Chapter 3
City Girls Are Nothing But Trouble
As I come back up the porch steps with my armful of wood, Noelle holds out her hand. “I accept your offer to stay.”
Even in heels, she barely reaches my chest and tips her chin to meet my gaze.
My eyes drop to her hand warily before curling mine around it, noting how small and soft it feels against my calloused palms. I’m also struck by how cold it is, guilt gnawing at me for making her stand outside in a dress doing nothing to shield her from the biting chill.
What I wouldn’t give to turn back the clock to this morning, when my biggest concerns were preparing for the blizzard and making sure the animals were safely secured in the barn.
Living thirty minutes from town suits me fine, but it means stocking up on supplies and firewood ahead of unpredictable weather that can last for days.
This particular storm better not.
“Cheer up, cowboy. I’m a great roommate,” Noelle singsongs. “I make a killer cup of hot cocoa, I don’t sing in the shower, and I only hog the bathroom when I’m soaking in bubbles—lucky for you, I forgot to pack my bath bombs.”
For someone who accused me of being dangerous, she sure doesn’t act scared. Unless she’s sharing personal details about herself in an effort to disarm me. Either way, I’d appreciate it if she’d quiet down.
I might live a life of solitude, but I know a city girl when I see one—designer luggage, manicured nails, and zero survival instincts.
Her dress and wedges are fit for a beach vacation—not a frozen winterscape.
It’s obvious she’s just another woman with expensive taste who wouldn’t last a night alone in a snowstorm.
Hell, she’s already shivering despite her best efforts to hide it.
Not that I care.
She got herself into this mess. Who doesn’t confirm their vacation rental is legit ahead of time or check the weather before packing?
Unbelievable. I ought to make her fend for herself, but having her stay saves me the trouble of rescuing her later.
It has nothing to do with those big blue eyes or that pouty mouth that makes me forget how she derailed my evening.
I shift the firewood into one arm and grab her suitcase with my free hand on my way into the house.
“What are you doing?” Noelle calls out after me. “I can get that.”
Not a chance. Her luggage weighs a ton, and I won’t have her falling flat on her ass trying to haul it inside. Besides, I’m hoping she’ll follow so I can get her out of the harsh winter air.
I wave her off, shaking snow from my boots before going inside. The fire I started earlier fills the space with warmth and the smell of cedar and pine. I set her luggage against the wall and drop the pile of wood into the crate by the hearth.
The footsteps on the floorboards have me glancing up at my unexpected guest. Noelle followed me inside, her cheeks rosy and her eyes wide as she scans the open space—the couch angled toward the fireplace, an old leather armchair in the corner, and the kitchen tucked along the other side of the cabin with a small table and two stools.
I motion to the two doors on the far wall. “Bathroom is on the left. My room is on the right. It’s off-limits.” Having a stranger in my house is bad enough. I’m not letting her roam my personal space too.
“Copy that. Guess I’ll have to resist the urge to go treasure hunting then, huh? Since I’m supposed to be planning a robbery and all,” she adds with a wink.
“Unless you want to brave the cold outside, I wouldn’t suggest it.”
“Don’t rob the grumpy cowboy, got it,” Noelle mumbles as she moves farther inside, toward the warmth of the fireplace.
She brushes her fingers along the couch as she passes.
“Your place is so cozy. I’d spend all day curled up by the fireplace if I were you.
I bet it looks absolutely magical when your Christmas tree is up.
Do you always wait until the week of to decorate, or did the weather make you put it off this year? ”
I blink at her. “I don’t celebrate the holidays.”
Her smile falters. “Oh… I see.” She’s quick to mask her disappointment. “That’s alright. It’s still a lovely home.”
I clench my jaw in an effort to maintain a neutral expression. Her bubbly disposition is irritating, but worse is how difficult it is to ignore the way she brightens the room.
Against my better judgment, I allow my gaze to roam over her.
Her yellow sundress is dotted with white flowers and clings to her hips, and the thin straps show off her sun-kissed shoulders sprinkled with freckles.
Her blue eyes are bright and curious, and her lips curve into a soft smile despite her situation.
What was I thinking inviting her to stay?
The last thing I need is to share my space with a stranger for the night. Let alone a pretty little thing with a weakness for designer shoes and not a lick of common sense. I might not know her age, but I’m guessing mid-twenties. Far too young for me.
Needing to quash any lingering desire, I remind myself that the last city girl I brought here broke my heart, and I swore I’d never go down that road again.
The wind howls outside the barn as I finish settling Blaze into his stall.
I give him a handful of grain as I straighten the blanket over his back.
The storm’s only getting worse, and the half mile back to the cabin will be brutal, but I’ve stalled as long as I can.
With any luck, Noelle will be asleep by the time I get there.
Even better if the storm clears and she’s gone by morning.
Might be wishful thinking, but it’s what I’m holding on to.
A loud mooing sound echoes from the other side of the barn, repeating every few seconds.
I give Blaze one last scratch behind his ear. “Sorry, buddy, I’d better go. We both know she won’t stop until she gets some attention. See you tomorrow.”
I latch the door behind me and walk down the aisle, past the other horses who are all settled in for the night. At the last stall on the right, Maple’s fuzzy nose peeks out of one of the panels of the stall door, sniffing the air. Her tail flicks with excitement as I step inside.
“Hey there, sweet girl,” I croon.
When I open the gate, she bumps her head against my pant leg, the small horns beginning to curl above her fuzzy ears just missing me as she roots for a snack.
