He wanted to shield her from the harsh climate and the dangerous animals and every hard edge of this harsh life. Wanted to wrap her in warmth and keep her safe.
And he wanted to strip her out of that ill-fitting tunic and explore every soft curve until she stopped talking and started making entirely different sounds.
The post sank to the correct depth. Releasing it, he stepped back.
Brute. That’s what he was. What he’d always been.
The setting sun painted the valley in shades of orange and purple. Beautiful, but the temperature was already dropping. He’d been out here for hours, and full dark would come fast.
Which meant returning to the house.
To her.
His feet felt heavy as he walked back across the fields. The house sat low against the hillside, windows dark. She was in there somewhere.
In his space.
Disrupting his solitude.
Filling his home with her presence.
He stopped at the equipment shed to store his tools, moving through the familiar motions. Everything in its place. Everything ordered and controlled.
But his thoughts wouldn’t cooperate. They kept circling back to full lips that wouldn’t stop moving, eyes that showed every emotion, and a body that made him hyperaware of his own size and strength.
The back door opened silently. He stepped into the mudroom and removed his boots, lining them up exactly. His jacket went on its hook.
the air smelled different.
Floral. Sweet. Completely out of place in a ranch house that usually smelled like earth and animals.
Her scent.
It was everywhere. In the air, clinging to surfaces, invasive in a way that made his skin feel too tight. It called to instincts he’d buried years ago. Made him want to track it to its source, to find her and?—
He cut off the thought and moved into the kitchen.
Then stopped.
She’d been in here. The evidence was subtle but unmistakable. The cleaning cloth he kept on the counter had been moved. The dishes in the drying rack were arranged differently than he’d left them. And there was something on the table.
He frowned and moved closer.
It was a paper garland. Made from what looked like ration wrappers, carefully creased into something that might have been festive if it wasn’t so pathetically makeshift.
His chest tightened.
She’d tried to decorate. To make his house more... what? Cheerful? Welcoming?
It was neither. It was a ranch house on a frontier colony, utilitarian and sparse because that’s all it needed to be.
But she’d tried, anyway.
That draanthing garland sat there, mocking him.
Leaving the garland where it was, he opened the cold storage. Food. He needed food, then he could retreat to his room and pretend she didn’t exist until morning.
The kitchen stayed blessedly quiet while he prepared a meal. He frowned as he looked over his shoulder toward the bedrooms. Maybe she’d gone to sleep early. Exhausted from the long journey and the harsh welcome he’d given her.
