“The storm’s coming,” I said.
Morgan followed my gaze, her eyes narrowing. “Already? I checked the weather this morning and they said we wouldn’t get snow until overnight.”
“I wish I could get paid for doing a job where I didn’t have to be right all the time.” The joke didn’t land, not with Morgan’s pulse still hammering from her wild ride.
Her voice tightened. “Can we get back?”
I took into account how far we’d traveled away from the barn, the trail conditions, and the way the temperature had dropped in the last ten minutes.
“No,” I said.
Her head jerked up. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“There’s a cabin not that far away. We can wait out the storm there.” I nudged my chin toward Snickers. “You can ride with me. I’m not taking any more chances.”
Her lips tightened like she wanted to argue, but another gust of wind hit. Snow started to fall. The storm was already here.
“Okay, let’s get go.” She didn’t flinch when I put my hands on her hips and helped her into the saddle.
I pulled a lead out of my saddle bag and joined the two horses so the mare wouldn’t get lost. She would have followed us anyway. All the tension had drained out of her after that run, but I wasn’t willing to risk it if she got spooked again.
Morgan didn’t flinch as I pulled myself up and settled behind her, my thighs squeezing against hers. And when I reached around her with both arms to pick up the reins, she seemed to shed a little of the tension and lean back against me. She didn’t complain or ask how far we were going to go. Didn’t do anything that made me question whether she was built for this. Which only made me more aware of her and more irritated with myself for noticing.
I wasn’t sure how long we rode. Even a few minutes in whiteout conditions could feel like an hour, but the cabin finally came into view. It was small and weathered with an attached lean-to for the horses.
I shoved the door open with my shoulder, ushered her inside, then dragged it shut against the wind. The sudden quiet was more jarring than facing the storm. Inside, it was cold but sheltered. The air smelled like old wood and dust and the faint memory of smoke.
Morgan turned slowly, taking it in: the folding table, two chairs, a small stove in the corner, and the narrow cot against the back wall. Her gaze snagged on the thin mattress, then shifted back to me.
I caught the change in her expression. Her professional assessment turned into something else. Something a hell of a lot more personal.
“No,” she said, her voice tight. “Absolutely not.”
I raised a brow. “You’d prefer staying out in the storm?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
I shook snow from my coat. “We’ll figure it out.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You say that like you’ve done this before.”
“I have.” I looked at her. “Just not with you.” The words hung in the air between us, not at all like I’d intended.
Morgan’s breath caught. Then she lifted her chin again, stubborn to the bone. “Fine. But I’m not freezing to death for your ego.”
“My ego isn’t the problem,” I said.
She stared at me, daring me to finish.
I didn’t. Instead I crossed to the stove, crouched, and started checking for kindling the way I’d done a hundred times in bad weather. I needed to tackle one issue at a time and keep my focus on making sure we survived the storm. Because if I let myself focus on the fact Morgan Carter was standing in front of me in a tiny cabin with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, I might do something stupid.
Outside, the wind slammed into the cabin again, rattling the windows like it was pissed we’d found shelter. Inside, Morgan wrapped her arms around herself and watched me with those sharp, unyielding eyes. We were out of time and out of options and weren’t going anywhere for the foreseeable future. The mountain had made that much clear.
CHAPTER 8
MORGAN
The fire caught on the third match. I watched Slade work, steady and efficiently, like he'd done this a thousand times. He probably had. The kindling crackled, and warmth started to creep into the small space, though it would take time before the cold truly retreated.
