Page 38 of Saddles and Snowstorms
“Yeah,” I agreed, not needing him to finish the thought.
He reached behind him, grabbing a shirt—his or mine, I couldn’t tell—and gently cleaned us both. The tender care in his movements made something tighten in my chest that had nothing to do with physicalpleasure. When he finished, he tossed the shirt aside and wrapped both arms around me, pulling me close against his chest.
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across his face. Outside, the blizzard continued its assault, but in here, wrapped in Rowan’s strong arms, I felt a warmth I hadn’t experienced in longer than I cared to remember.
I just wished it could last.
Chapter 14
Rowan
We’d laid there on the couch together in blissed out silence for at least a half hour. At some point Brooks had pulled the blanket off the back and draped it over us both, his hurt leg sticking out awkwardly on the other end. He hadn’t bothered to try pulling away or putting on his clothes. Instead, he just laid there, his head resting against my stomach, his eyes lightly shut like he was at peace.
I was afraid to speak, afraid that I would ruin the moment. From the beginning I knew Brooks didn’t want this to happen. It was only the storm and the strange set of circumstances that made this all possible. I couldn’t stop my heart from doing little flips as I gently stroked the inside of his forearm. But that didn’t mean I’d let myself get carried away either.
There was nothing between Brooks Callahan and I. And there would never be anything between us. Tonight was a fluke, a happy accident that I’d remember for the rest of my life. But Brooks liked being alone, and he made it very clear there was no room for me in his life. Of course, that wasn’t going to stop me from enjoying myself. I’d been in Sagebrush for over a month now and while I’d met plenty of guys like myself, they were all partnered off. Playful flirting just left me hot and bothered with no way to get off. My little fling with Brooks was exactly what I needed. But it would never bemore than that.
Besides the fact that Brooks preferred to be alone, there was my own personal rule. I did not date hookups. Not after my last boyfriend that ruined my life in Austin. I’d learned my lesson, and it wasn’t a mistake I wanted to repeat. And yet, as the blizzard howled outside, I found myself imagining what it would be like to spend my nights with Brooks, to sit there with him cradled in my arms for the rest of my life.
The wind rattled the windows loudly, and Brooks stirred against me, his calloused hand finding mine beneath the blanket. His thumb traced lazy circles on my palm—an unconscious gesture that sent shivers up my spine.
“Storm’s not lettin’ up,” he mumbled, voice rough like gravel. His eyes remained closed, dark lashes resting against his cheeks.
“I knew I wasn’t going anywhere tonight, anyway,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, casual.
Brooks grunted in response, shifting his weight. His stubble scratched against my bare skin as he adjusted his position. “Bed’s more comfortable than this couch,” he said after a long pause.
My heart skipped. “You offering?”
Those deep brown eyes finally opened, looking up at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Ain’t offerin’ nothin’ but a decent night’s sleep,” he said, but there was something soft in his gaze that contradicted his gruff words.
He sat up slowly, wincing as he moved his injured leg. The blanket fell away, exposing his broad chest, the trail of dark hair leading down his stomach. I tried not to stare, but how could I not? He was a beautiful man, and I had a feeling I’d never get tired of the sight of him if he were mine.
I mentally checked myself for that last thought. Those had to stop. It would only make things harder when morning came and the storm let up. The real world was waiting just outside the walls of his cabin and eventually we’d both have to return to it.
Brooks caught me looking and something flickered in his eyes—vulnerability, maybe, before his usual stoic mask slipped back into place. He reached for his discarded sweatpants, pulling them on with practiced ease despite his injury.
“Need help?” I asked, immediately regretting how eager I sounded.
“Been dressin’ myself since I was three,” he replied, but there was no bite to his words.
I gathered my own clothes, pulling them on quickly in the cooling air of the living room. I left my shirt on the floor though since I’d used it to mop up our cum earlier. The fire had died down to embers, casting the room in a dim orange glow. Outside, the wind howled with renewed fury, throwing snow against the windows like someone was tossing handfuls of sand.
Brooks stood, testing his weight on his bad leg before gesturing toward the hallway with a tilt of his chin. “This way.”
I paused only for a moment to toss a couple more logs onto the fire. Then I followed him through the darkened house, noticing how he kept one hand on the wall for support. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, either from pain or something else I couldn’t name. I hoped it wasn’t shame for what we’d done. The hallway was narrow, decorated with nothing but a single faded photograph I couldn’t make out in the darkness.
His bedroom was surprisingly large, dominated by a king-sized bed with a simple wooden headboard and a quilt that looked handmade. I’d taken him to it earlier when I found him lying hurt in the snow, but I hadn’t stopped to really look at it. The walls were bare except for a rifle mounted above the dresser and a small photograph I couldn’t quite make out in the dim light. The furniture was simple, rustic, and functional. Brooks limped over to the far side of the bed, turning on a small lamp that cast the room in a warm glow.
“Bathroom’s through there if you need it,” he said, nodding toward a door in the corner.
I took him up on the offer, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a mess, and there was a slight redness on my neck where his stubble had rubbed against my skin. Evidence of what we’d done. I ran my fingers over the mark, remembering the feel of his mouth there.
When I returned to the bedroom, Brooks was already under the covers, his bare chest visible above the quilt. He’d left the lamp on, and his eyes followed me as I approached the empty side of the bed.
“You gonna stand there all night?” he asked, voice low and raspy.
I slipped under the covers, keeping a respectful distance between us.The bed was warm, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body across the gap I’d intentionally left between us. For a man who lived alone, Brooks had a surprisingly comfortable mattress—firm but yielding in all the right places. The sheets were soft and smelled like him, that mixture of outdoor air, leather, and a life of honest work. It was the same scent that drove me crazy whenever he was near.
