Chapter 6
Note to Self: The Cowboy Has A Soft Spot
Yesterday was quiet, and I spent most of it reading, except for the hour Shep let me hang out with him in his workshop.
I enjoyed watching him work but knew better than to overstay my welcome.
It’s obvious that it’s his sanctuary. I fell asleep on the couch again and only stirred once to see Shep tending the fire.
It seems he wasn’t willing to risk a repeat of my first night, and I couldn’t help but smile at his subtle attentiveness.
This morning, he made delicious sausage, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwiches before disappearing into his bedroom a while ago.
I’ve attempted to distract myself with another book, this one about a mafia boss forcing his enemy’s daughter into an arranged marriage—but I can’t seem to get into it.
As much as I adore reading, the collection of books I downloaded for this trip can only keep me occupied for so long.
That’s why I set my e-reader aside when I glance up from the couch and see Shep stepping out of his room in his coat and boots, heading for the front door.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“To the barn to feed the animals,” he says as he slides into his boots.
I spring to my feet. “Can I come with you?”
Yesterday’s short trip to the workshop out back was rough in the storm, but now that the snow’s eased up, I’m itching to get outside and explore, including the barn.
He stands to his full height, his expression wary. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
That’s not a no.
“Please? I’m tired of being cooped up in the cabin and would love some fresh air.” I tip my chin, giving him the saddest eyes I can muster. “I still don’t have service, so I can’t work, and I’m not used to having so much downtime.”
Shep told me earlier that service here is unreliable on a good day and nonexistent during bad weather, so there’s no telling when it’ll be back up.
I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m not used to sitting around with nothing to do.
I record six podcasts a week—including a Saturday special—while juggling my social media and attending brand events.
This trip marks the first time I’ve taken more than an afternoon off for an appointment or a dinner date in two years.
When I booked my impromptu vacation, I notified my audience and sponsors that I’d be taking a couple of days off from the podcast. I figured that would give me enough time to settle in before editing the videos for the rest of the year.
Naturally, my plans changed when I found myself in a winter wonderland without service, making editing or posting impossible for the time being.
It’s a sudden change given that until recently, I spent most of my time putting everyone else first both at work and in my relationships, and somewhere along the way, I lost sight of my own needs.
I’ve realized it’s time to prioritize my happiness and refuse to settle for less than I deserve.
That includes finding a partner who puts me first and stands by me, even when I’m stubborn and set in my ways.
This trip was supposed to be about self-discovery—the first step in learning to love and prioritize myself before letting someone else in. It might not be going as planned, but I’m still determined to make the most of it.
“Fine. You can come as long as you don’t get in the way,” Shep grunts.
“You won’t regret it!”
I could’ve sworn he tacked on a muttered “I already do,” but I can’t be sure.
I brush it off, too excited to venture outside. Shep mentioned the mountain roads are still covered in snow and ice, so it might be a while before I can leave. I’m determined to make the most of my time here rather than dwell on things out of my control.
I slip on the boots Shep loaned me—the ones I wore to the workshop yesterday. They’re far too big, but he’s padded the inside with socks so they fit better.
He eyes the flannel I’m wearing over a long-sleeved thermal. This morning, they were waiting for me in the bathroom, along with a clean pair of sweats. Looks like I’ll be borrowing his clothes until the weather cooperates enough for me to head back to Phoenix.
“If you’re coming, you’re wearing something warmer.” Shep takes a coat from the rack near the door and holds it open in front of me. “Put your arms through.”
“I can do it.” I reach for the coat, but he moves it away.
“Arms in,” he repeats firmly.
I shoot him a stubborn glare. “So bossy.”
Shep tilts his head, his gaze unwavering. “If you wear a coat the way you prepare for a trip, you’ll get frostbite before we reach the barn.”
“Fine.” I relent, deciding it’s better to play along than risk being left behind.
I extend my arms, then remain perfectly still, leaving him to wrestle them into the coat sleeves. Just because I decided to cooperate doesn’t mean I’ll make it easy on him.
To Shep’s credit, he doesn’t complain, carefully sliding in each arm and tugging the coat into place as if he’s handling something fragile.
