A pained scream from inside the house crashes our intimate moment. Dr. Holly leaps back as if I’ve burned her, falling into the snow in the process. My heart tries to eject itself from my body—to run in search of my boy, who is clearly dying at this very moment. I’m up the steps, pushing through the door, ready to tear apart whatever beast is threatening my children.
Only to find them collapsed in giggles on the floor beside the sofa. “What’s wrong?” I ask. I know it’s too gruff, too loud, but adrenaline and papa bear energy are running this rodeo.
Through fits of trying to catch their breath, I get, “Nothing. Game. Hilarious. Todd died!” And then more giggles.
Everything in my brain is blank. Short-circuited by my idiotic children playing their idiotic game. Frozen on the spot, part of my brain tries to tell me Anna is going to know I let snow melt on the wooden floor. Another part of my brain tells me to go get Dr. Holly. Once my breathing has returned to normal, I turn around to get her off the porch.
But she isn’t there. The front door is shut. Her boots and telescope are by the door; her coat and snow pants are hung up. And she’s nowhere to be seen. Quickly, I kick off my boots and set them on the mud tray to catch the rest of the water. I’ll need to towel up the floor, but first I need to find Dr. Holly. I hear the door click shut as I make my way down the hallway.
Standing there way too long, knowing it’s awkward AF, I’m frozen once more, trying to decide what the best course of action is. Of course, she’s here for work, and I should let that be. She doesn’t even know who I am, that I own this cabin, the ranch, most of the god-damned mountain. She’s flirting with a single-dad ranch hand. Not a single dad billionaire landowner.
And it’s better this way. We’ve got fire for the woodstove. For now, electricity. And if the clouds stay clear, we’ll have excellent comet viewing tomorrow night. But if the clouds stay clear, I might be able to get the boys and me out of here. Back to our planned Christmas weekend together. Priorities, Jack.
As I walk away from her, back to the boys and the kitchen, I unzip my snow coat.
Then all the lights go out.
Chapter 8
Holly
While the Kringle Comet has nothing whatsoever to do with its own timing skirting across our vision this winter, its timing absolutely sucks.
Winter?
Northern latitudes?
And now being snowed in with the hottest ranch hand I’ve ever met? Okay, okay, the only ranch hand I’ve ever met. But I have been around buff lobstermen, lumberjacks, mountain men of different varieties. As well as middle-aged professors and colleagues with salt and pepper hair. Yes, I’ve seen a lot of hot men in my day.
But there is something about Jack. About his intensity. His bright blue eyes that laser into me. His soft lips and slightly scruffy chin that make heat pool between my thighs, and then spread to the rest of me.
Because of my beloved Kringle Comet, I’m now stuck—snowed in—with not only him, but his two rowdy and adorable boys. This sounds like the best holiday romcom. Ever. Too bad I’d rather watch it on television than live it.
Laptop open on my bed, because I need some cold, hard science facts to cool me down after that kiss, when glory of glories…what else could go wrong?
Oh, that’s right. The power goes out. Squinting at the bright screen of my laptop as it loads, I calculate out how many hours my battery will last. Damn. I shut the laptop; I can’t afford to waste the battery tonight, not knowing when I’ll be able to charge it next.
That’s when a foggy thought about the generator smacks me in the forehead. Which means going back into that closet. With a groan, I get up and grope my way toward the closet, only to remember I set up candles in the kitchen.
There’s a knock on my door as I approach. “Dr. Holly? I have a flashlight for you.” Silently, I curse my heart as it skips at the sound of Jack’s voice.
“Great, I was just coming to get one so I could turn on the generator,” I say as the door opens and the beam of his flashlight blinds me.
What follows is a small comedy of errors as I walk toward him to get the flashlight and he walks at me. Now, clearly he can see as he has the flashlight. Nevertheless, we still bump into each other. He tries to catch me. The flashlight ends up on the floor.
And I end up wrapped in his arms, pulled tight into his chest. His very hard plank of a chest. Gulp.
His pine and sandalwood scent is tempered with chocolate now. “I know what you’re doing,” I say, trying to be playful.
Jack’s response is confusing, not gonna lie. He squeezes me tighter, groans a bit, then releases me abruptly. He mumblessomething, pretty sure about the generator, then walks away from me, leaving the flashlight on the floor.
Picking it up, I follow him, reaching him as he flips the switch. I suppose a ranch hand has to be familiar with all the inner workings of the boss’s cabin, right?
The lights flicker on for about thirty seconds, then go out. Plunging us into almost darkness—the flashlight is still on. In the other room, the boys shout for joy when the darkness returns. I snort with laughter at their ridiculousness.
“I’ll sort it out in the morning. There’s enough wood to keep us warm tonight.”
Once the four of us have ensured everyone has enough blankets, the food and cookies are put away, and there are extra logs on the fire, we awkwardly say our goodnights and the three of them stomp up the loft stairs to their beds.
