Chapter 12
Cole
By the time we reached the sheltered portion of the mountain, the snow was blowing in sideways.
Visibility was so bad I couldn’t even see the cattle anymore and the trees wouldn’t be far behind.
It was a blizzard alright. I just hoped it didn’t last too long.
We hadn’t packed to be stuck on the mountain for days.
The ranch hands rushed to set up a makeshift camp as fast as they could, everyone working with the practiced efficiency that comes from years of dealing with Montana’s unpredictable weather. They knew what they were doing. Jesse on the other hand… he looked like a lost puppy staring down a bear.
“Come on!” I shouted at him over the wind. “Help me with the tent!”
Jesse nodded, sliding out of his saddle and hitting the ground a bit harder than he intended. He fumbled with the saddle bags, searching for what I assumed was the tent. But it was attached to the other side. I jogged over, not wanting to wait for him to figure it out.
“Get your head out of your ass, Jesse,” I barked, pulling the rolled-up tent out of the leather straps. “Or this snow is gonna bury us.”
Jesse looked at me like I’d just kicked his dog, but he nodded and moved toward me, reaching for the tent. His fingers were already red from the cold, and he was shivering. He was not used to mountain weather anymore.
“Where do you want it?” he asked, voice nearly lost in the howling wind.
“Over there!” I pointed to a small clearing between two large pines. “The trees will block some of the wind!”
We struggled with the canvas in the gusting snow, the waxed canvas material snapping and billowing like it was trying to escape.
Jesse fumbled with the stakes, his hands clearly numb.
I bit back my frustration, reminding myself that he hadn’t done this in years.
Still, every second we wasted was another second closer to frostbite.
“Hold it down!” I shouted, driving a stake into the frozen ground with the heel of my boot. “Use your body weight!”
Jesse threw himself across the canvas, finally getting the idea. Together, we managed to secure the corners, though the tent looked more like a drunken sailor’s attempt at origami than proper shelter. It would have to do.
“Get inside!” I ordered, grabbing our saddlebags. “Start setting up the bedrolls!”
The rest of the hands had their own tents up already, working in pairs with practiced movements. Mitch caught my eye as he secured his last stake, giving me a nod that said they were good. At least someone knew what they were doing.
I ducked into our tent after Jesse, zipping the flap closed behind us. The wind still howled, but the canvas walls cut the worst of it. Inside, Jesse was struggling with the bedrolls, his fingers shaking too badly to untie the straps.
“Here,” I said, taking them from him. “Get those wet clothes off before you freeze.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“Your jacket’s soaked through,” I explained, efficiently untying and unrolling our sleeping gear. “You need to change or you’ll get hypothermia.”
Jesse hesitated, then began peeling off his wet outer layers.
I tried not to look, focusing instead on arranging our sleeping bags as far apart as the small tent would allow…
which wasn’t more than an inch or so. The memory of this morning’s incident was still too fresh, too uncomfortable. But what choice did I have?
“I’m sorry about the cattle,” Jesse said suddenly, his voice small as he pulled a dry sweater over his head. “This is my fault.”
I paused, surprised by the apology. “What are you talking about?”
“The freezer. Making you wait to bring the herd down.” He gestured toward the tent wall, where snow was building up against the canvas. “If we’d done it when you wanted, we wouldn’t be stuck in this mess.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. He wasn’t wrong, but blaming him wouldn’t improve our situation. And to be honest, we wouldn’t have been able to afford the freezer without the delay. Despite my reservations, I’d still agreed to the plan.
“Weather’s unpredictable up here,” I said finally. “And this is as much my fault as it is yours. I agreed to the freezer idea too.”
Jesse’s eyes met mine, surprise evident in them. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. He just nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest as he tried to stop shivering.
“You’re still freezing,” I muttered, digging through my bag. I pulled out a thermos of coffee Evelyn had packed for us. “Drink this before the cold sets in.”
