Winter Beginnings (Seasons in Montana: Winter)

Chapter Six

Cass

I stood under the hot spray of my shower, palms pressed against the slick tiles, steam swirling around my head. In the past few days, I’d hauled more broken wardrobes and crumbling dressers than I cared to count, but I still had energy to burn. Tonight, Rory was cooking me dinner—pasta, she’d said, her mother’s Italian recipe. And while I was determined not to read too much into it, I couldn’t ignore the way my heart thumped at the prospect of a home-cooked meal in her half-renovated Victorian. Focus, man, I told myself, forcing the tension from my shoulders. Go at her pace. Don’t push.

I reached for my razor. Normally, I sported a bit of scruff, but tonight I shaved it all off, figuring maybe she’d like me freshly shaven. It felt silly, worrying about something that small, but the memory of her near-kiss haunted me—those parted lips, how I’d wanted to close the gap. If I was going to see her in a less dusty, more intimate setting, I wanted to look my best. After rinsing away the last of the foam, I patted on an aftershave I rarely used, inhaling the woodsy, citrus undertone. Hope she likes the scent, I thought, toweling off. Also hope I don’t come off as too eager.

Pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a dark sweater, I tried to keep my thoughts calm: She just wants to say thank you. She’s had a rough time, new to Montana, building the inn from scratch. She needs friends. But I couldn’t help the swirl of anticipation in my gut—like tonight might break open the tension that had pulsed between us ever since we rescued Bramble. Shaking my head at my reflection in the mirror, I muttered, “Stay cool, Cass. Go slow.”

A few minutes later, I hopped into my truck, steering toward Wintervale’s lone wine shop on Main Street. The bell chimed softly as I entered the cozy store, shelves lined with more bottles than I’d realized existed. Usually I picked up whatever was on sale at the chain grocery. A friendly older man with wire-rim glasses glanced up from behind the counter. I cleared my throat, scanning the labels. “Any recommendations for an Italian pasta night?” I asked, feeling clueless.

He beamed, adjusting his glasses. “Depends on the sauce. Tomato-based?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” I admitted.

He nodded sagely and handed me two bottles with Italian-sounding names. One boasted a sleek black label, the other a rustic vineyard design. “Here you go, son. You can’t go wrong with either of these. Trust me.”

I glanced at the prices, wincing at how high they were, but tonight felt special enough to splurge. “I’ll take both,” I said, ignoring the sting to my wallet. Better safe than sorry.

Bag of wine in hand, I returned to my truck, exhaling a slow breath. I was overthinking everything. But maybe that was okay. I wanted to do right by Rory. She deserved something special. Guilt flickered in my chest. If she knew the truth…but no, I thought, starting the engine. Focus on dinner. One step at a time.

By the time I drove up to the mansion, dusk had begun its lazy descent. The old Victorian silhouette rose against the winter sky, lights glowing in a few windows thanks to the generator. Warmth tugged at my chest, a sense of odd familiarity—like I belonged here, even though I’d told myself I never wanted to claim this property.

I parked in the gravel driveway, hopped out, and took the wine with me. The moment I opened the front door, the rich aroma of simmering tomato sauce hit me, making my stomach rumble. God, that smells amazing.

“Hello?” I called, stepping inside. No reply came, but I heard clattering pots from the kitchen. Before I could move further, a small black blur raced across the foyer—Bramble, sporting a chew toy in his mouth. Laughing, I bent to ruffle his scruffy ears. “Hey, buddy. Ready to charm your future guests, huh?” I swore the dog recognized me, tail swishing as he rubbed against my ankle. He’ll make the perfect inn mascot, I thought, heart warming. If anyone visited, they’d instantly fall in love with this friendly pup.

