Chapter 4
Garrett
T he air pressure drops ahead of the storm, making my old shoulder injury ache. Montana weather has its own warning system if you know how to read it, and everything about this morning screams incoming trouble.
Kind of like Rachel Winston’s smile.
She’s examining the riverside cabin’s windows, sunlight catching auburn highlights in her dark hair again. I force my attention back to the structural assessment, but my eyes keep drifting to her reflection in the glass. This pull towards her is unfamiliar, unsettling. I’ve never let myself get close enough to anyone to feel something like this.
“These could be restored rather than replaced,” she says, running her fingers along the vintage frame. “The craftsmanship is incredible.”
“Restoration costs more than replacement.” I move closer, showing her where the wood has warped. “See how the water’s gotten in? Once that starts—”
“You can’t always just throw away something because it’s damaged.” There’s a challenge in her voice that hits too close to home.
The river stretches out beyond the window, steel-gray under the gathering clouds. For a second, I’m fifteen again, watching different water, calling Sarah’s name as the current pulls her under...
“Sometimes damaged things stay damaged,” I say, more sharply than intended.
She turns, and we’re suddenly too close in the narrow space. Her eyes search my face, and I realize I’ve let too much slip.
“Who was it?” she asks softly.
“My sister.” The word feels like glass in my throat. “Sarah. She was twelve. There was a rip current... I was supposed to be watching her.” I step back, needing distance. “One minute she was there, the next...”
“Is that why you came to Montana? About as far from the ocean as you can get.”
“You two better not be arguing about those windows again!” Ryder’s voice booms through the space. “Because I brought coffee, and I’m not above drinking both cups myself if you’re being difficult.”
Rachel steps back so quickly she bumps the window frame. I turn toward the thermostat, pretending to examine it, trying to slow my heartbeat. Knowing her cabin is just down the path from here doesn’t help – especially during storms like this.
“Since when do you deliver coffee?” Rachel’s voice is admirably steady.
“Since my little sister decided to stay in her falling-down cabins during a Montana snowstorm.” Ryder hands us each a cup, his eyes moving between us with too much awareness. “You know, the storm that’s about to dump two feet of snow up here?”
“We know about the storm,” Rachel says.
“Really? Because you both look pretty distracted for people who should be battening down hatches.”
I take a long drink of coffee to avoid responding. It’s perfect—which means Dana at Hearts & Grinds made it, not Ryder.
“The generators are all filled,” I say. “I checked them yesterday.”
“Good, because this one’s looking nasty. They’re closing the pass tonight.” Ryder sprawls in the cabin’s only intact chair. “You heading back to your cabin soon, Rach?”
“I need to finish the inspection report.” She doesn’t look at me. “Maybe an hour?”
“Make it less. That cloud bank moving in means business.” He stands, brushing dust from his jeans. “And you might want to check your generator too. Power lines up here aren’t what you’d call reliable.”
“Yes, dad,” Rachel rolls her eyes. “Any other weather warnings?”
“Just looking out for my sister who insisted on living alone up on this mountain.” But he’s looking at me when he says it, and something in his tone makes me think of Sarah.
“I’m hardly alone. Garrett’s cabin is just across the clearing, and you’re only twenty minutes away.” She starts gathering her papers. “And I’ve survived storms before.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t living up here then.” Ryder heads for the door. “Just be careful, okay?”
After he leaves, the cabin feels too small again. Rachel busies herself with her notes, but I can see the flush still on her cheeks. I try not to think about how close our cabins are, or how the lights from her place are visible from my porch on clear nights.
“We should finish up,” I say, falling back on professionalism like armor. “Your brother’s right about the storm.”
“Ryder’s not right about nearly as many things as he thinks he is.” She glances up, and for a moment, I see something like regret in her eyes. Then she straightens, all business. “But yes, let’s finish the inspection.”
Outside, the wind picks up, driving snow against the windows. Dark clouds roll over the peaks like waves, and my shoulder aches with remembered pain. From my position, I can just make out the path that leads to Rachel’s cabin through the thickening snow.
Stay professional. Stay distant. Stay safe.
But watching Rachel gather her things in the fading light, I’m starting to wonder if some risks might be worth taking. This feeling, this pull toward her – it’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced. And that makes it even more terrifying.
Then I remember another storm, another moment of letting my guard down, and I turn away. The river beyond the window looks too much like the ocean did that day, dark and hungry.
Some damages can’t be fixed, no matter how good you are at restoration.
But Rachel Winston makes me wish they could be.
And knowing she’s just down the path, alone in her cabin with this storm coming in, makes everything I’m trying to keep locked away that much harder to contain.
“I’ll walk you back.” The words come out before I can stop them. “The path gets tricky in snow.”
“I know the way.” But she doesn’t protest when I fall into step beside her.
The wind cuts across the clearing, sending snow swirling around us. Rachel tugs her coat closer, and I fight the urge to pull her against me, to share warmth. To feel how perfectly she’d fit there.
She moves ahead on the narrow path, and I’m suddenly very aware of how her jeans hug every curve. The way her hips sway slightly as she navigates the uneven ground. The soft bounce of her dark hair against her shoulders.
Christ. I need to get a grip.
But then she glances back at me, snowflakes catching in her lashes, and my control slips another notch. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her. Never felt this pull, this need to touch, to taste, to—
“Careful.” My hand catches her elbow as she stumbles slightly. The contact, even through layers of clothing, sends heat racing through my veins. “Ice under the snow.”
“Thanks.” Her voice is slightly breathless, though whether from the cold or my touch, I can’t tell. She doesn’t pull away immediately.
“We should get some salt down on this path,” I manage, trying to focus on anything except how soft her skin would feel under my hands.
“Add it to the list.” A smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “Along with the windows you want to replace and the walls you want to tear down.”
“I don’t want to tear everything down.”
“No?” She turns to face me fully, and suddenly we’re too close again. “What do you want, Garrett?”
You. The answer burns in my throat. On this path, in your cabin, in my bed. Against every wall we’re arguing about. I want to know if you taste as sweet as you smell, if you’d moan my name when I—
“We should get you inside.” My voice comes out rough. “Storm’s getting worse.”
Something like disappointment flickers across her face, but she nods and turns back to the path. I watch the sway of her hips as she climbs the cabin steps, imagining following her inside, pressing her against that door, sliding my hands under her sweater...
“Thanks for the escort.” She turns at her door, cheeks flushed from the wind. Or maybe something else. “Though I’m still not letting you tear down that wall.”
“We’ll see.” I take a step closer, drawn into her orbit like gravity. “You might change your mind.”
“I’m pretty stubborn.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Another step. The porch creaks under my boot. She tilts her face up, and I can see her pulse flutter at her throat. Want to trace it with my tongue.
“Garrett...” My name is barely a whisper on her lips.
The distance between us vanishes. My hand finds her waist, pulling her closer. Her breath catches. I can feel the heat of her body through her coat, smell her citrus shampoo mixed with snow and pine.
Just one taste...
Thunder cracks overhead like a warning shot. I jerk back, reality crashing in. This is exactly what I can’t do. Can’t let her get close. Can’t risk—
“I should go.” I step back, putting safe distance between us.
Her voice is steady, but I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her again. “Tomorrow.”
I force myself to turn away, to crunch back through the deepening snow. Don’t look back. Don’t think about how her body felt against mine. Don’t imagine following her inside, laying her down, showing her exactly what she does to me...
The wind howls across the ridge, carrying the scent of snow and promise. Or maybe warning. Because Rachel Winston is quickly becoming as dangerous as any storm.