Chapter 2
HARLON
Two goddamn years.
Two years of keeping my distance, of carefully maintained coldness…pretending I didn't notice the way she smiled, or how she fit seamlessly into my family, or the sweet fucking curve of her ass in those jeans that tormented me every second I was around her.
Two years of lying to myself.
And now here she is, curled up on that tiny couch in oversized sweats that should look ridiculous, but somehow don't, firelight catching the auburn in her dark hair, those big brown innocent eyes watching me like I'm a bomb about to go off.
Which isn’t wrong.
I could kill Sadie for lying to me, saying Piper wasn’t going to make it for Christmas this year.
She blows out a breath. “So we're stuck here. Together.”
The way she says it—like it's a prison sentence—stings.
I turn back to the fire, needing to look away from her for a second.
Hold it together, Ranger Giles.
I'm soaked through, snow melting off me in puddles on the worn floorboards. My fingers are going numb, that prickly sensation that means frostbite isn't far off.
I should change. But changing means stripping down to nothing while she's right there, five feet away, and I'm not sure I trust myself with that level of nudity around her.
So instead I start checking supplies.
The wood stack is decent, enough for maybe three days if we're careful. In the kitchen cabinets—canned goods, instant coffee, basics. Water jugs under the sink.
"You're dripping everywhere," she says.
"I'm aware."
"Your lips are turning blue."
Why the hell is she looking at my lips?
"You're literally about to get hypothermia." She stands up, and the quilt falls away. Those enormous sweats hang off her hips, the T-shirt swallowing her whole. "Change. Now."
I shoot her a look. "Who made you boss?"
“I’m being practical.” She plants her hands on her hips, and Christ, even when she's trying to be authoritative, all I can see is how young she is, how small…a little ball of fire. "You'll be useless if you freeze to death, and I'm not hauling your gigantic frozen corpse anywhere."
My mouth twitches. “Gigantic?”
"You're like six-four and built like a—" She waves a hand. “A lumberjack or something. So yes, gigantic.”
"Six-five," I correct, just to be an ass.
She rolls her eyes. “Ex-cuse me.” She points at the dresser. "There's more clothes in there. Change before I have to explain to Sadie why I let her brother die of stubbornness."
The mention of my sister cuts through the tension.
Right. Sadie…the sneaky devil.
It’s funny, Dad spent thirty years on Denver PD before he retired, and somehow all four of his kids ended up in some version of law enforcement—me as the oldest, a park ranger; Kade next, a cop in a small Colorado town; Jayce after him, following Dad's footsteps at Denver PD before heading to Quantico; and Sadie…the baby, following me into the ranger service. But between us all, Sadie’s always been more observant than anyone else in my family.
She was the one constantly trying to get me to give Piper a chance. “She's really sweet and smart, Harlon,” she’d said to me. “You’d like her if you got to know her.”
But I already knew that.
That was the problem.
I liked her too much.
"Fine." I move to the dresser, pulling out thermal underwear, thick socks, sweatpants that'll probably be too short on me. Everything’s too short on me. "Unless you want a show, turn around."
For a second, I think she's going to argue. But then that flush creeps up her neck—the one I definitely shouldn't be noticing—and she spins to face the wall, making a production of studying the ancient wood paneling.
“Wouldn't want to look, anyway,” she announces.
I snort, peeling off my wet shirt. The thermal layer underneath is soaked too, clinging to my skin. "Sure."
"I mean it. You're the last person I'd want to see…naked."
"Feeling's mutual." The lie tastes bitter.
I strip off the thermal, goosebumps breaking out across my arms and chest. My hands are still numb, making the buttons on my jeans a challenge. But I’ll tear my fingers off before asking for help with that.
The silence stretches, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the howl of wind outside.
Then I catch the subtle turn of her head.
"You're looking."
She whips back to the wall so fast I almost laugh. "Am not."
"I can feel your eyes, Piper."
"That's called paranoia. And ego. Mostly ego."
I shove down the wet jeans, standing there in just my boxers. The cold is starting to hurt now, that deep ache in my bones.