Treading carefully to avoid accidentally stepping on his tail, I made my way to the kitchen. Rory stood at the counter, finishing a light toss of pasta with sauce. She wore black leggings that hugged her curves, and a low-cut sweater showcasing a slight glimpse of cream-colored cleavage. A tingle ran through me at how breathtaking she looked—soft brown hair cascading down her back in gentle waves, a faint flush in her cheeks from the heat of the stove. Damn. My body reacted instantly, a wave of desire coiling in my gut. I recalled it’d been a long while since I’d been with a woman, and even longer since I’d felt this level of attraction. But Rory was more than just physically alluring—she made me feel seen, and I couldn’t help but want to be around her as much as possible, no matter what we were doing. Easy, man, keep it together.

“Hi,” I managed, hefting the wine bag. “I, uh…picked up two bottles. Wasn’t sure which would be better.”

Her mouth curved into a smile that made my pulse climb. “We can try both,” she teased, eyes flicking over me. Then her gaze landed on my clean-shaven face, lingering on my jaw. Heat flared in me when she exhaled a small, appreciative hum. She likes it, I realized, relief surging.

“That sauce smells incredible,” I said, stepping closer. The closeness let me catch a whiff of her own subtle perfume—fresh and floral. Focus, Cass.

“Thanks. We’re nearly ready.” She grabbed a salad bowl from the counter. “Mind helping with the veggies? I’ve got lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers…just need them chopped.”

“Sure,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. “Let me see those knives.”

We worked side by side, that insane chemistry between us thrumming beneath the surface. She whisked a dressing—olive oil, lemon juice, various herbs I couldn’t name—and passed it for me to toss. The synergy felt almost domestic, as if we’d done this many times before. A pang of longing struck me. I never pictured myself wanting domestic closeness—but with her…

She turned off the burner under a pot of rolls, the kitchen filling with that yeasty, buttery smell. Then she drained the pasta into a serving bowl, swirling the sauce expertly. My stomach growled.

“Hungry?” Rory questioned laughingly.

“Starving,” I admitted with a faint laugh. “I might eat half of that by myself.”

She shot me a playful grin. “Don’t worry, I made plenty.”

We carried the food and wine to the large oak table in the dining room. A single overhead light provided a warm glow, highlighting only the mouthwatering meal—spaghetti tangled in thick red sauce sprinkled with flecks of basil, golden dinner rolls in a basket, and the bright green salad. My heart glowed at the effort Rory obviously put into making everything.

When I poured the first glass of wine, the aroma opened up with fruity, earthy notes. The first sip verified that the wine steward at the shop had known what he was doing.

“Wow,” I murmured after my inaugural bite of pasta. The tangy tomato sauce clung perfectly to the noodles, a lush swirl of garlic, basil, and onion bursting on my tongue. “This might be the best Italian I’ve had in forever.”

Rory’s cheeks pinked with pride. “Glad you like it. My mother used to say the secret’s in the simmer—never rush the sauce.”

We dug in wholeheartedly. The wine complemented every savory mouthful, and the tension from the day’s heavy lifting fell away. As the minutes passed, we relaxed more, sharing bits of conversation about tile colors, Bramble’s antics, and which salvage yards might have decent Victorian fixtures. She joked about the day she found Bramble outside, how he’d wormed his way into her heart as quickly as he did into mine.

Her laughter sent a pleasant buzz through me, as did the second glass of wine. I’m seeing her loosen up, I realized happily, recalling how guarded she’d been earlier. Now, the sparkle in her eyes lit the dim corners of the kitchen.

After we finished, I insisted on helping her wash up. We teamed up at the sink, passing plates back and forth under the tepid water. My arm occasionally brushed hers, every subtle contact stirring awareness in my chest. If either of us felt awkward about our near-intimate tension, we didn’t show it.

Dishes done, Rory grabbed the half-finished wine bottle and pointed to the living room, where the logs I’d brought in earlier lay waiting. “Let’s move this party by the fireplace,” she suggested, smiling.

Carrying our refilled glasses, I followed her out. The old living room, though still needing quite a bit of work, possessed a certain charm. I set our glasses on the coffee table and stooped to arrange kindling, striking a match until the flames caught. Over my shoulder, I sensed Rory watching me. My chest tightened, craving an excuse to close the distance between us.