He took it gratefully, his fingers brushing mine in the exchange. I tried to ignore the jolt that ran through me at the contact.
“Thanks,” he said, unscrewing the cap with trembling hands. Steam rose between us as he took a long sip. “God, that’s good.”
Outside, the wind howled louder, the tent walls bowing inward with each gust. The temperature was dropping fast. I could already see our breath fogging in the small space between us.
This was shaping up to be a hell of a storm, worse than I’d anticipated.
We might be stuck here for more than just the night. Hopefully the horses would be okay.
“How bad is it going to get?” Jesse asked, as if reading my thoughts.
I shrugged, trying to appear more confident than I felt. “Hard to say. But we’ve got enough supplies for a few days if needed. The cattle will be fine. They know how to huddle together for warmth. The horses will probably go join them on their own.”
Jesse nodded, but I could see the worry in his eyes. He took another sip of coffee, then offered me the thermos. I accepted it, our fingers careful not to touch this time.
“About this morning...” he started, and my entire body tensed. “I’m really sorry. I was half-asleep and—”
“I told you,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. “It never happened.”
The silence that followed was deafening, despite the howling storm outside. Jesse stared at the thermos in his hands, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
“Right,” he finally said, his voice quiet. “Never happened.”
I immediately felt like an ass. He was trying to apologize, and I’d shut him down. But talking about it would only make things more awkward than they already were, especially now that we were trapped in this tiny tent together.
The wind picked up again, rattling the tent poles. Snow pattered against the canvas like thousands of tiny fingers. I checked my watch. It was barely noon, but the storm had turned the day dark as twilight.
“We should try to get some rest,” I suggested, desperate to change the subject. “Nothing else we can do until this blows over.”
Jesse nodded but made no move to get into his sleeping bag. Instead, he just sat there, hugging his knees, his gaze fixed on the tent wall.
“I’m not used to this anymore,” he admitted quietly. “Being at the mercy of the elements. In Seattle, the worst we got was rain.”
“You get used to it again,” I said, surprising myself with how gentle my voice sounded. I let out a deep sigh. “And I’m… sorry.”
Jesse furrowed his brows. “For what?”
“For snapping at you just now. I know this morning was an accident.” He opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. “But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.”
Jesse nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to the thermos clutched between his hands. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the howling wind outside the tent. A particularly strong gust shook the canvas, making us both glance up.
“Fair enough,” he finally said, his voice barely audible over the storm.
I busied myself with checking my gear, needing something to do with my hands. The tent felt smaller by the minute, the air thick with unspoken words. Jesse continued to shiver despite his dry clothes, his teeth chattering slightly.
“You need to get in that sleeping bag,” I said, nodding toward the bedroll I’d laid out for him. “It’s rated for below freezing.”
He hesitated, then crawled over to it, sliding inside with stiff movements. Even in the sleeping bag, he continued to shake, his body curled into a tight ball. Dammit. He wasn’t warming up fast enough.
“You’ve got mountain sickness,” I muttered, recognizing the signs. The shivering that wouldn’t stop, the pallor of his skin. His body wasn’t acclimated to the altitude and cold anymore. “Your core temperature’s dropping too low.”
“I’m f-fine,” he insisted through chattering teeth.
“Like hell you are.” I ran a hand through my hair, weighing my options. There was really only one solution, and neither of us was going to like it. “We need to share body heat.”
Jesse’s eyes widened. “W-what?”
“Don’t make it weird,” I growled, already unzipping my sleeping bag. “It’s basic survival. Evelyn packed the bags that can zip together.”
He watched me with those damn hazel eyes as I efficiently connected our sleeping bags into one larger one.
My hands moved with practiced skill while my mind screamed at me about what a terrible idea this was.
But I couldn’t let him freeze. No matter how complicated things were between us, that wasn’t an option.
“Scoot over,” I ordered, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Jesse reluctantly shifted to make room, and I slid in beside him, immediately feeling the chill radiating from his body. Christ, he was like ice. Without giving myself time to reconsider, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling his back against my chest.
