“Even better. A Christmas present just for me. Next time, you’re doing that on my tongue.” His words slur slightly from exhaustion, and before he can insist that it’s time for round two, I interlace our fingers and stand. A small tug is all it takes for him to follow.
“You should get some sleep, big guy.”
“Come with me.” He starts toward the stairs, encouraging me along. “Stay in my bed this week.”
“How am I going to give Holly any feedback about the cabin if I’m spending every night in your house?”
“Fuck the cabin. I need you in my bed.”
I need that too.
Chapter nine
Lucas
December 23
The third alarm ringing throughout the small, dark bedroom makes my temples ache. Reaching through the darkness, I hit snooze with a groan.
There is no way it’s already morning.
Fucking hell, six o’clock comes fast when you stay up until after midnight. Granted, I couldn’t fathom heading off to bed alone—not with Eira sitting in my living room window, wrapped snug in a red plaid blanket, using watercolour to create a replica of the northern lights in her sketchpad. Especially not after spending the past two days at work, itching for the moment I’d get to come home to see her.
So once we’d finished dinner—anddessertspread over the kitchen table—I sat quietly on the couch and watched her work. The way she’d tilt her head to catch the coloured streaks disappearing over the rooftop above her, and the squint as sheworked in almost complete darkness. She giggled about the possibility of all the colours on her page running together into one big blob, but when we turned the lights back on, she held up the most stunning painting I’ve ever seen.
No man in his right mind would go to bed and miss all that.
And now I’m paying for it.
A few weeks ago, I was annoyed that the holidays were forcing me to take time off. Despite my willingness to work—not even demanding extra pay to make up for working on a holiday—nobody but me seemed to think it was appropriate for a farrier to shoe horses on Christmas.
Now? I’m fucking counting down to the end of the work week. Begging for two days of nothing but Eira. I hope we don’t even leave the bed.
After practically throwing my phone on the fourth alarm, I run my fingers along the arm she has slung over my chest. She grumbles something about the annoying ringing sound under her breath, snuggling in closer, and my nose finds its way into her silky hair. Somehow, her scent fills me with the same emotion Christmas made me feel as a kid. Cookies and a warm early morning by the fire. Ineffable happiness and wonder.
God, now I really do sound insane.
Seven years ago was the worst year of my life—a drunk driver nearly killed me on my way home from a rodeo, and it was six months before I was walking again. For a long while, hearing people’s assurance that “things happen for a reason” had me picking up a bottle of liquor, not knowing if I was going to drink it or hit them upside the head. Either way, one of us was blacking out.
Eventually, the notion grew on me.Amor fati.
Trusting in something bigger than myself—and bigger than the asshole who hit me with his one-tonne pickup—made themental and physical pain a little easier to stomach. I just needed to find thereasonfor the shitty hand I’d been dealt.
That reason was this ranch, which I bought five years ago with the payout I received from the accident. Since then, I’ve poured every ounce of energy into this dream—renovating, raising animals, farrier work. It gave me purpose.
Aside from that rough first date with the pastor’s daughter, I haven’t so much as looked at a woman. No time nor desire. Like everything else, I took to believing I hadn’t foundthe onefor a reason.
Despite insisting things were too busy for me to head to the city for a weekend, I couldn’t get out of attending Holly and Daniel’s engagement party. And there she was.
Sleek dark hair framed her face as she bent over something on the table, and she remained entirely oblivious to all the madness happening around her. She didn’t flinch when a server dropped a tray of drinks. Didn’t so much as fumble her pen when a large man bumped into her chair. She was writing or drawing something that seemed important, and aside from her tongue darting out to lick her lips occasionally, the only part of her in motion was her hand. I was mesmerized.
I needed to know her.
Finding out she was my kid sister’s best friend probably should’ve deterred me. And I’m sure it would have, if hours of talking to Eira didn’t settle the noise inside my head for the first time in years. That felt too much like fate for me to ignore.
“Don’t go,” she grumbles when I pull my arm out from under her on the fifth alarm. Something in my chest seizes like an old truck motor.
“I gotta get to work, Doodlebug.” I tuck the comforter around her, swallowing hard. “Fuck, I don’t want to, though.”