When the fire roared, I turned to find found her seated on the couch, a blanket draped over her legs. She’d kicked off her shoes, toes curling in the soft fold of the couch cushion. I crossed over to join her.

We settled side by side, the wine bottle within reach on a small side table. Bramble snoozed in his bed near the hearth, lulled by the crackling fire. The low light cast dancing shadows across Rory’s features, making her look even more beautiful.

“So,” I ventured, swirling my glass. “I know you said you were ready for a change after your last relationship ended, but… how exactly did you end up buying this huge Victorian in Montana, coming all the way from Florida?”

She sighed, gaze drifting to the fire. “It’s a long story, but you deserve to hear it.” Setting her glass aside, she folded her hands in her lap. “Back in Miami, I was a realtor with my ex, Julian. We were partners in business…and I thought, in life.”

My chest constricted. I recalled the glimpses of her past she’d already shared with me, but I was curious to learn the full story. I listened intently as she recounted the whirlwind of closings, late work nights, and eventually stumbling upon the legal document that signaled Julian’s planned to buy her out—behind her back. Then her gut-punch realization that he was sleeping with a client.

Rory’s voice quavered slightly. “I found them in bed. I’d had no clue. After that, I was done, left the condo, spent the holidays alone. Bailey, my best friend, told me about this place when she was here representing Edna Twinkleberry in the dispute over the property. When Edna and the other party dropped their claims, Bailey suggested that I buy the estate using the money I’d received from Julian. What she said made sense, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a fresh start, so… here I am.”

Anger flared in me on her behalf. “I’m so sorry your ex did that to you, Rory.”

She smiled stiffly. “It’s over now. I just…I guess I still have trust issues. Hard not to, after that blindside.”

My gut knotted with guilt. She had every right to be wary. You’re a hypocrite , a voice scolded me. But I forced it aside for tonight. “I get it. I’d be cautious too.”

She exhaled, posture easing a fraction. “Thanks for listening.”

The conversation lulled. My eyes locked on hers, seeing a shimmer of unshed emotion. She swallowed, glancing at the quiet dog, then back at me. Something electric flickered in the space between us. I set my wineglass down, and she did the same. In the hush of the old living room, with the fire crackling and the soft light dancing over her features, the tension that had simmered for weeks rose like a tide.

Her breath hitched softly. I edged closer on the couch, the blanket rustling around us. She didn’t pull back. The look in her eyes tipped my balance. Gently, I cupped her cheek, skin warm beneath my palm. We hovered, the barest breath apart, and then, with a shared exhale, we collided—lips meeting in a slow, tentative kiss.

A low groan escaped me at the first taste of her, sweet and lightly spiced from the wine. Her lips parted, welcoming me deeper, setting my veins on fire. I poured weeks of pent-up longing into the kiss, half afraid she’d vanish if I hesitated. She responded with a needy whimper, clutching my shoulders, pulling me closer against her body.

Time hazed. We explored each other with careful fervor—my hand sliding to her waist, feeling the soft curve beneath her sweater. Her fingers tangled in my hair, urging me on, each tilt of her head granting me new angles to explore. My senses reeled at the press of her chest, the hammer of her heart against mine. It felt like eons since I’d been with a woman, and I was hungrier for the one in my arms than I’d ever been.

We broke for air, chests heaving. Her eyes were half-lidded with desire. My pulse hammered in my ears, lust swirling with emotion. “Rory,” I breathed, my voice husky. She answered by catching my mouth again, this time with a more insistent hunger. Everything about her—her warmth, the scent of her hair, the slight moan in the back of her throat—coaxed me further. The blanket fell aside, revealing her leggings hugging those hips I’d been noticing for days.

She tugged me down, shifting so we both reclined on the couch’s worn cushions. I settled half on top of her, bracing my weight so I wouldn’t crush her. But God, the feel of her body beneath mine, the friction of her legs tangling with mine, left my head spinning. My fingers slipped under her sweater, teasing the soft skin of her waist. She gasped, arching up, the swell of her breasts pressing against me.