“This is just for warmth,” I said firmly, as much to myself as to him. “Nothing else.”
“R-right,” Jesse stammered, his body rigid against mine. “Just s-survival.”
Gradually, as my warmth seeped into him, his shivering began to subside.
His muscles relaxed incrementally, his breathing becoming more regular.
I tried to focus on anything but the feeling of him pressed against me.
I listened to the sound of the storm, mentally listed the tasks we’d need to complete once it passed, and counted the cattle waiting in the high meadow.
“Better?” I asked after several minutes had passed.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “S-Still cold though.”
He wasn’t lying. I gritted my teeth, knowing this was a bad move. “Take off your shirt,” I said, pulling away from him as I peeled my own off. “Skin to skin heats up faster.”
I heard Jesse’s sharp intake of breath, felt him tense up against me.
“I... I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said, but his teeth were still chattering slightly.
“It is,” I insisted, trying to keep my voice even. “This isn’t my first rodeo with hypothermia, Jesse. I’ve seen men lose fingers up here.”
He hesitated another moment, then reluctantly pulled his sweater over his head. In the dim light of the tent, I could make out the tribal tattoos running down his right arm, dark against his pale skin. He’d gotten those after he left. I wondered what they meant to him.
When he settled back against me, the contact of skin on skin sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
I forced myself to breathe normally, to keep my heart rate steady as I wrapped my arms around him again.
His back pressed against my chest, our legs tangled together in the cramped sleeping bag.
Despite my deep breaths, I could not stop my cock from thickening in my jeans.
I just hoped the denim was enough for him not to notice.
“Your heart’s racing,” Jesse murmured, and I realized with horror that he could feel it hammering against his back.
“Just the altitude,” I lied, my voice gruff. “Now shut up and get warm.”
He fell silent, but I could tell he wasn’t asleep.
His breathing was too measured, too controlled.
Outside, the wind continued to howl, snow piling against our tent.
I tried to focus on the sound rather than the feel of Jesse’s skin under my fingertips, the scent of him filling my lungs with every breath.
“I really am sorry,” Jesse said suddenly, his voice barely audible over the storm. “About the freezer, about this morning... about everything.”
I swallowed hard, staring at the back of his head. His hair was still damp from the snow, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. I had the insane urge to press my lips against that spot.
“You don’t need to keep apologizing,” I muttered. “What’s done is done.”
“But that’s just it,” he continued, shifting slightly in my arms. “I’ve never properly apologized for leaving. For hitting Jack. For... for abandoning you.”
My chest tightened. Fifteen years of buried anger and hurt threatened to surface. “Now’s not the time for this conversation.”
“When is the time then?” Jesse challenged, his body tensing against mine. “You’re always running away from talking about anything real.”
“Me?” I scoffed, the words bursting out before I could stop them. “You’re the one who ran, Jesse. Not me.”
He turned in my arms then, facing me in the tight confines of the sleeping bag. Our faces were inches apart, his breath warm on my skin. Those hazel eyes stared into mine, searching for something I wasn’t sure I wanted him to find.
“I was a kid,” he said softly. “And the more I think about it, so were you.”
“What the hell difference does it make?” I asked, trying to avoid his gaze. Instead, I ended up looking at those pink lips of his, wondering how they’d taste. “It’s in the past now.”
“It is,” he replied. “But it’s obviously still haunting both of us. You… You still hate me.”
“Jesse,” I sighed, shaking my head. “I don’t… I don’t hate you.”
“Then why won’t you even look at me, Cole?”
“Because I…” I faltered for a moment. “Because I’m afraid.”
“Of me?” he scoffed. “Why?”
I shook my head again, lowering my voice even further. “Of myself.”
Jesse’s expression softened, his eyes searching mine in the dim light of our tent. “Afraid of what, Cole?”
I could barely hear my own voice over the howling wind. “Of how I feel when I look at you.”