Kip’s cheeks burned hotter than the woodstove crackling in the corner of the kitchen, the heat licking her skin. She was still wearing Kenzie’s hand-knitted, soft wool socks, though they felt a bit itchy. Their thickness helped because Trace’s spare boots, ones he'd worn as a kid, still fit two sizes too big. He’d stuffed the toes with crinkled-up newspaper from yesterday that crinkled with every step. She also wore one of his thermal shirts and his fleece-lined flannel plaid jackets.
She clomped after him like a kid playing dress-up in her Daddy’s clothes. She kind of was, now that she thought about it, and that thought made her smile. The picnic basket thumped against Trace’s hip, the thermos sloshing coffee against the lid with rhythmic splashes that matched her pulse.
Outside, the air bit sharp enough to make her lungs ache, crisp with the metallic tang of coming snow and the faint, clean bite of pine. Kip hugged his arm, ignoring the basket scratching her flannel-covered arm.
Her heart melted as four rambunctious dogs—three white as ghosts and one with a pale gold coat—burst out of the barn,stumbling and bumbling their way across the yard. Their paws kicked up powdery bursts that sparkled in the weak sunlight. Kip fell in love before she even took another breath.
Kip could hardly contain herself. “Oh my gosh! They’re adorable! Do they have names?”
Trace smiled at her excitement. “Yep. The one on the right is Luna, the middle one is Yuki, the one on the left is Glimmer, and the golden one is Goldie.”
The perfect names for the perfect dogs. “How old are they?”
“Six months.”
Six months? She thought they were full-grown dogs. “Puppies!” she squealed. Letting go of his arm, she ran to greet them. Dropping to her knees in the snow, she hugged them, or tried to, as they gave her the best puppy kisses she’d ever had. Goldie seemed especially drawn to her.
A sharp whistle sliced through the air, and the puppies fell into a loose heel, ears pricked forward, pink tongues lolling, drool freezing into crystalline threads. Just like the night before, the barn smelled of sweet timothy hay, warm horses, and the faint musk of dogs. The rich, earthy scent settled in her bones. Sunlight slanted through cracks in the weathered siding, dust motes dancing like glitter in the golden beams, catching on the puppies’ fur.
The floorboards creaked beneath Trace’s weight, a low groan echoing her own unease, as he handed her a soft cotton rope, sun-bleached and frayed at the ends, smelling faintly of saddle soap. “Goldie’s the bold one. You’re her handler today. I’ll take the other three.”
Kip blinked up at him, the rope suddenly heavy in her palms, fibers biting into her skin. Why did she get the bold one? Fear made her words sharper than she intended. “Maybe all the other Little you’ve taken come knowing all about giant dogs, but I don’t?—”
He cut her tirade off before it gained momentum. “First, I’ve never claimed a Little before. Second, don’t worry. I’ll teach you.”
She almost dropped the rope. He’d never claimed a Little? And yet, he’d been interested in her since she got to town. What made her so special?
He looped the rope around Goldie’s thick neck, her coarse off-white fur warm and prickly under her fingers. With those calloused hands he was coming to crave, he showed her the slipknot, his movements slow and sure. Then he stepped back, arms crossed over his shearling coat, the leather creaking like an old saddle. “Walk her around the far paddock. Keep her between you and the fence. If she bolts, plant your feet and lean back. She’s strong, but you’re stubborn.”
Kip’s laugh came out shaky, more breath than anything. She took a deep breath of the cold, which did nothing to soothe her raw throat from crying the night before. “You noticed.”
Trace’s mouth twitched, the closest thing to a real smile he’d given her today. His boots crunching on fresh powder as he led her into the paddock beside the barn. “Hard not to, little fox.”
They worked for an hour. Goldie spent half the time lunging at phantom shadows, her paws thundering on frozen earth, kicking up clumps of dirty snow Kip had to dodge. She stumbled over frozen ruts but refused to let go, the rope burning her palms raw. At least the sting in her hands gave her something to think about besides the ache in her chest.
Trace’s voice stayed steady behind her, a metronome of commands, warm breath fogging in the cold.Heel. Sit. Good girl.When Goldie finally dropped to her haunches, tongue lolling pink and happy. Kip’s arms trembled from the effort. She made a mental note to get herself a gym membership for Christmas.
Sweat beaded at her temples despite the icy chill in the air. Trace took the rope, his fingers brushing hers, warm, deliberate, smelling of leather and pine. The contact burned her like a brand.
“Tell me about the night Lonzo died,” he said, casual as asking the weather, but his eyes were locked on hers, blue as glacier ice, cutting through her defenses with a gentleness that hurt worse than anger.
Kip’s breath caught, white in the cold, her heart stuttering like a misfiring engine. She’d known this was coming, but Trace knew Lonzo’s name. She thought back through every conversation, trying to remember when she’d let the name slip. She would remember because she never made mistakes like that.
Trace didn’t miss much, and the way he looked at her last night, when she told him she murdered someone’s son, made her wonder if he searched the internet after she fell asleep. She tried to dismiss the suspicion that he’d done some digging on her, but the idea stuck like a burr in wool.
She had to find out. “How did you know his name?”
Trace froze, then let out an angry sigh. “Boone found it when I asked him to look into the stranger that’s been bothering you at the saloon.”
He’d looked into the stranger? Just because the man was bothering her? She should be upset. He had no right to do that. But she wasn’t upset. She was relieved. As a matter of fact, she’d never felt more protected... more cared for... more Daddied. She could so easily fall in love with Trace Daniels.
Could fall in love? You fell for him weeks ago.
And she had. He was everything she could imagine a Daddy being, and beyond that, he was a wonderful man. Her heart was going to break when she left, and she needed to get it over with so it wouldn’t shatter completely.
“Six years ago,” she started, her voice small enough to fit in a thimble, “I married a nice man named Lonzo Rios. We didn’t tell anyone, not even our families. We’d been married four days and were heading back from his parents’ place in Starry Vale. I promised to let him drive, but he got sick. I convinced him to letme drive, even though it had started to snow. Before long, we were caught in a snowstorm. Thundersnow, actually. I’d never seen it before, and I never want to again. Lightning cracked and thunder boomed like cannons. I was terrified, but he wasn’t in any condition to take back over.”
She swallowed, throat as raw as if she’d screamed for hours, the memory clawing up her throat. “I don’t drive much for a reason. Left-right confused me even on sunny days, but in the snow… stop signs blurred, and my hands shook so bad I could barely grip the wheel.”
