Which brings us here. Wednesday morning, out at the edge of the property, freezing my ass off while patching up the fence around the horse paddock. The B&B sprawls at the edgeof town, with the horse barn sitting a little way back, tucked between a ragged line of evergreens and the glinting white of a frozen stream. The smell of snow and pine is sharp in my nose. Every time my boots crunch through the frost, I half expect to look up and see May watching from the window, mug in hand, that smug little smile that says he’s thinking about all the things we did last night.
I hammer a fresh board into place, exhaling hard. My gloves are already dusted with sawdust, and the heel of my hand stings where I caught it on a nail. My body aches in a good way, the kind of soreness that means you worked hard and maybe got fucked stupid by someone who knows exactly where to leave bite marks so they’ll show.
There’s something about this kind of work that always calms my nerves. The rhythm of it. The simple certainty that if you line up the boards and drive the nails straight, it’ll hold. I never felt that certainty in the city. There, everything felt wobbly, built on top of other people’s dreams. Here, I can look at a fence post and know it’ll last through a hundred blizzards. And maybe, if I do this right, so will I.
I’m lost in my head, measuring twice before cutting, when I hear Mal’s boots crunching across the packed snow. He’s hard to miss. Long stride. Dark flannel shirt under a barn jacket. He whistles, soft and off-key, carrying a saddle over one arm as if it weighs nothing. The man could have been a cowboy in another life, or maybe just the world’s most intimidating summer camp counselor.
He looks me up and down, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thought I’d find you out here, Dalton.”
“Someone’s gotta keep the livestock in line,” I shoot back, grinning. “And by livestock, I mean the barn cats. They keep staring at me like they’re plotting something.”
Mal barks out a laugh. “They probably are. Don’t make eye contact. That’s how they get you.”
He leans against the top rail, close enough that I can see the smudge of dirt on his jaw and the way his cheeks are red from the cold. There’s hay in his hair, which I’m not going to mention. Only because I know Hawk is going to mention it later, and watching those two go at it is twice as entertaining.
“How’s the fencing?” he asks, glancing at my handiwork.
I flex my gloved hand, showing off the new stretch of wire. “Tighter than my jeans after Eva’s danishes. Should keep the horses from staging another jailbreak.”
He snorts, then gestures at the barn. “We had a group from out of town this morning. The trail ride was a mess, but a good mess. One guy showed up in loafers. Imagine trying to get up a frosty hill in Italian leather.”
“I take it he didn’t make it far?”
“Oh, he made it. Mal’s Law: never underestimate what horny city people will do for an Instagram story. But I lost a bet to Hawk about who would fall off first, so I owe the kitchen crew a couple rounds.”
I laugh, the sound rolling out over the frozen field. For a second, it feels like we’re the only two people in the whole valley. There’s a peace to it. Not the kind I ever found in the city, but something quieter, deeper.
Mal hops the fence, landing next to me with a thud. He eyes my work for a minute, then gives a small nod of approval.
“You settling in okay?” he asks, his voice lower now. “Back in Sleighbell Springs, I mean?”
There’s real weight in the question. He’s not just making small talk.
I shrug, rolling my shoulders to hide the sudden tightness in my throat. “Feels good. Feels…right. I didn’t realize how much I missed this place until I came back. The air. Thepeople. May.” My voice softens on that last word, and I hope he doesn’t call me out on it.
Mal grins, clapping me on the back hard enough to rattle my teeth. “Yeah, we noticed. I think you two set a record for most PDA in a single lunch shift.”
I flush, but not in a bad way. “He brings it out in me,” I admit, not even bothering to play it cool. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a man with good jewelry and better shoes.”
Mal tips his head back, laughing loud and unrestrained. The sound ripples through the cold air, scattering a couple of squirrels off the fence a few yards down. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” he says, grinning at me like he knows damn well how gone I am for May.
I wipe the back of my glove over my brow, but it does nothing for the heat in my cheeks. “You’re telling me you never got caught making out in public around here?” I shoot back, eyebrow raised.
He snorts. “Hell no. Liam would have my hide if I tried shoving my tongue down his throat in front of guests.” He pauses, considering. “Well. Maybe not my hide. But definitely my dignity. Not that I had much to begin with.”
That gets a real laugh out of me. Mal’s the kind of guy who owns every bit of his weirdness like it’s a badge of honor, and it makes it easier to relax around him, to not worry if I’m saying the wrong thing. We stand there for a moment, leaning on the rail, watching our breath puff out in thick white clouds.
Mal is quiet for a moment, just the faint shuffle of his boots in the snow. Then he glances at me sideways, all business suddenly. “You ever think about staying?” he asks, his voice lower now, catching on something heavy.
The question hangs between us for a beat, and it’s so direct I can’t help but freeze mid-swing, hammer poised in the air. I swallow around the lump in my throat because…yeah. Ithink about it. Every damn day. In the morning, when I wake up with May curled against my chest and the mountain haze still hanging over the window. When I’m wandering downtown and everyone actually says hi like they mean it. When I’m standing in this exact spot, hands numb and heart stupidly full, feeling like, for the first time in a very long time, I belong somewhere.
I drop the hammer and brace both forearms against the fence rail. “Honestly? All the time.” The words taste strange coming out, too raw and real. “I lived all over after I left. Thought if I just kept bouncing around, I’d find whatever it was I was missing. Turns out, what I was missing was this.” I gesture around, taking in the pine trees, the red barn, the little swirl of hoofprints in the snow. “It’s not fancy. But I love it. I love…being here.”
Mal nods, like that’s exactly what he was hoping to hear. “Good,” he says. “Because I’ve got a proposition for you.”
I raise a brow, wary. “If this is about starting a shirtless calendar, the answer depends on the photographer.”
He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Tempting, but no. Though if Eva ever catches you fixing a fence shirtless, you’ll end up a local legend. There’s a whole debate about whether your beard would look better with a Santa hat or a construction helmet.”
