initially felt upon seeing him has been replaced by something else entirely – a curiosity that runs deeper than I care to admit.

We resume our task, working side by side in companionable silence. The physical labor helps clear my head, but I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between us. As the sun begins to set, painting the snow-covered landscape in hues of pink and gold, I’m no longer in a hurry to leave this magical place – or the gentle giant who’s quickly becoming more than just my rescuer.

THE EVENING CHILL SEEPSthrough the cabin walls as I stand by the window, watching the last rays of sunlight paint the snow-covered landscape in hues of pink and gold. The beauty of it all takes my breath away, but a shiver runs through me, reminding me of the practical concerns at hand.

“We should bring in more firewood,” I say, turning to Bram. “It’s going to be a cold night.”

Bram nods, his amber eyes reflecting the warm glow of the fireplace. “Good thinking.”

We bundle up in our winter gear and step out into the crisp evening air. The snow crunches beneath our feet as Bram leads me around the side of the cabin to a neatly stacked pile of logs under a small overhang. A surge of pride hits me. I’ve helped build the pile in the days I’ve been here.

“Here,” Bram says, handing me a pair of thick work gloves. “These will protect your hands.” He reminds me every time, but I find it caring rather than tedious.

I slip them on, grateful for the extra warmth. We each take an armful of logs safely and begin the task of ferrying wood back to the cabin.

On my third trip, my arms laden with logs, I misjudge a step on the slippery path. My foot slides out from under me, and I lose my balance. The logs tumble from my arms while I brace for impact with the hard ground.

But the impact never comes. Instead, I’m abruptly enveloped in Bram’s strong arms. He catches me mid-fall, his massive frame shielding me from the cold snow.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and close to my ear.

I look up, suddenly very aware of our proximity. Bram’s face is inches from mine, his warm breath visible in the cold air. His amber eyes seem to glow in the fading light, filled with concern...and something else I’m sure is desire.

For a moment, we stay frozen like that, neither of us moving.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, still holding me close.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Slowly, reluctantly, he helps me to my feet. His hands linger on my arms, as if making sure I’m steady.

“Thank you,” I manage to say breathily.

Our gazes meet, and I see a flicker desire tempered by uncertainty before he steps back, breaking the spell.

“We should get these logs inside,” he says, his voice gruff.

We gather the fallen wood in silence, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. As we carry the last armfuls into the cabin, I wonder what it would be like to be held in those arms again, this time without the pretense of a fall.

Inside the cabin, we shed our outer layers. The fire has died down to glowing embers, casting long shadows across the room. Bram kneels by the hearth, carefully arranging new logs on the grate.

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