I grab the thermal underwear, yanking it on once I get the boxers off. Then I pull on the sweatpants—which are too short, as predicted—and a long-sleeved flannel. When I turn around, she's still facing the wall, her shoulders tight.
"Okay," I say, moving to hang my wet clothes near the fire. My hands are still shaking, but at least I can feel them again.
She turns, and her eyes do a quick scan before meeting mine.
We stare at each other for a beat too long, and I'm the first to break. "We should eat.”
"Right," she mutters, and follows me to the kitchen area.
The kitchen area is roughly six square feet of space with a small counter, a two-burner camp stove (without any fuel), and a sink that probably doesn't have running water. We're going to have to heat water over the fire for everything.
"Chicken noodle or tomato?" I ask, rummaging through the cans.
"Chicken noodle." She's standing right behind me, close enough that I’m woefully aware of her. "I'll heat the water."
She reaches past me for the kettle, and her hand brushes my arm. It's nothing, barely contact. But my entire nervous system lights up like she touched me with a live wire.
I step aside fast, grabbing the can opener. "I got it."
"I can help—"
"I said I got it." The words come out sharp.
She goes still. When I glance over, her jaw is tight, eyes swirling with something that might be anger or hurt or both. "Fine. I'll just...sit here. Like a useless lump."
Shit.
She crosses her arms, and I try—really try—not to notice how the movement pushes up her full breasts against that T-shirt. "God forbid I try to be helpful. Might contaminate something."
"Piper—"
She moves past me, shoulder bumping mine, and grabs the kettle herself. "I'll heat the water. You open the can. Then we'll maintain our separate corners like good little enemies."
She fills the kettle from one of the water jugs and carries it to the fireplace, kneeling down to position it on the grate. The firelight catches her profile, all pouty lips and defiant eyes.
The camping trip two summers ago pops into my head…Piper in that sea green sundress, laughing at something Dad said while they set up the picnic table. The sun turned her hair copper and gold.
Jayce had his arm around her waist, proprietary and casual, and I had to get out of there. I made up some excuse about checking the perimeter of our campsite for trash that could attract bears, then spent an hour walking the trails trying to get my head straight.
Or that Christmas dinner…the first one after they'd been dating six months.
She'd helped Mom in the kitchen, completely at home, chatting about family recipes and asking questions about Grandpop's traditions.
When she giggled at one of Jayce's jokes, and kissed him on the neck, I'd gripped my wine glass so hard it shattered in my hand.
Cut my palm right open. I had to pretend it was an accident.
After that, I stopped even trying to pretend. I started being cold on purpose. Because cold was safer than the alternative.
I open the soup and pour it into a battered pot.
"Here." Her voice pulls me back. “Let’s trade.” She's holding out the kettle. “It’s already hot. I’d made coffee with it before you got here.”
I take it, careful not to let our fingers touch, then give her the soup pot.
As she heats the soup, I find bowls and spoons.
We eat sitting on opposite ends of the couch. The soup is bland, but warm, and I force myself to focus on that instead of the way she chews on her bottom lip between bites. She's always done that when she's nervous or thinking.
And I shouldn't know that about my younger brother’s ex-girlfriend.
"This is fun," she says, licking the spoon.
It’s torture. "Loads."
"Maybe we should play a game. Twenty questions. Truth or dare. Staring contests."
"Pass."
"Come on, Harlon." She takes a sip of soup, eyes never leaving mine. "We're stuck here for at least what, twelve hours? Maybe longer. We could try being civil."
"I am civil."
"You're tolerable at best."
The wind hits the cabin again, harder this time, and Piper flinches.
"How bad is it supposed to get?" she asks.
"Bad." I set my empty bowl aside. "We'll be well below zero by morning."
"Great." She hugs herself, and I can see her stiff nipples through her shirt.
Fuck me.
I can also see the worry in her eyes. She's trying to be brave, but she's scared. And that does something to me.
