Chapter 8
She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain
Wheeler
I head into the living room and promptly draw up short.
Duke is facing away from me, crouched in front of the fireplace. His hoodie draws taut over his shoulder blades and back as he makes quick work of building a fire in the massive fireplace.
I watch, transfixed by the bunch and release of his shoulder muscles. Exactly how does he fill out that sweatshirt so damn well? This cowboy is thick, solid, in a way few men are.
The logs crackle and pop as the fire grows.
I feel the throb between my thighs grow too.
Allowing myself to be honest for a second, I have to admit that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
The ride today was nerve-racking, sure, but it was also a lot of freaking fun.
Duke is excellent company. He’s also a gentleman.
I kept offering to drive, but he waved me off, even though I knew he had to be tired.
Even though he joked about not having time for stops, he made sure I was comfortable, asking several times if I needed a bathroom or stretch break.
I’ll only drink a little bit. One glass of wine. Two tops. Surely we’ll be ready to go to bed by then, right?
Go to our separate beds.
“Hey,” Duke says.
I cross my arms over my chest, trying very hard to ignore the way my nipples tingle at the sound of his voice.
“Hey. Hi. Since you’re, um, busy with that, why don’t I make the grilled cheese?”
He’s still crouching, elbows on his knees as he glances at me over his shoulder. “I got it.”
Oh, dear sweet Jesus. The man is wearing glasses.
Duke is, I mean. Not Jesus, at least not as far as I know. They’re simple, with round lenses and a black plastic frame that fades to brown at the bottom of the lenses.
Damn does he look good in them.
Really, really good, like some kind of Robert Redford–coded rugged professor of postmodern literature.
Since when am I tempted to make passes at a guy who wears glasses?
“Teamwork, remember?” Looking away, I head for the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to put some distance between us. “I like the glasses, by the way.”
“Really?” He sounds genuinely surprised. “My eyes were killing me, so I had to take out my contacts.”
“Really. Why? Do you not like them?”
“Hell no. That’s why I never wear ’em. I think they make me look like a dork.”
“Dorks are cool now.”
He grins. “If you say so.”
The windows are blank, reflecting the lights inside the house. The wind howls. I nearly jump when the house is hit by a gust, a crackling sound reverberating through the windows.
I freeze. “What’s that?”
“Sleet.” Duke’s knees crack as he rises. “No biggie. Trust me when I say this house has seen much worse.”
The ceiling creaks. I look up. “You sure about that?”
“Aspen’s snowstorms ain’t got nothin’ on Hartsville’s tornadoes.” He casually pads over to the kitchen like we’re not facing the real possibility of a snow-induced apocalypse. “I’m sure. Wine?”
“Yes.”
He smirks as he starts opening cabinets. “You gettin’ the shakes?”
“Yeah, I’m getting the shakes.” I glance at the windows. “Maybe this really is our last night on earth.”
“God’s got an awful sense of humor if that’s the case, making us drink this shit on our way out.” Duke reaches for the boxed wine. “Hopefully it’s not too bad.”
It’s actually decent. I down my first glass while I make the grilled cheese.
Duke once again proves himself to be a marvelous assistant.
He softens the butter in the microwave. He digs a spatula out of a nearby drawer.
He finds plates, napkins, and a serrated knife, which he uses to cut the sandwiches into neat diagonals.
He also looks really cute with wine-stained lips. And the glasses—
It’s almost too much.
He picks my brain about the finances of a trunk show as we eat at the counter. I’ve never met someone as interested in accounting as Duke is except, well, my actual accountant. It’s weirdly sexy.
So is the way he inhales my grilled cheese. I’m glad I made extra. Only when I assure him I’m full does he grab seconds.
“You good?” He wipes his mouth on a napkin.
I nod. “I’m great.” I’m just tipsy enough to add, “Should we slap the bag now that we have a solid carb base?”
I mean, why not, right? I’ve been texting with the owners of Aspen Leather Company, and they said chances are our trunk show is going to have to be pushed back. Last I checked, snow totals for downtown Aspen went from twelve inches to eighteen, with locally heavier snow amounts possible.
Duke grins, and then he takes our plates before standing up. “I thought you’d never ask. Go sit. I’ll clean up.”
“I’ll help—”
“Whoever cooks doesn’t clean. Sit.”
Heaven help me.
I jump at the thud that sounds overhead. Duke goes still, looking up.
“A tree?” I ask.
Duke waits a beat before responding. “Probably just a branch. I’ll check it out.”
Dropping the plates in the sink, he heads for the front door.
I follow him and turn on the porch lights.
