I stood near the door, my arms wrapped around myself, trying not to think about the cot. Trying not to think about how small this cabin was. How alone we were. How the storm outside had made every decision for us.
“Sit down,” Slade said without looking up. “You're making me nervous.”
“I'm not doing anything.”
“You're hovering.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And dripping snow on the floor.”
I looked down. He was right. Melting snow pooled around my boots.
“Here.” He stood and pulled one of the mismatched chairs closer to the stove. “Sit down and warm up.”
I wanted to argue, but my body had other ideas. I sank into the chair, and the heat from the fire felt like mercy. My fingers tingled as circulation returned. I hadn't realized how cold I'd gotten.
Slade grabbed a worn blanket from a shelf and draped it over my shoulders. Then he moved to the window, checking the storm like he could will it away with sheer stubbornness.
“How long?” I asked.
He didn't turn around. “Could be an hour. Could be all night.”
My stomach dropped. “All night?”
“Yeah.” He finally looked at me, his expression unreadable. “The horses are sheltered. We've got heat and a roof. It could be a lot worse.”
I pulled the blanket tighter. “Could be a lot better.”
His mouth twitched. “Could be a lot of things.”
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't hostile either. It was just… loaded. Heavy with everything we'd been dancing around. The attraction neither of us wanted. The trust that had crept in despite our best efforts. The fact that we were alone, stranded, with nowhere to hide from whatever was happening between us.
I watched him move around the cabin, adding wood to the fire and taking stock of what we had. He was quiet and sure about it, the kind of competence that didn’t ask to be noticed. He did what needed to be done and didn’t make a big deal about it.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice soft.
He paused. “For what?”
“For not letting me fall off that horse. For getting us here safely.” I hesitated. “For not making me feel stupid about any of it.”
His shoulders tensed. Then he crossed to the other chair and sat down. His elbows rested on his knees, and he clasped his hands between them.
“You weren't being stupid,” he said. “You were learning. There's a difference.”
Warmth unfurled through my chest. “I thought you'd enjoy watching me fail.”
His eyes met mine, dark and serious. “No, you didn't.”
He was right. I hadn't. Not really. Somewhere between the ridge and the committee meeting and the long day surveying his land, I'd stopped expecting Slade Kincaid to be the enemy. I'd started expecting him to be… something else entirely.
“I don't know what I'm doing here,” I admitted.
“In the cabin?” he asked. “Or in Mustang Mountain?”
“Both.”
He leaned back, his gaze never leaving mine. “You're doing fine.”
“I'm a planner who can't ride a horse and doesn't understand half the history buried in this town,” I said. “I'm supposed to help build something that lasts, and I keep finding evidence that nothing here is what people say it is.”
“That's not your fault.”
