Chapter 30 Maya
MAYA
The Buffaloberry Blizzards had their first real weekend on the ice, and the entire town showed up like it was the Olympics.
Noah stood out there in the middle of the rink, whistle around his neck, herding kids in mismatched gear and oversized helmets.
He was flushed from the cold and completely in his element.
The rink used to be part of the old Buffaloberry Cannery, a brick-and-beam relic at the edge of town that had sat abandoned for years, collecting pigeons and rumors.
But Noah had seen something in it—a long, flat stretch of floor, sturdy walls, and just enough stubborn Montana spirit to turn it into something new.
He’d called in favors, roped in Elia, and spent weeks scrubbing, painting, patching, and laying down the boards.
By the time the first snow fell, it was a rink. A rough one, sure, but one with soul.
Meanwhile, I was on cupcake duty.
The folding table I’d commandeered had barely enough room to keep up.
Kids kept darting over for sugar boosts, parents followed behind them, claiming they were “just checking,” and everyone had an opinion about which cupcake was best. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I’d just thrown together whatever I had in the pantry that morning.
Apparently, Flathead Cherry & Maple Buttercream was now a town favorite.
“You should name that one ‘Power Play,’” someone joked as I boxed another dozen for a mom who swore she wasn’t sharing with her kid.
From where I stood, I could see Noah kneeling beside a boy who’d taken a tumble, gently adjusting his elbow pads and saying something that made the kid nod like he’d just been entrusted with national secrets.
This wasn’t just about hockey. It was about giving the town’s kids something to look forward to, and giving the town itself something to rally behind.
And maybe, for Noah, it was about making sure everyone had a place.
I wiped my hands on my apron, watching him skate backward, whistle in his mouth, and calling out drills with the kind of easy joy that could melt the ice if you let it.
God, I loved this man.
I’d just handed off the last of the empty cupcake boxes when some guy at the end of the line stepped up, his lip curled in disgust.
“Go back where you came from, thief,” he snarled.
The word hit like a slap, even though I’d heard worse.
I kept my expression neutral and my chin level, but my pulse kicked up. I wasn’t about to give this asshole the satisfaction of a reaction. I packed up the cake trays and empty drink cups, turning away.
But he followed.
“Get away from me!” I hissed.
Right then, Noah was there.
I hadn’t even noticed him leaving the rink, but somehow, he’d crossed the ice, the snow, and the crowd in seconds.
He took a step forward. “You got a death wish, or are you just naturally this dumb?”
The man hesitated, his bravado slipping.
Noah gave a small nod, like he’d already decided the guy wasn’t worth much thought. “Do that again, and the next thing you know, you’ll be skating home on your teeth.”
A few heads turned in our direction, whispers already forming. But no one came closer. We were just far enough from the main bustle that people opted for distance over involvement.
Noah didn’t move, didn’t raise his voice, but something in his eyes changed—something sharp and lethal, the kind of thing that put people on the defensive before they even understood why.
The man backed off, his steps stiff and drawn out. A retreat disguised as pride.
Noah didn’t look at me right away. He kept his gaze on the guy until he disappeared around the corner. Only then did he turn to me.
“Don’t let that piece of shit get to you, Maya.”
I forced a smirk. “What? That? I barely noticed.”
But the weight of it stayed.
Back at The Lazy Moose, the mood had shifted into celebration mode. Noah’s Buffaloberry Blizzards had made it through their first meet, and the place buzzed with laughter and food.
The earlier incident seemed forgotten, thank goodness. The last thing I wanted was for that thug to taint something this pure, this local.
In the kitchen, Elia and Claire were bickering, something about how much rosemary they should use for the lamb, and Noah was halfway across the room, trying to keep Dylan from turning the snack table into a demolition site.
I wanted to be in it. Really, I did. I wanted to raise a glass and toast the town, the team, and this version of life that I was lucky enough to have stumbled into. But right now, I just needed a second to clear my head and be alone with it.
I slipped out the side door, mumbling something about needing a walk.
The barn was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of hay and the sounds of horses shifting in their stalls. I grabbed a pitchfork and got to work, my muscles stretching, sweat slicking my skin. The scent of dust and leather filled the air, grounding me.
Noah had been there for me. As always. Fiercely protective.
But it didn’t stop the guilt.
He had to put up with shit because of me.
Today hadn’t been the first time. Because of what people thought and what they whispered when they thought I couldn’t hear.
And it wasn’t just him. Elia and Claire bore it too, though they never said a word.
And I hadn’t forgotten about Napoleon taking his revenge on them for the phone I’d thrown into the ravine.
The sun had barely started its descent when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Gee, Miss Maya,” Hank drawled. “What are you doing out here? You get exiled from the kitchen? What’d you do?”
A smile tugged at my lips. “I just needed this,” I admitted, tossing a forkful of hay. “Hard work.”
Hank lifted a shoulder. “If you must.” He hesitated, then tilted his head. “Does Noah know you’re out here?”
I shrugged back.
Because I already knew what Noah would do if he found me out here alone.
Maybe I wanted to delay that moment a little longer.
I heard another set of footsteps.
