Page 32 of Saddles and Snowstorms
He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
“Thought so,” I murmured, moving closer to check his pupils again. The firelight caught in his eyes, turning the deep brown into something molten and hypnotic. I realized I was standing between his knees, closer than I’d meant to be. “Follow my finger with your eyes.”
Brooks complied without argument, which told me more about how bad he was feeling than any admission would have. His gaze tracked my movement steadily enough, but I noticed a slight delay.
“Definitely a concussion,” I said, stepping back to put some distance between us. “Mild, but still. You need rest.”
“Can’t rest with you hoverin’ over me like a damn helicopter,” he muttered, but there was no real heat in his words.
Outside, the wind howled louder, rattling the windows. I glanced toward the door, then back at Brooks.
“Looks like I’m stuck here until this storm passes,” I said, stating the obvious. “Got any coffee?”
Brooks nodded toward the kitchen. “Cupboard above the stove. Make yourself at home I guess.”
I started toward the kitchen, the stark realization sinking in that I would most likely be spending the night with Brooks in his cabin. It made my heart flutter even though I knew it shouldn’t, given the circumstances. But there were no other options. I wasn’t driving back to town in this mess and night wasn’t far off. The only thing worse than a blizzard was a blizzard at night.
Locating the coffee, I set the pot to brew and shot a quick text to Lucas, letting him know that I’d made it safely and I’d be spending the night at Brooks’ place. The only thing he replied with was a winky face and I let out a deep sigh.
It was gonna be a long night.
Chapter 12
Brooks
The fire was stoked, and the cabin was a beacon of glowing warmth as the blizzard raged on. Night came early thanks to the storm, and the world was plunged into darkness. The television murmured softly in the corner of the room, playing the only staticky channel I could find thanks to the snow. But neither me nor Rowan were paying much attention to it.
So far, the majority of our time had passed by in a tension filled silence.
I watched Rowan from the corner of my eye as he sat in the worn leather armchair, his long legs stretched toward the fire. The flames cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and that small scar. I could tell he didn’t want to be in my cabin, trapped with me for the night. But I couldn’t help admiring how nice the view was. Maybe it was selfish, but I was glad he was there. Without him, I’d be dead in the snow.
“You want another?” I gestured to his empty mug, desperate to break the silence that hung between us like a physical thing.
Rowan’s dark green eyes flicked up to mine, appraising. “Sure,” he said finally, his voice low and rough from disuse. “But you’re not getting it. You’re gonna stay right there and rest that sprained ankle.”
Our fingers brushed as he took my mug, and I felt that same electric current that had been building since that night I’d let him touch me at the diner. City vet he might be, but Rowan Walsh knew his way around livestock—and had a way of looking at me that made my throat go dry and my sweatpants tighten. In fact, I was secretly happy he was getting more coffee instead of me because I wasn’t sure I could stand up without being indecent. His earthy cologne had filled the cabin, and it was having a profound effect on me.
“Some storm,” I offered lamely from my chair. “Lucky you got here when you did.”
His lips quirked in what might have been the beginning of a smile. “Lucky foryou,” he corrected. “You’d be dead by now if I didn’t make it out here. You’re a damn fool for going after that calf in the first place.”
“Steers are how I make my livin’,” I grunted. “I can’t just let my cattle die in the snow.”
He came back, smacking the mug down next to me. “So, you’re okay with just dying for a bit of money?”
“It’s not just money,” I replied, shifting in my seat to hide my growing predicament. “It’s responsibility. Something you city folk might not understand.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened at that, the scar on it catching the firelight. “Don’t presume to know what I understand,cowboy.”
The way he said ‘cowboy’—like it was both an insult and something else entirely—made heat pool in my belly. He stood there, looming over me, those dark green eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made me wonder if he could see right through me. Clearly, he was irritated with me and for some reason, it made me want him even more.
“Sorry,” I muttered, breaking eye contact first. “That wasn’t fair.”
Rowan sighed and returned to his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight. “No, it wasn’t.”
Another silence fell between us, but this one felt different, charged, like the air before lightning strikes. I sipped my coffee, watching him over the rim of my mug. His strong hands were wrapped around his own cup, long fingers tapping against the ceramic. Those same hands that had examined my ankle with such gentle precision earlier.
“You’re good at what you do,” I said suddenly. “Tending to animals, I mean. And people, I guess.” I cleared my throat, feeling foolish.
