Chapter 3
Jake
I 'm checking the generator when I hear the first howl of wind picking up. A new storm's rolling in faster than predicted, which means I need to get back to my place.
“Jake!” Ryder's voice carries from the main house. “Weather service just updated. Roads are closing.”
Perfect. Just perfect.
I shoulder my tool bag and head toward the house, snow already collecting on my shoulders in the short walk. Rachel meets me at the door, a particular gleam in her eye that I can tell spells trouble.
“Guess you'll have to stay for dinner,” she says, far too innocently. “Isabella's making her famous lasagna.”
Right. Dinner. With Elena .
Elena, who I definitely haven't been thinking about since this morning. Elena, whose laugh I definitely didn't hear through the window while I was fixing that damn door, making me have to redo the same hinge twice. Elena, who's standing in the kitchen doorway right now, flour on her cheek and surprise written all over her face. The cropped sweatshirt she’s wearing rides up slightly as she reaches for something on the counter, and I force my eyes away from that strip of exposed skin.
“The roads?” she asks, and I notice she's wearing tight athletic pants that leave little to the imagination. When she turns, the shape of her round ass makes my mouth water, my hands itch to reach out and touch her. I instantly get a vision of her in my bed, naked and on all fours as I take her from behind, that perfect ass bouncing with every thrust.
Focus, Foster.
“Closed.” I set my bag down, trying not to track snow across the floor. “Storm's moving in fast.”
“Oh.” There's something in her voice I can't quite read. “Well, we were just about to start on dessert. I'm attempting Rachel's grandmother's apple pie recipe.”
“Attempting being the operative word,” Rachel stage-whispers, ducking Elena's playful swat. The movement sends a wave of her floral scent in my direction, and my mouth goes dry.
I should make an excuse. Should head home to wait out the storm. But then Elena smiles, hesitant but genuine, and says, “Want to help? I could use someone tall enough to reach the cinnamon.”
And damn if my feet aren't moving before my brain can catch up.
The kitchen is warm, smelling of tomatoes and herbs from the lasagna in the oven. I reach for the spice shelf, and Elena's right there, close enough that I can feel the heat from her body. Our fingers brush when I hand her the cinnamon, and I have to clench my other hand to keep from pulling her closer.
“Oh my god.” She's staring at something behind me. “Is that a Clyde Aspevig?”
I follow her gaze to the landscape hanging on the kitchen wall. “Good eye.”
“Well, I should hope so, considering I sold three of his pieces last month.” Her eyes sparkle with professional pride. “The London gallery's been trying to poach his newest collection from me, but-” She stops, studying my face. “You know Aspevig's work?”
“I’m a fan of it. Gave that one to Ryder when he closed on this place.” I shrug, but she's looking at me differently now. “His use of light, the way he captures the Montana wilderness... seemed right for this place.”
“A fan?” She turns fully toward me now, pie forgotten. The movement brings her even closer, and I catch myself staring at the way her throat moves when she swallows. “Just how much do you know about Western art?”
I could deflect. Should deflect. But there's genuine interest in her eyes, no trace of teasing.
“Enough to know that's not his best piece,” I admit. “But his stuff from the Bears Paw Mountains series? That captures something real. Something true about this place.”
“The way the light hits the prairie grass,” she says softly, and something in my chest shifts. “Like it's telling a story.”
“Exactly.” Our eyes meet, and for a moment I forget about the storm, about all the reasons I should keep my distance. About everything except the way her lips part slightly as she looks up at me. “Your gallery - it specializes in Western art?”
“Among other things.” A small smile plays on her lips. “Everyone thought I was crazy to focus on it, but-”
“Sometimes you have to follow your own path,” I finish, and her eyes widen slightly.
The timer dings, breaking whatever spell we've fallen under. Elena turns back to the pie, but I notice her glancing at me as we work, like she's trying to solve a puzzle. A faint blush colors her cheeks when our hands brush again, and it takes everything in me not to trace it with my fingers.
Rachel appears in the doorway, taking in the scene with poorly concealed delight. “Dinner's ready whenever you two are done... discussing art .”
Elena's blush deepens, and something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest.
Rachel's knowing smirk follows us to the dining room, where Isabella's already setting out steaming plates of lasagna. The rich aroma of garlic bread and melted cheese fills the air, but all I can focus on is Elena sliding into the seat next to me, her thigh brushing mine under the table. Neither of us moves.
“So Ryder,” Isabella says, passing the salad, “still surviving on protein bars and coffee when Rachel isn't here forcing you to eat real food?”
Ryder looks up. “I cook.”
“Heating up frozen pizza doesn't count as cooking,” Rachel counters.
“Says the woman who once set cereal on fire,” Ryder mutters into his wine glass.
“That was one time,” Rachel protests. “And I was twelve.”
“How do you set cereal on fire?” Elena asks, laughter in her voice. The sound does things to my pulse rate.
“Don't encourage them,” Isabella warns, but she's grinning. “Once these two start with the childhood stories, we'll be here all night.”
“Better than listening to Ryder complain about his dating app disasters,” Rachel says.
“Hey, you try finding someone normal in a fifty-mile radius,” Ryder defends. “Last month, I matched with a woman whose profile picture was her standing next to a taxidermied bear. Wearing matching outfits.”
Elena's shoulder shakes with laughter against mine. “Please tell me you swiped left.”
“Actually...” Ryder takes a long sip of wine.