"We'll be fine," I say, trying to keep my voice soft. "This cabin's solid. We have supplies. Fire. We just need to stay warm."
She looks at the fire, then back at me. "How warm are we talking?"
I almost smile. "I'll keep the fire going through the night. We have blankets. Layers."
What I don't say is that we might need even more than that.
The afternoon bleeds into evening as we prepare.
I ration out the firewood, calculating how long it needs to last. Piper finds more candles, arranges them around the cabin like she's creating some kind of ritual circle.
We work in careful synchronization, always aware of where the other is, never quite touching but never truly apart either.
"It's getting really cold," she says, rubbing her arms. "Even with the fire."
She's right. I can see our breath now, faint clouds in the candlelit cabin. The temperature is dropping faster than I'd hoped.
I find more quilts in a chest near the wall and toss her one. "Wrap this one around you," I say.
But she's still shivering, I can see it in the way her hands shake as she starts pulling at the couch cushions. “I knew this had to be a pull-out bed.”
My stomach drops.
The cushions come away easily, revealing the folded mattress underneath.
We both stare at it like it might sprout teeth.
She's biting her lip again, hard enough that I'm worried she'll draw blood.
We're not saying it. Neither of us is saying what we both know—that with temperatures this low, the thin mattress and those quilts might not be enough. That we might need more than layers and fire.
That we might need each other.
She looks at me, and there's something fierce in her eyes. "We're adults. We can share a bed without it being weird."
Except it is weird. And even as a park ranger, it's the most dangerous situation I've been in. Tracking mountain lions and surviving avalanches have nothing on this.
Sharing a bed with Piper Cross means touching. It means feeling her hot body and soft curves pressed against me all night, testing every ounce of self-control I've built up over time.
But she's right about the cold. And my pride isn't worth risking her safety.
“Okay,” I say roughly.
We pull out the bed together, the ancient springs creaking in protest. The mattress is very thin, worn, and barely big enough for one person let alone two.
Especially when one of those people is me.
This is going to be a nightmare.
We pile every quilt we can find onto the bed, creating layers of insulation. I add more wood to the fire, banking it carefully to burn slow and steady. With the fire and all the candles, the cabin almost looks cozy.
If you ignore the tension so thick I could choke on it.
We move to opposite sides of the bed, neither of us quite willing to commit. Outside, the storm is battering the cabin with relentless fury. Inside, the fire crackles and pops, casting dark shadows on the walls.
I sit down first, my weight making the rusty springs groan. Piper hesitates, then sits on her side, leaving as much space as possible between us. Which isn't much. The mattress dips toward the center, gravity trying to pull us together.
We both notice.
And both shift to compensate.
She pulls the quilts up, burrowing into them like she's trying to disappear. I can see the top of her head, that dark hair spilling out across the pillow.
She's close enough that I could easily touch her. It’s bad enough I can smell her jasmine scented lotion.
Every breath is an exercise in restraint.
I lie back, staring at the ceiling, noticing every sound…
The rustle of quilts as she shifts.
Her breathing going slightly uneven.
The way the mattress moves when she adjusts her position.
We're both lying rigid, careful not to accidentally brush against one another. But I can feel her heat radiating across the inches between us and the awareness thrumming through my veins.
I close my eyes, fists clenched at my sides. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to pull her close, to wrap myself around her and share my heat until she stops shaking…to do what needs to be done for survival.
But I can't. Because if I touch her, if I feel her body against mine, I don't know if I'll be able to stop from doing all the things I’ve wanted to do to her.
Two years of denial could shatter like that wine glass in my hand.
She's Jayce's ex.
She's twenty years younger than me.
She's off limits.
But she's also right here…cold and shivering.
The thought sends something hot and possessive through me, and I have to shove it down hard.
This is going to be the longest night of my life.
It's only going to get colder. And eventually, whether I want to or not, we're going to have to make a choice.
Stay apart and freeze. Or come together and survive.
I already know which one it's going to be. I've known since the moment I walked through that door and saw her sitting by the fire.
I just don't know if I'll survive what comes after.