She believes every word I say. I can feel her eyes pierce the deepest part of me as I tell her that I’ll be here for her if she needs anything. It makes me feel like a superhero, but also an asshole. “I mean, I’m sure you're capable of taking care of yourself. But just in case…”
When she takes a deep breath, her breasts almost brush against my chest. Bringing my hand away from her arm and to the top of my head, I say, “Well, I think that’s it. Let me show you the path to the where you’ll get the best visibility for the comet…as long as the clouds clear.”
The inhalation I take as I leave the closet, shutting the door behind me, is the same gulp of air a drowning man takes after crawling out of the ocean. I tied up and locked down any notion of romance when Becca passed away. I have two boys and a ranch to occupy every waking minute of my life. There’s been no temptation, no longing, or desire. But that’s all changed since this afternoon.
Chapter 4
Holly
I’ve been dreaming of this day for a year, ever since I emailed Mr. Noel about renting his cabin for this weekend. I’ve envisioned what it would be like to be at the top of the tallest mountain in the state, viewing the Kringle Comet, which my entire field has been discussing and celebrating ever since we figured out when it would make its appearance.
This weekend is a bucket-list item for me personally. There are much larger and more powerful telescopes in the northern hemisphere that will get stunning photos. There’s a buzz about this comet—people talking of good fortune, or new love, or some other woo-woo thing happening in conjunction with it passing overhead. After all, it’s one night only, and Earth won’t see it again for another thousand years. Can you imagine future humans laughing at our cute photos and writings about it? It’ll be like looking at ancient people’s cave drawings.
But there’s something that compelled me to be here. A longing to make this one night, one experience, something personal to me. I’ve got my doctorate. I teach. I conduct research. I do all the things. And yet there’s still something missing inside me. I guess I hoped that being up here alonein the mountains, ignoring the crazy social obligations of Christmas, I would find peace. Or something like it.
When Jack and I walk back into the now warm and cozy cabin after trekking through the deep snow to the clearing where I can have an unobstructed view of the comet—as long as the blizzard is done by then—my heart fills with a longing I’ve never felt before. The boys are splayed out on the couch, each with a plate of whatever deliciousness they brought with them, watching the fire in the hearth and talking and laughing. Like friends. My heart squeezes, missing my own brother.
Without a word, Jack removes his boots and coat, saunters—yes, saunters—to the kitchen and serves up two giant plates of the casserole. Who am I to object to hot food from a hot ranch hand…guy? Man. Definitely a man.
I sit at the kitchen table and he joins me, letting the boys enjoy their moment. “Does Mr. Noel pay you extra to be here during Christmas? And what about your kids and wife? Does she work here, too?” The questions tumble out of me without any thought as to their appropriateness. I don’t know what is wrong with my mouth.
Jack frowns at his food. Takes a bite, looking out at the bleak, snowy landscape. Takes a sip of water. Then finally, he clears his throat to answer me. “No. And my wife died six years ago. It’s just the three of us. My sister and her husband work on the ranch, too.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, embarrassed even more now. He nods. We eat in silence.
Once the boys have washed and dried our dishes—I told Jack they didn’t need to, he ignored me—they gear up. Jack asks if I need anything else. I shake my head no.
When the door closes behind them, my stomach drops, confusing me. I am a scientist. I like being alone, and after a busy semester of teaching, in addition to my research, I’ve been craving this weekend alone for months.
But as the trio takes their fart jokes and video game noise back down the mountain, along with the scruffy, strong jawline of Jack, I feel strangely sad.
“Well, Holly. Settle in.” I slide across the wooden floor in my sock feet, grab my laptop, and set it up at the table. Might as well get some work done.
It takes me ten minutes to finally remember how to turn on my brain and dump out all the unwanted images of Jack the ranch hand on Frost Mountain. My Word document waits patiently on the screen to record my brilliance, when there’s stomping out on the porch. The door bursts open, Cliff tumbles inside along with half a mountain’s worth of snow.
Grateful he didn’t see me jump, all I can say is, “You’re back.”
Todd stomps up the porch as Cliff yells, “I win!” Then he looks at me and gives me the brightest smile.
“Cheater. You didn’t even try to help shovel.”
“I knew it was a lost cause. I’ve heard that tone in Dad’s voice before.”
Hmmm. “Where is your dad?” wondering how terribly wrong everything is.
“Right there,” they both point outside. Padding over to the open door, I see him in his red and black plaid coat, thoroughly covered in snow, trudging up to the cabin. Two bags in hand.
I can’t explain the simultaneous explosion of butterflies in my stomach, heart palpitations, and a slickening between my thighs as time slows down and I watch him throw the bags down, unzip his jacket, pull it off, showing off his shoulders and biceps as he does so. Toque off his head, he runs one hand through his messy hair. The man has the audacity to bend over. That’s right, bend over, and shift away from me, so all I can see is his very fine ass and muscular thighs in his too-tight jeans as he unties his boots and kicks them off.
Thirsty, I’m so thirsty. He stands and turns toward me as I scurry into the kitchen to refill my glass. Anything to hide the evidence of my drooling over him.
“Truck’s stuck.” Jack says, following me into the kitchen, seemingly to fill his own glass. I nod, trying to think of exactly what this means. “I’m going to call Hans, see if he can get the big plow up here, but it looks like we’re staying with you.”
The glass slips from my hand; thankfully, it falls onto the counter and doesn’t break. I still spaz out and grab the towel to wipe up the water from the counter and the front of my clothes as I process what this means.
No more alone time. No privacy. I’m spending the weekend with two boys, and their rancher dad, who I have a literal lady boner for.
Over Christmas weekend.