Every nerve sang, desperate to get closer, to feel more of her. We kissed deeper, tongues meeting in a slow, heady dance. My free hand roamed over her thigh, the black fabric of her leggings smooth beneath my fingertips. She trembled, nails lightly scraping my shoulders as she encouraged me on. Each gasping breath mingled with the crackle of fire. I wanted her—more fiercely than anything in years. But a flicker of caution tugged at me. Is she sure? Are we ready for this? Gently, I pulled back enough to search her face. Her gaze burned with raw need, no hint of doubt there. “Yes,” she whispered, as if reading my thoughts. “I want this. I want you.”

That simple confession annihilated my last restraint. I kissed her again, deeper, letting my hand slip under the hem of her sweater, grazing upward until I felt the edge of her bra. She moaned into my mouth, shifting so I could peel the sweater off. My breath stuttered at the sight of her, the bra lacy and black, accentuating her curves. Hell, she’s stunning.

My kisses traced down her neck, nibbling the tender space beneath her jaw, relishing her gasps. She tugged my shirt off too, hands roaming my chest. I nearly lost it when her nails raked gently over my skin, each scrape igniting new sparks. My body burned with need, every muscle taut. We fumbled, pressed together on the narrow couch, but it wasn’t enough space.

“Bedroom,” she panted, tugging me up. I nodded, scooping her into my arms, blanket trailing behind. Bramble let out a drowsy huff but didn’t stir from his bed. Together, we made our way upstairs, stumbling with laughter and clumsy urgency, lips never fully parting.

In her bedroom we sank onto the bed. Shadows flickered, cast by the single lamp she’d left on. The moment our bodies met the mattress, everything turned more fevered, hands roaming hungrily, exploring undiscovered territory. She wriggled free of her leggings, and I shed my jeans, hearts hammering in tandem.

We came together in a rush, skin against skin, limbs tangling in white sheets. Her warmth enveloped me, every nerve hypersensitive. Our mouths crashed, breath ragged, as I trailed kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, lingering at the swell of her breasts. Her head fell back, a low moan vibrating in her throat.

I eased down her bra strap, tasting the newly exposed skin. She whispered my name, the sound fueling my desire. My hand slid along her torso, caressing the curve of her hip, marveling at her softness. I wanted to memorize every inch, carve each gasp and quiver into my mind. She pulled me closer, nails raking my back as she sought relief for her own yearning.

Time blurred as we lost ourselves in each other’s touch—savoring the slow, hypnotic dance of exploration, her fingers tangling in my hair, my lips pressed against every inch of her I could reach. When finally our bodies fused, she cried out softly, head tipping back in surrender. I groaned, feeling the world narrow to just us, the bed’s faint creaks, and the urgent rhythm guiding our movements.

We set a languid, unhurried pace at first, letting the tension coil sweetly. Her legs wrapped around me, urging me deeper, her breath stuttering in my ear. I murmured soothing words, unable to articulate how overwhelmed I felt by her acceptance, her trust in me, even as guilt prodded my chest about the truth I still hid. But for that moment, pleasure and closeness overshadowed regret.

Her hands pressed into my shoulders, nails digging slightly. We found a rhythm that left us gasping, sweat beading on our skin. My senses drowned in the taste of her, the smell of her, the heat of her body clenched around mine.

A crescendo built. My heart pounded, ears ringing. She arched beneath me, eyes fluttering shut as her release took over, a broken moan hitching in her throat. The sight alone triggered my own climax, my mind whiting out with euphoria. I clutched her close, feeling every muscle shudder, waves of ecstasy pulsing through me until we both collapsed, panting.

We lay there, hearts hammering, limbs entangled. Slowly, the world returned—her breath brushing my cheek, the faint glow of the bedside lamp flickering across her sweaty brow. My chest felt oddly full. I brushed a lock of hair off her face, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. She met my gaze, eyes soft, before letting them flutter gently closed.

