Page 21 of Her Grumpy Cowboy
“You’re a good driver,” I say.“Careful.”
“I like you in one piece.”
My cheeks heat, and I stare out the window as if the snow is suddenly fascinating.Ugh, why does he have to keep saying stuff like that?He’s fixed my door, cooked me French toast, and carried me around like a Victorian damsel, so why the hell hasn’t he kissed me yet?Will he turn into a frog or something?Like some twisted reverse fairy tale?
I’ve been patient.Subtle.Offered myself in soft and safe ways.And still—no kiss.Norealtouch.It’s starting to feel like exquisite torture.
But maybe that’s what he needs.A woman who stays—not to weather the storm, but to show him it’s finally safe to let it pass.
We crawl the five minutes to his place—the caretaker cabin on the north pasture, the one the Maas’s keep for their boys when they pass through.It doesn’t look like much from the road with its low roof, deep porch, and the stack of firewood under a tarp, but it looks solid and enduring, like the man staying there.
Grady parks, gets out, and is already on my side before I can fumble with the door.He helps me down with a steady hand and a gentle grip, his mercury eyes on my face like he can’t not look at me.
Once inside, he hangs our coats and goes straight to the wood stove.The fire’s still hot.He feeds it anyway.I guess a man with his past learns to respect heat when he’s been in places without it.Everything about him is built around the quiet need to keep others warm.To protect what matters.To give what he never got.I want to be the thing he tends to next.
I stand in the middle of the cozy living area, hands tucked in my sleeves, taking in the couch that looks like someone loved it into comfort, the books with the worn spines on the bookshelf, and the neat kitchen.
“It smells like cedar and… you,” I blurt, my cheeks heating like a giddy schoolgirl.
His eyes kindle for a moment before he asks, “Hungry?”
I nod.I’m more than hungry, but food will do for now.
He heats some leftover stew, slices bread, and hands me a spoon.We eat curled on the couch under a blanket, the storm outside pushing at the windows.I take a bite, and it’s rich and layered and warms me from the inside.Like him.Steady and unexpectedly complex.I watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he spoons stew into his mouth and wonder how those same hands would feel gripping my hips, steadying me while I fall apart.
I clear my throat.“Tell me about Tyler.He looks at you like you invented snow.”
Grady frowns.“Local kid who helps Mary and Christopher.He’s trying not to care.Figured out it hurts less if he pretends he doesn’t want anything.”
He says it as if the words resonate with him, like he could be talking about himself.
“You’re good with him.”
“He’s a good kid.Just needs pointing in the right direction.”
“Mary and Christopher want you to stay.”
“Yeah.”A pause.“They still help kids who need a soft place to land.Christopher wants me to mentor them.”He huffs a laugh.“He thinks I’ve got a talent for it.”
He doesn’t say more, but something in the way he stares into the fire tells me there’s a war going on in his head.One he hasn’t decided how to end.
We clean up together.I dry while he washes, bumping hips once like a joke.I press an impulsive kiss to his shoulder.He goes still.His hands pause mid-rinse.Then he keeps going like nothing happened, but I know he felt it.
He goes to the bedroom and returns with one of his T-shirts and a pair of sweats for me without making a big deal of the fact I didn’t pack a change of clothes.I change behind the bathroom door, take a breath, and look at myself in the mirror.
When I come out, he’s watching.His shirt drowns me, his pants are cinched tight, and he’s looking at me like he forgot how to breathe.
“Are you laughing at me?”I ask, a little defensive.
He’s staring at me like he’s calculating every inch of fabric and how fast he could take it off.His chest rises as if he’s fighting a war inside his own ribs.
“I’m praying.”
“For what?”
“Patience.And the restraint to keep my hands to myself,” he replies, piling blankets on the couch to make a nest.”
I walk toward him.Close enough to touch.Close enough to tip the balance.
