Page 33 of Saddles and Snowstorms
Rowan’s expression softened slightly. “I’ve had practice.”
The fire popped loudly, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows in their frames.
“How long you think this’ll last?” I asked, nodding toward the window where snow was piling against the glass.
Rowan shrugged those broad shoulders. “Weather report said it could go all night. Maybe into tomorrow.” His eyes met mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. “You might be stuck with me longer than you bargained for.”
My mouth went dry. “I don’t mind the company,” I admitted, the words out before I could stop them.
A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “That so?”
I nodded, feeling heat creep up my neck that had nothing to do with the fire. “Gets lonely out here sometimes.”
Rowan set his mug down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The position pulled his henley tight across his chest, revealing the contours of muscle beneath. “I thought you hated me, Brooks.”
“Hate’s a strong word,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “I just don’t take to strangers easy.”
Rowan’s eyebrow arched. “I’ve been in Sagebrush for over a month now. I’m still a stranger?”
“You know what I mean.” I shifted in my seat, wincing when I accidentally bumped my ankle. “People come and go. They don’t put down roots. Even those that do… they leave, eventually. Everyone does.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d given away too much. Rowan’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames. He stayed quiet for a moment, studying me with an intensity that made me want to look away. But I didn’t.
“Not everyone leaves, Brooks,” he said finally, his voice low. “Some of us are just looking for the right reason to stay.”
I snorted, trying to dismiss the hope that flared in my chest. “That why you’re in Sagebrush? Looking for a reason?”
He took a long sip of his coffee before answering. “I came here because I needed to get away. But staying...” His eyes met mine again. “That’s a different question altogether.”
The wind shrieked outside, throwing snow against the windows like someone was hurling handfuls of sand. The old cabin creaked andgroaned around us, but inside, it was warm. Too warm. I tugged at the collar of my flannel shirt.
“Yeah, well… maybe it’s better to just be alone,” I grumbled. “Then you can’t get hurt.”
Rowan’s eyes darkened, and he set his mug down with deliberate care. “Is that what you really believe? Or is that just what you tell yourself so you don’t have to take any risks?”
I glanced away, unable to meet his penetrating gaze. “Ain’t about risks. It’s about knowing how things end.”
“And how’s that?”
“Badly,” I said, my voice low. “Always badly.”
The fire crackled between us, filling the silence. Outside, the wind had stopped its howling, but the snow continued to fall in heavy sheets, insulating us from the rest of the world.
Rowan stood suddenly, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he might head for the door, storm be damned. Instead, he crossed the small space between us and lowered himself onto the armrest of my chair, so close I could smell the coffee on his breath.
“Brooks,” he said, his voice gentle in a way I hadn’t heard before. “Look at me.”
I did, reluctantly, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
“Not everything ends badly,” he said. His fingers brushed against mine, igniting a spark in my chest. “Sometimes they can go well.”
“Oh yeah?” I snapped, not wanting to give in to this man I craved so badly. “Is that what happened with you and your ex? The one that got you fired?”
Rowan’s face hardened, the firelight carving shadows into the planes of his face. For a moment, he looked like he might pull away, and I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.
“No,” he said finally, his voice low. “That ended exactly as badly as you might imagine. But that doesn’t mean everything has to. And I’m not gonna live in fear because of it.”
His fingers were still touching mine, and despite my harsh words, he didn’t pull away. That small point of contact burned hotter than the fire cracklingin the hearth.