I rose to flick off the lamp, returning to her side. She murmured a soft sigh, curling against me under the heavy blankets. I stroked her shoulder, trying not to think about the morning. I shouldn’t have done this without telling her who I really am. But it was too late, and she seemed content for the night. Slowly, I allowed myself to join her in drifting off to sleep.

Dawn light seeped through the curtains, stirring me awake. Rory still dozed, hair fanned across the pillow. My chest clenched at how peacefully she rested. I brushed a kiss on her temple before sliding out of bed, tugging on my boxers and shirt. Guilt gnawed at my insides. I need to tell her. I can’t keep lying.

As if sensing my turmoil, she stirred, blinking awake. A smile curved her lips. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I murmured, forcing a half-smile in return. My conscience roared. Do it. “Listen, Rory, I…We need to talk.”

Her smile wavered. She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “What’s wrong?”

Heart pounding, I sank onto the edge of the bed. “I…there’s something about me you don’t know. I’ve been avoiding it, but you deserve honesty.”

Worry flickered across her features. “What do you mean?”

I inhaled, arms tensing. “I’m adopted…kind of like Bramble.” My attempt at lightening the mood fell flat, as she just stared at me, waiting for me to get to the punch line. I swallowed heavily before continuing. “My folks couldn’t have kids of their own, but they gave me a loving home. They worked blue-collar jobs, never had much money, but gave me everything that mattered.”

She watched me warily. “That’s not a bad thing, Cass.”

I swallowed. “Right, it’s not. But the thing is…my biological father was Cyrus Barrington. A 23andMe test matched me to him a few years back. I moved to Wintervale to confront him, but I never got the nerve before he died.”

Shock blanched her face. “You’re…Cyrus’s son? His heir?”

“Biologically, yes,” I said, chest tight. “My parents were told by the adoption facilitator that my birth mother was pregnant with me and in her third trimester when a car accident took her life. The doctors were able to save me, but the agency said that no one came forward to claim me, so that was how I was put into the system and later adopted. I discovered, through the DNA test, that my biological father was Cyrus Barrington. Obviously, he never wanted anything to do with me. I didn’t claim the property or anything. I let it go to foreclosure, then Edna and Theodore fought over it, and eventually it landed in your hands.”

Rory’s eyes blazed with confusion and a hint of anger. “So you’ve known all this time about your connection here yet took the contracting job anyway?”

Cheeks burning, I nodded. “I was curious, okay? About the man who didn’t want me. I wanted to see the house he’d let decay. But I kept quiet because I don’t want to be linked to the Barrington name. Besides, what would a bachelor like me do with a huge Victorian mansion?”

She reeled, hugging the blanket closer, betrayal flickering in her gaze. “You slept with me last night,” she said, voice trembling, “knowing this secret. You couldn’t tell me first? You didn’t trust me not to spill it?”

My gut twisted. “I wanted to tell you—I was going to, but everything happened so fast. I worried you’d see me differently.”

“Of course I see you differently,” she snapped, tears pricking her eyes. “Why hide something so huge? I would’ve kept your confidence if that’s what you wanted.”

I raked a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. I messed up. I wanted you…us…without the shadow of Cyrus in the way.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, jaw tight. “And now? Now it’s all in the way. Leave. I need time to think, Cass.”

Nodding miserably, I dressed in silence, pulling on my jeans. Guilt wracked me. I should’ve told her before we made love. When I dared meet her gaze, heartbreak mingled with anger. I stepped toward her, but she turned her face away, tears threatening. My chest ached as I recognized how badly I might have wrecked this.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice breaking. She said nothing, staring at the wall. With a final, heavy sigh, I slipped out, snatching my coat from the floor.

Descending the stairs, each step felt like a hammer blow. Bramble watched from the foyer, tail wagging uncertainly, but I couldn’t muster a smile. I’ve ruined everything. I opened the door, letting icy air blast my face, then trudged to my truck.

Driving away, shame consumed me. The mansion shrank in my rearview mirror, leaving me with a hollow sense of loss. I’d found something real with Rory, but I’d let the shame of who I was overshadow it. Now, I had no idea if I’d ever win back her trust.