I don’t know how long we stand there.
Long enough for the rain to ease from a roar to a steady drum. Long enough for his breathing to match mine completely, slow and even. Long enough for the shaking to stop and his grip to gentle from desperate to just... holding.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are red-rimmed but clear.
“Thank you,” he says. His voice is rough. Scraped raw. “For not?—”
“For not what? Running screaming into the storm?” I manage a small smile. “Tempting, but I’m pretty sure Captain Winky would judge me. He’s already got opinions about my riding.”
He laughs. It’s broken and rough, but it’s real, and something warm blooms in my chest at the sound.
“I should check on him,” Daniel says. “Make sure he’s okay under the overhang.”
“You sure you’re?—”
“I’m good.” He squeezes my hand once, then releases it. “Better. Because of you.”
He moves to the door and shoulders it open against the wind. Rain gusts in, but it’s lighter now—still steady, but not the violent assault from before. He steps out onto the narrow porch, and I hear him talking to Captain Winky in that low, soothing voice. The same voice he used on me.
I take the opportunity to look around. Find the matches he dropped, get the lantern lit. The warm glow pushes back the gloom, making the space feel less like a crypt and more like... well, still a grimy line cabin, but a grimy line cabin withambiance.
The woodstove is my next project. Daniel had the right idea—we’re both soaked and freezing, and hypothermia isn’t the romantic ending I’m going for here.
Wait. Romantic ending?
I shove that thought aside and focus on crumpling newspaper, stacking kindling, striking a match. The fire catches on the third try, and I add a few larger logs from the basket. By the time Daniel comes back in, shaking water from his hair, the stove is crackling and the cabin is starting to warm.
“Captain Winky’s fine,” he says. “Pissed off, but fine. He’ll forgive me when I give him extra oats.”
“Bribery. The foundation of all good relationships.”
His mouth quirks. “Works on horses. Works on cousins. Jury’s still out on stubborn ranch coordinators.”
“I’m not stubborn. I’mdiscerning.”
“That what we’re calling it?”
He’s standing just inside the door, water dripping from his hair, his shirt plastered to his chest in a way that’s frankly distracting. The wild desperation is gone from his eyes, replaced by something warmer. Something that makes my stomach flip.
“You got the fire going,” he says.
“I’m not completely useless.”
“Never said you were.” He moves closer, and the cabin suddenly feels even smaller. “Never thought it either.”
“Could’ve fooled me. All those arguments about supply manifests?—”
“Those weren’t arguments. Those were... negotiations.”
“You called my inventory system ‘chaotic at best.’”
“Itwaschaotic. It was also effective.” He’s close now. Too close. I can see the water droplets caught in his eyelashes, the faint scar at his temple, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. “You’re effective, Delaney. At everything you do.”
My heart pounds. Not with fear this time.
“I meant what I said in the barn,” he murmurs. “I’m not sorry I kissed you.”
“I know.”