“There you are!” Noah’s voice rang out. He strode toward me, his hands on his hips. “Geez, Blue Storm. You’re sweaty.”
“That’s what happens when you work hard, Noah,” Hank muttered, already distancing himself from whatever was about to happen.
Noah ignored him, his focus locked on me. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just a bit venty.”
“Venty?”
“You know, failing to vent about what happened at the rink.”
He gave me a once-over. “Well, you don’t look good. You don’t smell good.” Before I could protest, he grabbed my wrist. “Come with me.”
I barely had time to react before he tugged me toward the outdoor wash area, the place meant for cleaning up after long days or hosing down the horses.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Then I saw it.
The hose in his hand.
I took a step back. “Don’t you dare.”
Too late.
A blast of freezing water hit me square in the chest.
I let out a shriek, stumbling back as laughter erupted from him.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” I lunged for my own hose, fumbling with the nozzle before whipping it in his direction.
“Maya!” Noah threw an arm up to shield his face.
“That’s what you get, cowboy!” I turned the pressure up, aiming straight for his stomach.
Across the way, Hank groaned. “First your brother, now you?”
I glanced over my shoulder to find him standing there, looking like a man who had witnessed too much romance for one lifetime.
Noah just smirked, shaking the water from his hair. “You’re just mad ‘cause no one’s sprayin’ you down, Hank.”
The ranch foreman snorted. “That’s the way I like it.” Then he turned to the rest of the hands, who had just come back from the fields. “Alright, boys, let’s clear out before we all drown.”
The others took his advice, dispersing with chuckles and muttered bets on who would win the hose war.
I turned back to Noah, still breathless from laughing and from the unexpected thrill of something so easy.
I had thought if he found me out here, he’d lecture me. Maybe wrap me in one of those hugs that made my guilt press harder.
Not this.
And now, dripping and grinning, I was glad he’d found me.
“You’re feeling blue, Storm?” Noah said effortlessly. It should’ve offended me, but I was lapping it up. Damn, it was so good to have his attention.
“So what?”
“We need to fix that,” he said.
The barn doors creaked as the last of the hands left, and Noah watched them go.
Then, without a word, he took a step forward.
Oh.
He took the hose from my hand and tossed it aside.
Then, before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the barn.
My breath hitched. “Noah—”
The door swung open.
And then, he locked it behind us.
I stared at him, my pulse hammering, my back against the wall.
Noah stepped closer, his eyes holding mine.
The playfulness was gone.
I barely had time to breathe before Noah had me pinned against the rough wooden wall of the barn.
His hands were on my hips, firm and possessive, his body still damp from the water fight outside.
The scent of sweat, sun, and something purely him wrapped around me, tightening with every ragged breath.
“Well, cowboy,” I taunted, dragging my fingers down his chest and feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch. “Is this how you fix things? Careful now, I’m fragile.”
His jaw clenched, the sharp edge of control barely holding back whatever fire burned behind those dark eyes.
“Oh, Blue Storm,” he murmured, his voice thick and threaded with something dangerous. Something I wanted more of. “You’re anything but fragile.”
My palm drifted lower, brushing over the bulge straining against his jeans.
And he made damn sure I knew just how little he believed me.
His mouth crashed against mine, claiming and devouring, his hands already tearing at my soaked tank top.
The fabric clung to my skin, resisting for a second before he peeled it off, leaving me bare in the warm light of the barn.
His hands roamed, rough and reverent, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to savor or consume.
I wasn’t patient enough to let him decide.
I shoved at his shirt, yanking it over his head, my hands skimming the ridges of muscle and the flex of his abs as he sucked in a sharp breath. The air between us was charged with something hotter than the space heater Noah had been keeping an eye on.
“Baby,” I breathed, gripping his belt, ready to tear it off his jeans.
His fingers curled around mine, halting me. “Not yet,” he rasped, his lips ghosting over my collarbone and down the line of my throat. “You’re not nearly desperate enough for me.”
I let out a breathless laugh, arching into him. “You think so?”
His hands were already on my shorts, sliding them down with slow precision. The denim hit the hay-strewn floor, and I shivered as the cool air met my overheated skin. Noah’s palms skated up my thighs, a quiet reverence in the way he touched me.
But then, just when I thought I had the upper hand, he turned me.
And pressed me forward against the rough, scratchy surface of a hay bale.
The old barn creaked, the dust dancing in the beams of late afternoon light. The only sounds were our breaths, the rustle of hay, and the deliberate drag of Noah’s zipper.
“Maya.” His voice was gravelly and strained. “Tell me you want this.”
I bit my lip, gripping the edge of the hay bale, the anticipation coiling tighter. “You know I do.”
His hands traced over my hips and down my spine, his lips following the path, marking me and owning me. The first press he made stole my breath, a teasing slide that made my fingers curl into the dry grass, my body trembling with need.
He pushed deeper, a groan tearing from his throat. “Damn, Maya…”
I dropped my head forward. “What, Noah Lucas?” I whispered teasingly.
And then he moved.
And I shattered.
The barn walls held our secrets. And the air carried our moans as we rode that edge together, tangled in heat and recklessness.