This close, I’m enveloped by his scent, earthy and warm, and I lean in a fraction to breathe him in. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice as he zips my coat, sliding it up to my neck.
“I feel like I’m in a straitjacket,” I complain, pulling the zipper down an inch.
Shep narrows his eyes, moving it back up.
“You can thank me later when you’re protected from the wind.
” He shifts his attention to my sleeves, rolling them up until they reach my wrists.
“That’s better. Make sure you put on these gloves before we leave.
” He tucks a pair inside my coat pocket, giving it a pat for good measure.
“Yes, Dad,” I taunt.
Shep’s nostrils flare, his chest rising with a deep inhale. The intensity radiating off him is almost palpable. His untamed reaction has heat pooling in my stomach, bringing my reflexive draw to him into sharp focus.
I start toward the door but stop when he snakes an arm around my waist. Another flutter of heat rises in my belly, the contact making it impossible to look away.
“I’m not done with you yet.” His voice comes out husky.
He grabs a beanie from the rack and slips it over my head, smoothing my hair over my shoulders. A loose strand falls across my cheek, and I inhale sharply when he pushes it from my face, his fingers grazing my temple.
“There,” he rasps, his gaze shifting to my lips.
I feel lightheaded as my pulse hammers in my ears. This attraction to someone I barely know, and who hasn’t been receptive to my presence, shouldn’t be this powerful. It defies all logic. I should be looking for excuses to keep him at arm’s length, not reasons to spend more time with him.
Shep is the first to shake off the daze, his features settling into their usual stoic position as he puts on his own coat and cowboy hat.
“Let’s go. The animals are waiting.” He brushes past me on his way outside.
“I’m right behind you,” I call out after him.
I tug my coat zipper down a few inches in a small act of rebellion. The smoldering attraction is irrefutable, yet I refuse to let him dictate the rules. If anything, I want to push back harder, hoping the gravity of his presence wanes. Rational? Probably not. But still worth a shot.
When I step onto the porch, a soft breeze brushes past. I burrow further into Shep’s coat to shield myself, his now familiar scent wrapping around me, as I reluctantly zip it up all the way.
I’ve seen snow countless times in New York, but it’s different here—the sun is shining down on my face, ice crystals cling to every branch, and birds chirp in the distance, celebrating the lull in the storm.
“You coming, woman?”
Shep is in the driveway, leaning against a snowmobile with his arms crossed. It’s criminal how handsome he is with his cowboy hat tilted low and his winter jacket stretched across his chest.
As I hurry down the porch steps, his gruff voice cuts through the air. “Slow down and use the damn railing so you don’t fall and break your neck.”
“Careful, cowboy, or I might think you’re starting to care,” I holler back.
Shep grunts in reply.
He might act indifferently, but his recent actions have made me more certain than ever that he has a compassionate side.
Case in point—yesterday morning. He thought he was sneaky, but I know what he did with the pancakes.
Mine came out lumpy and hard, but the ones he served me were perfectly smooth, fluffy, and delicious.
It was thoughtful of him to eat my poor attempt at pancakes.
He went the extra mile making me better ones while wanting me to believe it was my batch so I wouldn’t be embarrassed.
He’d deny it if I called him out, but I can see right through him.
I learned something else about Shep yesterday. The man can cook more than breakfast. The homemade chili he made for dinner was incredible and superior to any takeout I could have ordered or the ready-made meals I pick up at the grocery store.
The path to the snowmobile is dotted with icy patches, and even though it pains me, I take his advice and slow my steps. I’m not about to fall and have him scold me for not listening.
As I near the snowmobile, he steps toward me, sliding a hand under my elbow.
“I should’ve brought you a helmet,” he sighs, exasperation clear in his voice.
“The bright side is I’m probably less talkative after a head injury.”
I swear I catch Shep’s lips twitching into a smile even his mustache can’t hide. He keeps me steady while I swing a leg over the seat, making sure I’m balanced before letting go. He climbs in front, his outer thighs brushing against mine, causing my stomach to do a somersault.
Please don’t let him notice how fast my heart is racing.
Once he’s settled, he puts the key into the ignition and the engine comes to life with a satisfying hum.
“Hold on tight,” he says, guiding my hands around him.