Page 7 of Garrett

“Since my little sister decided to stay in her falling-down cabins during a Montana snowstorm.” Ryder hands us each a cup, his eyes moving between us with too much awareness. “You know, the storm that’s about to dump two feet of snow up here?”

“We know about the storm,” Rachel says.

“Really? Because you both look pretty distracted for people who should be battening down hatches.”

I take a long drink of coffee to avoid responding. It’s perfect—which means Dana at Hearts & Grinds made it, not Ryder.

“The generators are all filled,” I say. “I checked them yesterday.”

“Good, because this one’s looking nasty. They’re closing the pass tonight.” Ryder sprawls in the cabin’s only intact chair. “You heading back to your cabin soon, Rach?”

“I need to finish the inspection report.” She doesn’t look at me. “Maybe an hour?”

“Make it less. That cloud bank moving in means business.” He stands, brushing dust from his jeans. “And you might want to check your generator too. Power lines up here aren’t what you’d call reliable.”

“Yes, dad,” Rachel rolls her eyes. “Any other weather warnings?”

“Just looking out for my sister who insisted on living alone up on this mountain.” But he’s looking at me when he says it, and something in his tone makes me think of Sarah.

“I’m hardly alone. Garrett’s cabin is just across the clearing, and you’re only twenty minutes away.” She starts gathering her papers. “And I’ve survived storms before.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t living up here then.” Ryder heads for the door. “Just be careful, okay?”

After he leaves, the cabin feels too small again. Rachel busies herself with her notes, but I can see the flush still on her cheeks. I try not to think about how close our cabins are, or how the lights from her place are visible from my porch on clear nights.

“We should finish up,” I say, falling back on professionalism like armor. “Your brother’s right about the storm.”

“Ryder’s not right about nearly as many things as he thinks he is.” She glances up, and for a moment, I see something like regret in her eyes. Then she straightens, all business. “But yes, let’s finish the inspection.”

Outside, the wind picks up, driving snow against the windows. Dark clouds roll over the peaks like waves, and my shoulder aches with remembered pain. From my position, I can just make out the path that leads to Rachel’s cabin through the thickening snow.

Stay professional. Stay distant. Stay safe.

But watching Rachel gather her things in the fading light, I’m starting to wonder if some risks might be worth taking. This feeling, this pull toward her – it’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced. And that makes it even more terrifying.

Then I remember another storm, another moment of letting my guard down, and I turn away. The river beyond the window looks too much like the ocean did that day, dark and hungry.

Some damages can’t be fixed, no matter how good you are at restoration.

But Rachel Winston makes me wish they could be.

And knowing she’s just down the path, alone in her cabin with this storm coming in, makes everything I’m trying to keep locked away that much harder to contain.

“I’ll walk you back.” The words come out before I can stop them. “The path gets tricky in snow.”

“I know the way.” But she doesn’t protest when I fall into step beside her.

The wind cuts across the clearing, sending snow swirling around us. Rachel tugs her coat closer, and I fight the urge to pull her against me, to share warmth. To feel how perfectly she’d fit there.

She moves ahead on the narrow path, and I’m suddenly very aware of how her jeans hug every curve. The way her hips sway slightly as she navigates the uneven ground. The soft bounce of her dark hair against her shoulders.

Christ. I need to get a grip.

But then she glances back at me, snowflakes catching in her lashes, and my control slips another notch. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her. Never felt this pull, this need to touch, to taste, to—

“Careful.” My hand catches her elbow as she stumbles slightly. The contact, even through layers of clothing, sends heat racing through my veins. “Ice under the snow.”

“Thanks.” Her voice is slightly breathless, though whether from the cold or my touch, I can’t tell. She doesn’t pull away immediately.

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