Page 19 of Cowboy Mountain Man

Harlan sets another log on the fire. “Road crew won’t finish tonight.”

“So we’re staying.”

“Yes.”

He says it carefully, watching me.

I tuck my feet beneath me on the sofa. “All right.”

“You take the bedroom.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Here.”

The sofa is wide. Harlan is wider. And longer.

“That doesn’t look comfortable.”

“I’ve slept worse.”

“That’s not especially reassuring.” He settles at the other end of the sofa, leaving a respectable distance between us.

For several minutes, we listen to the storm. The lantern glows on the table. Firelight moves over his face. Without the hat and jacket, he looks less like a man hired to stand between me and trouble. And more like a man who lives here. Who reads the books stacked beside the sofa. Repairs his own fences. Keeps wild strawberry tea because that’s apparently the thing to do around here.

“You like being alone?” I ask.

He rests his forearms on his knees. “Usually.”

“Do you get lonely?”

He looks into the fire. “Sometimes.”

I appreciate that he doesn’t pretend otherwise.

“I live in a building with forty other apartments,” I say. “I can hear people brushing their teeth through the bathroom wall.”

“That close?”

“Either that or my neighbor owns a very small power tool.”

He turns his head. “And you still get lonely.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes.” The word comes out softer than I intend.

He watches me for a moment. I pull the sweatshirt sleeves over my hands.

“Still cold?” Harlan asks.

“I think I’m finally relaxing.” My teeth choose that moment to knock together.

Harlan stands. He gets a blanket from a chest beneath the window, brings it over, and drapes it around my shoulders. “Come closer to the fire.”

I shift toward the middle of the sofa. He sits beside me. Closer this time. Our shoulders touch.

I look at him. “Is this included in the coverage?”

“What?”