I chuckle as I take a green apple from my coat pocket. “And here I thought you were just excited to see me.” Maple greedily accepts the treat from my outstretched hand, chewing loudly before letting out a contented snort.
I’m not shocked when my phone rings in my pocket. Only one person would be calling me before a storm.
“Hello,” I grunt.
“Oof, somebody’s in a mood today,” my cousin, Birdie, replies brightly. “I saw a blizzard is headed your way and wanted to check in while I still can.”
Reception is hit-and-miss on a good day, and when a storm hits, the mix of heavy snow and distance from the nearest cell tower wipes the signal out completely. I usually lose service for days.
I balance the phone on my shoulder while I give Maple a second apple. “I’m fine.”
Birdie laughs. “You always say that.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“I wish you’d reconsider moving to Montana. There’s plenty of land for a proper farm, and you’d get to hang out with your favorite cousin every day.”
“You’re my only cousin,” I remind her.
Our moms were sisters. Mine was the oldest, and Birdie’s mom came along unexpectedly after my mom graduated from high school.
Although Birdie and I didn’t grow up together because of our age difference, she still showed up at my mom’s funeral a few years back.
I think she realized that with both my parents gone, her family was all I had left, so she’s made it her mission to look out for me.
For all my griping about her being a nuisance, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t secretly appreciate her check-ins. She’s like the little sister I never had, always sticking her nose in my business, but she means well.
“Admit it. The only reason you want me there is to pawn off more animals.”
She feigns a gasp. “I would never.”
I chuckle.
We both know that’s a lie.
Birdie’s an animal activist, determined to rescue every creature in need and convince everyone in her orbit to adopt them. She should have become a politician or a used car salesperson because when she gives you those puppy-dog eyes, it’s impossible to say no.
I was the exception until she called two months ago, begging me to save Maple, a four-month-old miniature Highland cow. She was found neglected in a backyard petting zoo a couple of hours from here. My answer was no, but when Birdie video-chatted, pleading with me on camera, my resolve crumbled.
Maple was only supposed to stay for a week while Birdie arranged transport for her to Montana, but I’ve since learned she planned for me to keep Maple all along.
“Face it, cousin. You adore Maple,” Birdie teases.
“I do not.” I yank my hand away from Maple’s shaggy coat even though Birdie isn’t here to see me petting her.
“If you say so,” she hums.
Sure, Maple is cute and even does tricks, but that doesn’t mean I want her here.
I’m just doing my cousin a favor. As if to call me out on my bullshit, Maple nudges her fuzzy forehead against my arm, refusing to move until I give her a good scratch.
She knows this is her forever home, even if I try to deny it.
“You could’ve at least come to Montana for the holidays. I can’t stand the thought of you spending Christmas alone,” Birdie adds.
“It’s just another day. I’ll be fine.”
She invites me every year, and every year I turn her down. She doesn’t understand why I’d choose solitude on the mountain over time with family.
When I was with my ex-fiancée Danielle, she went all out, demanding a massive tree and new decorations each year, caring more about gifts and showing off than about the sentiment behind the holiday itself.
When she left, I realized that material things could never replace the joy of spending time with family and loved ones.
After that, I spent Christmas with my parents.
Even though it was my mom’s favorite holiday, she viewed it as an opportunity to serve others and spread kindness.
It gave me a new perspective on the kind of partner I wanted.
Someone who shared a similar sentiment and valued giving and connection over extravagance and flashy displays.
I never did find that person, and once my parents passed away, Christmas lost its magic—the cheer and traditions lost their meaning without the people I cared about most to celebrate with.
“Besides, my hands are full with an unwelcome guest who showed up at my cabin earlier,” I add, not bothering to hide my irritation. “A woman thought she booked it for a week, but she was scammed. Now she’s stuck here until the storm passes.”
“Is she pretty?” Birdie blurts. “Or better yet, is she single?”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “Pretty sure Noelle’s in her twenties. I have no business being concerned about her relationship status.” That didn’t stop me from checking her out as she stood on my porch, her golden hair dancing in the wind.
“Age is just a number when you find the right person,” Birdie retorts.
“All I care about is that she leaves when the storm lets up.”
No matter how much I hope that’ll be tomorrow, realistically, there’s only a slim chance Noelle’s convertible will make it down the mountain, even if by some miracle the weather clears up by morning.
“Right,” Birdie says, her amusement vibrating through the line. “You ignored my first question, which means she must be pretty. Really pretty.”
I shake my head. Birdie has a talent for getting under my skin, much like a certain blonde, blue-eyed vixen who’s probably taken over my bathroom with her hair and beauty products by now.
“She’s not half bad,” I answer.
I’m not about to admit that Noelle might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, or that I can’t stop thinking about the way her smile lights up her face. Still doesn’t change the fact that I want her gone.
“Careful, cousin, or you might end up keeping her like you did Maple,” Birdie teases.
“Alright. That’s enough conversation for today.” I give Maple a pat on the rump before leaving her stall. “I’ve got to finish up with the animals before the worst of the storm kicks in.”
The cabin is a half a mile away, and the ride back on the snowmobile can be brutal once the wind picks up.
“Be safe out there, and text me once the worst of it is over. And don’t go falling for your mystery woman,” she says playfully.
“Bye, Birdie.” I end the call, shoving my phone in my back pocket.
One of the horses whinnies from a nearby stall, impatient for their nightly carrots. Usually, I’m quick to make the rounds, but it’s hard to focus with so much on my mind—mainly the five-foot-nothing, blue-eyed whirlwind who’s taken over my cabin.