Chapter 2 #2
The truth is a bitter pill to swallow. I got scammed and fell for it hook, line, and sinker.
I didn’t think twice about sending the full payment outside the app, and when the supposed owners went silent, I assumed they were busy.
In hindsight, I realize how foolish I was, and now I’m left paying the price, while standing in a winterscape with a stranger, freezing in a dress that offers no defense against the biting wind.
I’m pulled from my wallowing when our phones go off simultaneously. I glance down at mine to see another weather advisory.
Winter Storm Warning: Blizzard conditions expected in Pine Haven and surrounding areas. Travel is not advised. Seek shelter immediately.
What am I going to do now?
I pride myself on finding the bright side in any situation, no matter how bad things might seem.
Like the time I drained my savings to launch my podcast and finished the first season with only fifty followers.
I still celebrated each one, confident that small beginnings often lead to big results.
And they did when I ended season two with a hundred thousand followers.
Or when I upgraded to a nicer apartment with a skyline view after Mark and I broke up.
Still, it’s hard to see the silver lining when I’m shivering on a mountain road, miles away from civilization, dealing with a cowboy who probably has the Grinch on speed dial.
His brows tighten as he scrolls on his phone. “A blizzard’s rolling in and fast. There’s no way you’re getting down the mountain in that thing before it hits.” He nods at the convertible in his driveway.
“That’s just peachy,” I mutter, his sour mood rubbing off on me.
“You can stay on my couch tonight,” he says, gritting out the words. “But you’re out first thing in the morning.”
“How thoughtful. I’ll be sure to write you a five-star review for your generosity,” I deadpan.
“Beggers can’t be choosers, sweetheart,” he counters. “If my couch isn’t up to your standards, you can always bunk with the horses in the barn—perfect if you like frostbite, scratchy bedding, and mice that might mistake your toes for a midnight snack.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you always this welcoming?”
He shrugs. “Most people know better than to show up at my place uninvited. Now, are you staying or not?”
I take a step back, keeping my eyes locked on him. “How can I be sure you’re not a killer who’s lured me here under false pretenses?”
Maybe his whole spiel about not wanting visitors is a ruse, and he planned this all along, using the unpredictable weather to trap me here. Although he seems more unnerved by my presence than I am by his.
He raises a brow. “Funny that you’re accusing me of murder when you’re the one sneaking around like you’re casing the place. How do I know you’re not here planning to rob me in my sleep?”
I shiver as a breeze passes, drawing my arms to my chest for warmth. I catch a flicker of worry in the stranger’s eyes that disappears in an instant.
“If I were stealing, I’d hit a city penthouse, not your remote cabin in the woods during a blizzard without an escape route,” I say, trying to keep my teeth from rattling, determined not to show this man any weakness. “Besides, if you’re so harmless, how come you haven’t told me your name?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I’m asking now.”
“Shep.”
I extend my hand with a smile. “I’m Noelle. And yes, the reason is as cliché as it sounds. My mom loves Christmas and wanted holiday magic year-round. Funny enough, it’s my favorite holiday too, so I can’t complain.” There I go oversharing with a stranger again.
He looks at my hand but doesn’t make a move to shake it. “Cute. You always this chatty with people you’ve just met?”
This man is insufferable. I’m doing my best to be friendly and make our situation less awkward, and all I get in return are clipped answers and a deadpan stare.
I shove my phone into my purse, not sparing Mr. Grumpy Pants another glance, and whirl around to make a dramatic exit.
I’ll just have to stay in the convertible until the storm passes.
It’s not my most inspired solution, but that doesn’t stop me from marching off like a petulant child with a point to prove.
I’m halfway up the steps to get my luggage from the porch when my heel meets a patch of black ice, sending me sprawling backward like a human domino. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact, but at the last second, strong arms encircle my waist, lifting me to the safety of solid ground.
“Dammit, woman,” Shep growls. “You could have hurt yourself. What were you thinking wearing heels?” I’m momentarily stunned speechless by his concern before I remember he was just scolding me for oversharing.
“They’re wedges,” I correct him as I burrow deeper into his arms, shamelessly stealing his warmth.
“And excuse me for thinking it was hot all year round in Arizona, and that the biggest risk of visiting was tripping into a cactus. Not getting frostbite or nearly breaking my neck from slipping on ice.”
He scoffs. “What the hell gave you that idea?”
“Every movie, travel guide, and social media post that conveniently never mentioned the cold weather? Not to mention the photos and description in the listing when I booked this place,” I add sheepishly.
Shep shakes his head, muttering something about me being as stubborn as a mule. Yet his arm stays firmly secured around my waist as the scent of leather and musk surrounds me. Despite his stern expression, my pulse skips a beat.
The only plausible explanation is that my stranger danger radar is on the fritz.
There’s no explanation for why my thoughts drift to labeling Shep the sexiest cowboy I’ve ever laid eyes on instead of screaming for me to bolt.
Granted, I haven’t met many in person—Manhattan’s Upper West Side isn’t exactly cowboy territory—but compared to the fictional ones I’ve seen on TV, he’s far more rugged and… scowl-y.
I meet his gaze, and the way he studies me has my heart racing.
“You can let go now,” I whisper, even though my body protests, reluctant to give up its heat source.
“Right.” Shep releases my waist, steps around me, and goes down the porch steps.
“The blizzard is coming in fast, and I’ve got more preparations to make.
If you’re staying, I’ll show you inside before I take Blaze to the barn.
” He gestures to his horse, who’s grazing on the last patch of grass not covered in snow under the roof overhang.
“If not, good luck getting back to town.”
He collects the pieces of firewood he must have dropped in his effort to catch me, leaving me alone on the porch, trembling against the biting wind as I contemplate his offer.
On the one hand, he’s a stranger, and no one knows I’m here with him. However, my other options are sleeping in the convertible or trying to get down the mountain before the storm worsens, knowing there’s a good chance no car service or tow truck could rescue me if I get stranded.
As much as I hate to admit it, there’s only one logical choice, and I’m sure to regret it.