Chapter 15
I stretch under the sheets, every muscle aching in that glorious, earned way. The kind of sore that has me blushing when I shift my hips and feel the evidence of last night’s very thorough efforts.
Sam’s arms are still locked around me, one slung heavy across my waist, the other tangled in my hair like he was afraid I’d disappear overnight. His chest rises slow and steady against my back, warm and solid, grounding me in the here and now.
I nestle closer, and his hold instinctively tightens.
God, this man.
Last night was… no, there’s no word for it. Life changing doesn’t even touch it.
He shifts behind me, lips brushing my bare shoulder. “Morning, darlin’.”
I tilt my head, catching his mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. “Morning.”
His hand strokes down my stomach, low and possessive. “How you feeling?”
I bite back a groan. “Like I was fucked by a cowboy with the stamina of a god. ”
He laughs smugly. “Back to the god thing, huh?”
“Don’t get cocky.”
He grins against my skin. “Too late. Damn, darlin’, you keep talking like that and I’m gonna get hard again.”
I snort and wriggle away, only half-playful as I flop onto my back.
“Not today, bucko. My vagina needs time to recover. She’s in critical condition.”
He props himself up on one elbow, eyes scanning my face with that mischievous spark and just a flicker of something softer behind it.
“I could bring her breakfast in bed. Flowers. Whisper sweet nothings to her.”
“She needs a heating pad and two ibuprofens.”
His grin widens. “Should I apologize or be proud?”
“Yes.”
He chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to my bare stomach, just above the sheet. “Then I’m very, very sorry and also incredibly proud.”
I laugh, fingers combing through his messy hair. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, tracing lazy kisses across my skin, “you’re still in my bed.”
I glance around the room at the rumpled sheets, rope still coiled neatly on the nightstand, sunlight painting golden stripes across the floor and yeah. I am still here.
And something about that feels like more than just post-hookup aftermath.
It feels like the beginning of something.
Something dangerous.
Something real.
Sam’s almost to the bathroom door when I ask, “Do you think we’re moving too fast? ”
He stops.
“What do you mean?”
Sam’s hand lingers on the bathroom doorframe, his bare back tense as he slowly turns to face me. The morning light casts golden lines across his chest, but his eyes are shadowed.
“What do you mean?” he asks again, voice soft but edged with something wary.
I sit up straighter, the sheet clutched to my chest like armor. “Come on. You have to know this is fast.”
He studies me, unmoving. “And?”
I exhale, heart suddenly thudding louder than it should. “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually rush into something this intense. Four days, Sam. We’ve known each other for four days.”
His jaw flexes. Not angry. Just processing.
“You think last night was a mistake?” he asks, his tone unreadable.
“No,” I blurt. “God, no. That was—” I break off, shaking my head. “That was everything. But now I’m sitting here wondering what happens when the snow melts. When the roads clear. When I’m not stuck in your house anymore.”
He crosses the room in two long strides, crouching in front of the bed. “Look at me.”
I do.
His gaze is steady. Fierce. Honest.
“You think I don’t know it’s fast? I’ve been out here for months, Charlie, and you—” he lifts a hand, brushing a thumb over my cheek, “you show up like a fucking wildfire. And yeah, it’s fast. But that doesn’t make it wrong.”
I blink, my throat tightening.
“But what if it is?” I whisper. “What if this is just adrenaline and chemistry and all the storm-induced crazy and?— ”
“Then we’ll figure that out,” he says, firm now, his voice dipping low. “Together.”
He shifts up onto the edge of the bed beside me, his palm pressing over my hand where it grips the sheet. “You think I’m the kind of man who’d do what we did last night and not mean it?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“I meant every second of it,” he says. “Not just the sex. The holding. The way I looked at you. The way you looked back.” His voice softens. “You think I’d tie you up like that without knowing damn well what it meant?”
Silence stretches between us thick with everything unsaid.
Then he leans in, pressing his lips to mine.
“Let it be fast,” he murmurs. “Let it be wild. And if it burns out in a week or a month or a year, fine. But don’t pull away just because it scares you.”
I nod, tears pricking behind my eyes. “I’m not pulling away.”
His smile returns, quiet and warm. “Good. Because I wasn’t finished with you, darlin’. Not by a long shot.”
I smile, but it feels hollow.
Sam watches me for another second, that unreadable flicker in his gaze. He’s not pushing, not prying. Just seeing me. Really seeing me.
