I learned something else about Shep yesterday. The man can cook more than breakfast. The homemade chili he made for dinner was incredible and superior to any takeout I could have ordered or the ready-made meals I pick up at the grocery store.
The path to the snowmobile is dotted with icy patches, and even though it pains me, I take his advice and slow my steps. I’m not about to fall and have him scold me for not listening.
As I near the snowmobile, he steps toward me, sliding a hand under my elbow.
“I should’ve brought you a helmet,” he sighs, exasperation clear in his voice.
“The bright side is I’m probably less talkative after a head injury.”
I swear I catch Shep’s lips twitching into a smile even his mustache can’t hide. He keeps me steady while I swing a leg over the seat, making sure I’m balanced before letting go. He climbsin front, his outer thighs brushing against mine, causing my stomach to do a somersault.
Please don’t let him notice how fast my heart is racing.
Once he’s settled, he puts the key into the ignition and the engine comes to life with a satisfying hum.
“Hold on tight,” he says, guiding my hands around him.
Before I can ask questions, he eases the snowmobile forward, and I instinctively wrap my arms tighter around his waist. When we pick up speed, I cling to him tighter, the wind whipping around us as we glide along. The cabin disappears behind us as we follow the snow-packed road to the barn.
The cold bites at my fingers, but the gloves Shep gave me are tucked into my coat pocket. I forgot to put them on before we left, and I’m too afraid to retrieve them while we’re on the move.
I lean forward, resting my head on Shep’s back and letting my hands drift up his chest seeking warmth. He stiffens under my touch, and I expect him to pull away—but instead, he shifts in his seat, unzipping his jacket and guiding my hands inside. I let out a soft moan as heat finally reaches my freezing fingers.
The ground is soft underneath the snowmobile’s treads, and the trees we pass lean under the weight of the snow, their limbs sparkling like glass. We take the next turnoff, and I spot the barn in the distance, its red silhouette a beacon through the frosty woods.
As we pull up in front, the engine hum fades to silence, and I reluctantly remove my hands from Shep’s chest so he can get off the snowmobile. Once he’s dismounted, he turns around, cupping my elbow to help me down. The snow crunches beneath our boots, and I shiver despite my layers.
Shep scans my face with concerned eyes. “You alright?”
“Just a little cold,” I admit through chattering teeth.
“You should have worn the gloves, like I told you.”
“I forgot to put them on,” I admit sheepishly.
His features soften as he pulls off his own gloves, tucking them into his back pocket. He takes my hands in his, the warmth from his palms spreading through mine. The teasing brush of his fingers against my skin feels dangerously sinful, and I lean in without thinking.
“Better?” he asks, his voice low.
I look up, his gaze lingering on my lips. “Uh-huh.”
I wonder if he kisses with slow and deliberate precision or if he’s bold and demanding.
Here I go again, caught in a steamy daydream, imagining him closing the space between us and putting his mouth on mine.
Snap out of it, Noelle.
This isn’t a romance novel where the grumpy cowboy gives me a bruising kiss or pins me against a stack of hay bales as he rails into me.
I blink rapidly, reeling in my thoughts before I embarrass myself.
“Should we go in?” I ask.
Something unspoken flickers in his eyes, vanishing as fast as it appeared, and he lets go of my hands.
“Yeah. There’s a heater inside, so it’ll be warm,” he replies.
I nod absentmindedly as he ushers me through the barn door, my jaw dropping at the sight. The space is huge, with high ceilings stretching overhead, twelve large stalls, rows of tack and feed stacked on shelves lining the walls, and an open wash bay near the entrance that smells faintly of hay and saddle soap.
