Page 44 of Saddles and Snowstorms
He shrugged, but didn’t pull away. “It was a long time ago.”
“Still hurts though, doesn’t it?” I said softly, running my thumb over his knuckles.
Brooks was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on our joined hands. “Yeah,” he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Reckon some wounds don’t ever heal up proper.”
The wind howled outside, rattling the windows as if to emphasize his point. In the fireplace, a log shifted, sending up a shower of sparks.
“Had a family friend who helped raise me after,” Brooks continued, surprising me. “My Pa’s friend. Taught me everything I know about ranchin’. But he passed too, ‘bout twenty years back. I was barely eighteen at the time.”
I didn’t say anything, just leaned my head against his shoulder. Sometimes silence said more than words ever could.
“That why you keep to yourself out here?” I asked after a while.
Brooks tensed again, then let out a slow breath. “Reckon so. Figured if I didn’t let nobody get close, then I wouldn’t have to watch ‘em leave.”
His honesty struck me like a physical blow. The raw vulnerability in his admission made my chest ache. I found myself wanting to tell him that I wouldn’t leave, that I could stay, but that would be a lie. Once the snow cleared, I’d need to go back to my clinic. My life was waiting for me, and I had a feeling Brooks wasn’t looking to take in a stray.
Instead, I shifted my body, turning to face him. “Thank you for telling me that.”
His eyes met mine, vulnerable and uncertain. “Don’t know why I did. Don’t usually talk about such things.”
“Maybe being snowed in makes people honest,” I suggested, reaching up to touch his stubbled jaw. “Or maybe you just needed someone to tell.”
Brooks leaned into my touch, his eyes drifting closed. “Maybe I just needed you,” he murmured, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.
The words hung between us, heavy with meaning neither of us was ready to fully acknowledge. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, a soft, chaste kiss that quickly deepened as Brooks pulled me closer.
His hands were everywhere—in my hair, sliding under my shirt, gripping my hips. There was a desperation to his touch that hadn’t been there before, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me.
“Hold on there, cowboy,” I said, extracting myself from his grip. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“S-Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I just… I don’t know.”
I reached out, grabbing his chin with my thumb and forefinger and forcing him to look at me. “I like it,” I said, holding his gaze. “In fact, I love that you’re so passionate. It’s just that it’s almost chore time.”
Brooks’ face flushed. “Chore time,” he echoed, his voice rough. “Guess the animals don’t care much ‘bout snowstorms.”
I smiled, running my thumb along his jawline before pulling away. “Nature waits for no man, not even a handsome cowboy.”
He caught my hand as I stood, tugging me back for one more quick kiss. “You keep talkin’ like that, and those animals might have to wait a bit longer.”
“Tempting,” I admitted, “but I know how much your livestock means to you.”
I bundled up against the cold, Brooks insisting I wear one of his heavy coats that hung nearly to my knees. The wind had died down some, but the snow was still falling steadily, adding to the already impressive drifts that surrounded the cabin.
“You stay here and stay off that leg,” I told him as I headed toward the door. “I don’t want you making it worse before we can get you x-rayed down at the hospital.”
“If the pipes aren’t frozen, I’m gonna take a bath,” he replied. “Maybe… Maybe you can join me when you’re done.”
The thought of Brooks in a tub of steaming water wearing nothing but that beat up cowboy hat made my mouth go dry. “I’ll be back before you can miss me,” I promised, then headed out into the snow.
The cold hit me like a wall, but Brooks’ coat was warm and smelled like him; hay and leather with a hint of aftershave. I trudged through the drifts toward the barn, following the path I’d cut earlier that morning. The snow had covered most of it, but I could still make out the general direction.
The livestock greeted me with impatient moos and snorts when I finally wrestled the barn door open. The interior was considerably warmer than outside, the body heat from the animals creating a sanctuary from the bitter cold.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” I said, shaking snow from my shoulders. “Dinner is served.”
I went about the chores as Brooks had instructed, filling water troughs and distributing hay. His system was efficient, everything in its place. It spoke of a man who’d spent yearsperfecting his routine, a man who took pride in doing things right. I was grateful he had a small herd. Anything larger and I might’ve been in over my head.