“Looks like the sun’s out today,” he says, the words gentle, almost careful. “Might be able to clear the driveway, check the bridge.”
“Okay,” I reply, my voice quiet. Steady. Too steady.
He studies me, like he’s looking for cracks. Whatever he finds, it makes his jaw shift like he wants to say more but decides against it.
He nods instead. “Okay. ”
He disappears into the bathroom and returns a minute later with a glass of water and two ibuprofens.
I blink up at him.
“For the soreness,” he says, with a half-smile. “And maybe the emotional hangover, too.”
I snort, soft and tired. “You’re too observant.”
He leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Just looking out for my girl.”
Those two little words settle somewhere deep in my chest. It’s warm, dangerous, and terrifying.
My girl.
He disappears back into the bathroom, and the sound of the shower starting fills the room. Steam fogs the edge of the mirror. The scent of cedar soap drifts out with him.
I stare at the ceiling, swallowing down the lump in my throat.
It’s not regret.
It’s not even fear of him.
It’s the fear of how much I want this.
How easily I could fall.
How hard it might hurt if the fall doesn’t end the way I hope it will.
I take the ibuprofen. Wash them down. Curl back into the warm sheets still holding his scent. And I wait.
Because when he comes out? I’ll either pull him closer. Or start figuring out how to walk away.
Sam emerges from his shower, heading into the closet. Like a coward, I hurry to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The warm water feels wonderful on my aching body, but nothing seems to shake the melancholy that’s settled over me.
When I step into the bedroom, Sam’s gone, but there’s a steaming mug of coffee on the nightstand for me .
My eyes water and I hurry into the closet before they can fall. I pick another pair of too-big sweatpants and a thick sweatshirt with the ranch’s logo on it.
I dress and make my way toward the kitchen where I hear Phern and Sam talking.
Sam’s head turns toward me as I enter, his expression unreadable, but his eyes soften the moment they land on me. He doesn’t say anything and neither do I.
Phern doesn’t seem to notice the tension in the room, bless her.
“Good, you’re up,” she says, brushing crumbs from her hands as she moves around the kitchen. “I was just telling Sam I think we can get the driveway cleared today. Shouldn’t be too bad if the sun holds.”
She shoots a pointed glance at me, teasing but not unkind. “If we can, we’ll head into town tomorrow. Grab supplies. Clothes that actually fit you.”
I force a smile, grateful for the levity. “That would be awesome. Thank you.”
I take a sip of coffee, the heat sinking deep into my chest.
“But what about the bridge?” I ask, more cautiously.
Sam leans his elbows on the island, cradling his own mug. “That’s the question. Liam’s going to call in today with an update. If the water’s dropped low enough, we might get someone out to assess the damage.”
“Any chance it’s already fixed?” I ask, trying to sound casual, even though the answer hurts no matter what it is.
Sam shakes his head. “Doubt it. It’ll take more than a clear day to fix that structure.”
Phern nods. “But if we can get across in a truck, we’ll be able to resupply.”
I smile again but feels fake. Because every mention of town, of roads, of bridges… it’s a reminder that this little wo rld we’ve been trapped in is about to open back up. And when it does? There’s no telling what we’ll be to each other.
Sam watches me quietly over the rim of his mug, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
Or if I’m the only one already bracing for goodbye.
“I’m ready when y’all are,” I say, rising from the stool and draining the last of my coffee.
Phern chuckles, grabbing her coat from the hook by the door. “That ready to get out of here?”
I shake my head, managing a small smile. “No. But I should probably let my job know I’m still alive before they put my picture on a milk carton.”
She makes a face, not quite amused. “True. Well, let’s go.”
Sam silently hands me his coat, even though I’m already wearing one of his sweatshirts. The smell of him is feeling like home, which is dangerous.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
He just nods, eyes catching mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary. There’s something unspoken there. Something that feels like please don’t pull away from me now .
I follow them outside, the cold biting but not brutal. The sun’s doing its best to melt the snowdrifts, glittering across the fields in blinding sparks. We crunch across the icy ground toward the barn. Sam goes to a giant tractor, starting it.
I watch the tractor lumber forward, its engine rumbling like a slow heartbeat against the hush of melting snow. Sam sits tall behind the wheel, focused, calm, like the past twenty-four hours haven’t left us both unraveling.
Beside me, Phern folds her arms across her chest, letting the silence hang just long enough before nudging again.
“Everything okay between the two of you? ”
I snort, the sound brittle. “I’m not sure.”