*****
The snow's almost white-out conditions by the time I turn onto my private road. Harper leans forward, peering through the windshield at the massive pines lining the drive.
"This is beautiful," she whispers, and something in my chest tightens at the wonder in her voice. City people usually see the isolation, the wildness, the danger. She sees the beauty.
My house appears first – a two-story log cabin I built myself five years ago. Then the guest cabin comes into view, smaller but just as sturdy. I park as close as I can to the covered porch.
"Wait." I catch her arm before she can open the door. "Wind's brutal. We'll go together."
She nods, already shivering despite my coat. I grab her bag from the back, then circle around to her side. The moment I open her door, the wind hits us full force, driving snow sideways.
"Ready?" I wrap an arm around her shoulders, telling myself it's just to keep her upright. Not because of how perfectly she fits against me, or how her hand curls into my shirt for balance.
We make it to the porch eventually. My hands shake slightly as I unlock the door. From the cold, I tell myself. Nothing to do with her pressed against my side, all soft curves and trust.
The cabin's dark and cold, but at least it's dry. I find the generator switch by memory, and lights flicker on. When I turn back, Harper's standing in the middle of the room, still wearing my coat, looking around with those big green eyes.
"This is your guest cabin?" She takes in the stone fireplace, the leather couch, the small but updated kitchen. "It's bigger than my apartment in Seattle."
"Built it last summer." For my sister, who never visits. For friends I rarely see. For... hell, maybe for this moment. "Bathroom's through there. Bedroom's upstairs in the loft."
She hugs herself, and I realize she's still shivering. Damn it.
"Sit," I order, heading for the fireplace. "I'll get a fire going."
"So bossy," she murmurs, but she sinks onto the couch, tucking her legs under her.
I focus on building the fire, consciousof her watching me. Every move feels scrutinized, like she's cataloging each detail.
That thought shouldn't heat my blood the way it does.
The fire catches quickly, one thing I'm good at, and soon the cabin fills with warmth and flickering light. When I stand and turn, Harper's got her head tipped back against the couch, eyes closed, looking so damn comfortable it hurts.
"I should check the generator's fuel," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "Then get you some supplies from the main house."
Her eyes flutter open. "You're going back out in that?"
"It's not far."
"But it's horrible out there." She sits up straighter, worrying her bottom lip. The gesture shouldn't be so distracting. "Shouldn’t you stay? Just until the storm dies down a little?"
Jesus. Every instinct I have screams to say yes. To sink onto that couch beside her. To...
I move to the door before I can do something stupid. Like admit that every second I spend in this cabin, watching her curled up in my coat, is chipping away at the wall I built around myself.
"I'll be back in twenty minutes," I say, hand on the doorknob. "Lock the door behind me. Don't answer it for anyone else."
"Anyone else?" One eyebrow arches. "Are you expecting a lot of visitors in this blizzard?"
"No. But you're not from here. You don't know our ways."
"Our ways?" She laughs. "What is this, a horror movie? Should I be worried about ancient mountain curses? Werewolves? Axe-wielding—"
"Harper."
"Right. Sorry. Lock the door. No strangers. Got it." She stands, and my coat slips off one shoulder, revealing that yellow sweaterthat makes her look like bottled sunshine. "But you'll come back?"
Something in her voice, a hint of uncertainty, of old hurt, makes me stupid. Makes me cross the room in three strides. Makes me reach out and tug my coat back onto her shoulder, fingers brushing her collarbone.