He ducks outside, and I find myself praying for the first time in years that he makes it back okay.
I stand on the porch while Duke disappears down the front steps, and I marvel at the sound of the wind.
It’s an eerie wail that’s low-pitched but also very, very loud.
The snow is coming down with such ferocity that it blurs the world around us. Even here, tucked safely beneath the eaves of the roof, the wind whips my hair into my face.
“You okay?” I shout. “Duke?”
A beat later, I breathe a sigh of relief when he jogs up the steps, his hood up and his cheeks pink. His glasses are fogged over.
“Just a branch,” he says, pulling back his hood. “Rolled right off the roof, no problem.”
I let him hustle me inside. He locks the door behind us and wipes his boots on the mat before taking them off.
“Yeah, but what if the whole tree comes down?”
“It won’t.”
“But what if it does?”
He gives me a look before pointing to the sofas by the fire. “Would you go sit? I promise we’ll be fine.”
“Famous last words.”
“Sit.”
“Make me.”
I’m a little drunk and a lot nervous, and I guess the combination turns me into a brat.
“Oh, Lordy.” He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “You’ve done it now.”
“Done what?”
He bends down. “Pushed me too far.”
“What? Du—oh!” I yelp when he wraps his arms around my legs and abruptly hoists me over his shoulder, Viking raider style.
A literal hoist. What a funny little word for the way he takes command of my body, his arm a steel band around the backs of my thighs. Blood rushes to my head.
His ass—that perfect, delicious, muscular ass—is quite literally in my face. I arch my back in an attempt to create some space between us and, I don’t know, keep me from biting one of his butt cheeks.
I am tempted.
“Duke!” I don’t recognize my voice. It’s squeaky. Desperate sounding. “Duke, Jesus, put me down! What the hell? You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Aw, Blue, you ain’t got nearly enough faith in my deadlifting skills.” He strides into the living room, my body undulating in time to his steps. “You pick something for us to watch while I finish cleaning the kitchen. Got it?”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
He chuckles. “You say that now.”
I don’t know what to do with my hands. I decide to plant them in the middle of his back so I can half sit up. It seemed like a safe idea, but now I can feel the way his muscles tense as he moves. They’re rock-hard. Just like the rest of this man.
The longing in my center coils tighter.
Despite his obvious strength—or maybe because of it—he deposits me gently on one of the massive sofas in front of the fireplace. The heat of the fire feels nice after being outside.
Duke quickly locates the remotes on the mantel above the fireplace and tosses them onto the sofa beside me. “What’re you into these days?”
I’m into lusting after cowboys who morph into hot professors.
Licking my lips, I force myself to look away from said cowboy-slash-professor.
“Something funny, maybe?”
“Sounds great.”
I pick up the remotes and start to fiddle with them.
“Wheeler?”
I glance at Duke. “Yeah?”
“We really are going to be okay. I need you to know that.”
My heart squeezes. I don’t know what to say. “Thanks.”
I want to believe him. And part of me does. He’s confident. As a cowboy, he knows about nature and weather and…stuff. Clearly he’s seen worse conditions than the ones currently hammering Aspen Mountain.
But another part is scared to trust a man. Any man. Dad had such a temper growing up that I still, to this day, jump when I hear a loud noise. My anxiety is sky-high during stressful situations because that’s when Dad would typically lash out.
Instead of making me anxious, though, Duke’s presence today has actually been a comfort. He got us up here no problem, didn’t he? He didn’t lose his mind or spit obscenities or pout about having to drive. He just got it done, and he made me laugh along the way, clearly hoping to ease my fears.
He kept me safe then. I can probably trust him to keep me safe now.
He’s cool as a cucumber as he pads into the kitchen and turns on the faucet. The clank and clatter of dishes is weirdly comforting as I turn on the TV and hunt for something good to watch.
“How about Veep?” I ask after several minutes of searching. “Or The Righteous Gemstones? To be honest, I haven’t been watching a ton of TV lately, so I have no clue what’s new or good.”
“Why no TV?” Duke turns off the faucet. “You just been building a cowboy boot empire or somethin’?”
“Hardly an empire.” But I still smile.
“It’s not an empire yet.” I hear him pad across the hardwood. “All right, Blue. Get over here and get on your knees.”
I bite back a laugh. “Excuse me?”
“Ladies slap first.” He holds up the silver bag of wine. “Unless you want me to start?”
“You’re rude.” I unfold my legs from underneath me and stand up.
He smirks. “You can stand if you want. But I always find it more pleasurable if you do it on your knees. Grab that blanket, would you?”