“No,” Rachel gasps. “You didn't.”
“I was curious!”
“Well?” Isabella leans forward. “Don't leave us hanging. What happened with Bear Girl?”
“She wanted our first date to be at the taxidermy shop,” Ryder says glumly. “Apparently she had another project in mind.”
Elena's laughter vibrates through the points where we're connected, her thigh warm against mine. I shift slightly in my chair and our knees touch, sending a spark of heat pulsing through my body.
“This is why you need to let me set you up,” Rachel insists. “Remember that nice dental hygienist I told you about?”
“The one obsessed with flossing? No thanks. I'm not looking to get lectured about my gum health over dinner.”
“Better than stuffing dead animals,” Isabella points out.
The conversation flows easily, but I'm hyperaware of every small movement beside me. Elena reaches for her water and her arm brushes mine. She laughs at another of Ryder's dating mishaps and I feel it vibrate through the points where we connect.
“Jake's been holding out on us,” Elena says during a lull. “Did you know he's practically an art expert?”
“Oh really?” Rachel's eyebrows shoot up.
“Hardly,” I mutter, but Elena's already talking about our earlier conversation.
“And he just casually mentions the Bears Paw series like it's common knowledge. Most people who come into my gallery wouldn't know Aspevig from a hotel lobby print.”
“Most people who come into your gallery are probably trying to match their couches,” I point out, and her surprised laugh makes something warm settle in my chest.
“God, yes. Do you know how many times I've had to explain that art isn't meant to coordinate with throw pillows?”
“Probably as often as I have to explain that custom metalwork isn't the same as what you'd find at Home Depot.”
She turns to face me fully, animation lighting her features. “Yes! Just last week, this client-”
A massive crack of thunder cuts her off, making everyone jump. The lights flicker ominously.
“Wow. Thundersnow. Maybe we should move this to the living room,” Rachel suggests. “We've got candles, just in case.”
As if on cue, the power goes out.
“You had to say it,” Ryder sighs in the darkness.
I feel Elena tense beside me, her thigh pressing harder against mine. Before I can think better of it, my hand finds hers under the table and squeezes once, reassuring. She doesn't pull away.
“Don't move,” Rachel's voice comes from the darkness. “I know exactly where the flashlights are.”
“That would be more convincing if you hadn't just knocked something over,” Isabella points out.
“That was my brother.”
“Was not,” Ryder protests.
“Was too. I recognize the sound of you stumbling into furniture. It's basically the soundtrack of your life.”
Elena's quiet laugh brushes against my ear, sending heat down my spine. She's turned toward me in the dark, close enough that I can feel her breath on my neck.
“They're always like this?” she whispers.
“Worse, usually.” I lean in to whisper back, my lips nearly grazing her ear. “You should hear them during the holidays.”
She shivers, and I know it's not from the cold.
The beam of a flashlight suddenly cuts through the darkness. “Found them!” Rachel announces triumphantly. “Now, who's ready for dessert?”
“In the dark?” Ryder asks skeptically.
“What, you need light to find your mouth now?” Rachel teases.
“Children,” Isabella says firmly, but I can hear the laugh in her voice. “Living room. Now. Before someone breaks something expensive.”
As we stand to follow the bobbing flashlight beam, Elena's hand slips from mine. The loss of contact is immediate and unsettling. But then she stumbles slightly in the dark, and my hands find her waist to steady her, pulling her back against my chest.
“Thanks,” she breathes, and neither of us moves for a long moment. I can feel the curve of her ass against me as I hold both hands on her hips. It’s all I can do not to bend down and run my nose behind her ear, inhaling her scent.
“Coming?” Rachel calls from the doorway, and I swear I can hear her grinning.
Elena steps away first, but as we make our way to the living room, I can still feel the phantom warmth of her against my palms.
∞∞∞
Hours later, as I settle into bed in the guest cabin, the image of Elena in bed with me consumes my thoughts as another sleepless night stretches before me. My body aches for rest, but my mind won't shut off - too full of Elena. The way she smiled when she saw me at the barn. How her eyes lit up talking about the Aspevig piece. The curve of her ass as she bent over the counter.
I shift restlessly, sheets tangling around my waist. Need burns through my veins when I think about her, but it's more than just physical desire. She brings light into every room she enters. Makes me want things I have no business wanting.
My hand drifts to the scar on my chest - a souvenir from Afghanistan that still pulls tight some mornings. Last night's terror jolts through my memory: the crash of helicopter blades, screaming metal, my hands covered in blood that wasn't mine. I'd woken up drenched in sweat, sheets torn.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to erase the image of Elena in my bed. Her curves under my sheets, skin glowing in the moonlight.
“Get it together, Foster,” I mutter to the empty room. But I can't stop thinking about how perfectly she'd fit in my arms. How right she'd look wearing one of my shirts in the morning, making coffee in my kitchen. How much I want to wake up to her smile.
Rolling out of bed, I grab my boots. Maybe a few hours of fence mending will quiet these thoughts. The night air hits my face as I step onto the porch, but it does nothing to cool the want burning in my chest. Stars wheel overhead, indifferent to my internal battle. Somewhere in the main house, Elena's probably sleeping peacefully, unaware of how completely she's invaded my thoughts.
Better she stays unaware. Better she never knows how much I want her.
Because no matter how perfect she feels, no matter how right we seem together, I know there’s no way she’d want a life with me here. Not in this wild place, so completely foreign from her world in the big city.