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This was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. We were right next to his home. It had just been up a short walkway near where we’d gone to find Eugene. I took another deep breath, settling in against the warmth of his neck, his skin, not caring how intimate of a spot this might be. He didn’t say a word either as the snow began to seep through my thick coat.
A coat that I’d brought with me from Colorado where I’d been for vet school. While it had been too warm there, it was no longer doing the job here. I shivered, trying to shove myself closer into Weston as I felt him take a slight step upwards. And again. And again.
He was climbing stairs. Several more shaky steps, the incline decreased to a gradual slope as the wind beat even harder against where we were going. I didn’t even chance opening my eyes or moving myself away from him. My back was becoming numb as the moisture combined with the bitter wind bit through my layers. The feeling had nearly left my legs as my pants were practically soaked with the snow and icy blow.
“Just a little farther, Miss Tenley,” Weston shouted above the gust that crashed against us. My senseless fingers gripped the medical bag as tightly as I could as he trudged forward. I nodded against him, hoping that we would make it to his home without any further mishaps.
Just a little farther.
Chapter 11
The door crashed open as we literally fell into his home. Still clinging to his back, he shoved the door closed with his foot, and I rolled off, splaying my limbs wide. I sighed in relief as my eyes met the simple ceiling and trailed along the log wall to my right in this small entrance way then rested upon a beautiful oil painting of a cowboy and his bay horse. The pair seemed to be wandering up a stunning hillside, the sun just breaking the horizon and casting a soft yellow and orange hue.
Below the painting was a row of cowboy hats, both felt and straw, hung on repurposed horseshoes. Lastly, resting upon the floor was a simple bench, boots tucked beneath it in a neat row. Rolling my head to the left, Weston had already pushed himself off of the floor and was removing his boots with his one uninjured arm. Beyond him was a simple rustic kitchen with black appliances that were spotless. The island was placed between the front wall and dining table at the far end of the room, a door splitting the two that let out onto what had to be some kind of porch.
Sturdy and unlike anything I’d seen before, four chairs surrounded a table with a large arched window on both the opposite wall from the front door and the adjacent wall to the kitchen. I could imagine that such a view was absolutely incredible normally, while right now all I saw was white.
Standing up, I glanced towards the very wall that held that beautiful painting. At the end of the bench, a door was ajar, revealing a simple half bathroom and beyond that was a staircase leading to the basement. Surrounding a stone fireplace were two coffee colored leather recliners and matching couches on either side. Not a television in sight in the sitting room. An intricate rug spread beneath the furniture bringing color into a neutrally dominated space. More paintings were hung upon the walls, and on the mantle of the fireplace were framed pictures that I desired to get a closer look at.
Despite the simplistic beauty of it all, that wasn’t what shocked me. Despite the fact that no matter what I could imagine, this would’ve never been what I’d pictured in my head for Weston’s home. None of that was the top surprising factor.
“Woah,” I breathed out as Weston’s feet padded across the floor towards his kitchen.
His hat was already nicely hung up, gloves slung over the tops of his boots that were placed in their precise location.
“Not what you were expecting?” he asked, and I plopped down on the bench to undo my frozen laces that were slowly defrosting.
“Uh, no. Not really.” I chuckled, pulling off the first soaked shoe with a slurping sound.
“Why not?” Weston raised his brows at me, his black hair wet with a ring from the hat and was sticking slightly to his forehead.
I shrugged my shoulders, pulling the next shoe off and trying to find a place for them that wouldn’t cause a mess. “You live alone, in the middle of the woods. I expected something…” My voice trailed off.
“Messier?” His blue eyes shifted towards me as he stopped at the kitchen island. My medical bag was in one hand, and he plopped it onto the countertop.
I grimaced, admitting that I agreed.
“I’m not some savage, you know.” He unzipped his coat and began to slowly shrug it off.
“I know that. But you don’t get out very often, so much so that people think you’re a drifter who comes into town to the feed store from time to time. I guess I just expected something a little rougher around the edges.”
He chuckled, finally wriggling his one arm free as I let my coat slip off and laid it over the bench; my stained hoodie was also wet from our excursion. I paused, watching his careful movement to avoid the wood still stuck in his arm. My shock from his organized home stopped me from rushing over towards him to help; I didn’t want to leave a mess in a place that he kept so clean.
“Ah, so that’s what they think of me right now,” he remarked lightheartedly, snapping me from my thoughts.
“At least the people at the feed store do,” I replied, pulling the hoodie off over my head and my beanie along with it, revealing the frizzy, now quite damp mess that I called hair. “Wait, you don’t seem surprised.”
Weston leaned against the counter and watched me gently lay both the hoodie and beanie on top of the wet coat, his eyes quickly raking over my body. “There’s a new story all the time.”
“You could set it straight once and for all you know.”
“Why?” he asked as I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked towards him, grimacing at the wet trail I was leaving. “It’s always entertaining to hear people talk about the newest update I didn’t even know about myself.”
“They don’t bother you?” I placed both my elbows upon the light brown granite countertop.
“Not anymore.” He offered me a soft smile, and I tilted my head, my bun flopping to the side and causing my neck to twitch. A low chuckle escaped his lips. I stared at his intense ocean eyes, watching them flash with an acceptance of sorrow.
“But they used to,” I whispered, gently sliding my fingers together and offering him an opening of sympathy.
