Chapter two
Luke
I’m on my third bowl of Grandma’s chili and still trying to figure out how to breathe normally when Holly Jameson is sitting across the table from me.
Every time she leans forward to scribble something in that damn planner, the fabric of her shirt pulls tight across her chest, and I forget my own name.
Frankie is chattering about contingency bouquets made of pine cones and ribbon. Rhett’s nodding along like a man who learned long ago that a happy fiancée equals a happy life. Grandma’s refilling coffee like this is just another Tuesday.
Holly, meanwhile, is color-coding the apocalypse.
“Florist is stuck in Livingston,” she mutters, pen flying. “Cake is officially a hostage in Bozeman. We have three days until the wedding, only one case of champagne, and I’ve exactly one nervous breakdown allotted per day. I’m taking mine at 3 p.m. tomorrow.”
Rhett raises an eyebrow. “You scheduled your breakdown?”
“Efficiency,” she says without looking up.
I grin into my cornbread. Fuck, I like her. I like the way she snaps orders like a whip and somehow makes it sound sexy. I like the way her mouth purses when she’s concentrating. I like that she hasn’t once looked at me like I’m just the dumb cowboy who hauls hay for a living.
Frankie kicks my shin under the table. “Luke, stop staring at Holly like she’s the last slice of pecan pie.”
Holly’s head snaps up. “I’m right here.”
“Exactly,” Frankie says sweetly. “Which is why you don’t need that overpriced hotel in town. I told you the roads were going to close.”
Holly waves a hand. “Hotel has a backup generator, a spa tub, and zero animals waking me up at 4 a.m.”
Grandma snorts. “Our animals have better manners than most men.”
I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs until my boot nudges Holly’s ankle under the table. She doesn’t move away.
“Speaking of backup plans,” I drawl, “my cabin’s five hundred yards from the barn. There’s a fireplace that’ll keep you toasty even if the whole county goes dark. Quiet, too. No livestock, no Frankie snoring through the wall.”
Frankie throws a napkin at me. “I do not snore.”
Rhett coughs into his coffee. “You absolutely do.”
Holly’s eyes narrow on me, suspicious. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” I shrug, trying to look innocent and probably failing. “One bedroom, one bathroom, and no one will bother you.”
Frankie makes a gimme-a-break noise.
Holly taps her pen against her planner, thinking. I watch the way her bottom lip catches between her teeth and have to shift in my seat.
“Fine,” she says finally. “Only if you promise I’ll stay warm and unbothered.”
“Scout’s honor,” I say, holding up three fingers.
“You were never a scout,” Rhett mutters.
Holly stands, smoothing her hands down her thighs. “I need to check the barn one more time before dark. Heaters, light timers, emergency lanterns.”
I’m on my feet before she finishes the sentence. “I’ll walk you.”
“I know the way.”
“Humor me.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.
We bundle up and step out into a winter wonderland. Snow’s already ankle-deep and climbing fast.
Halfway to the barn, she slips again. I catch her by the elbow before she goes down.
“Jesus, woman,” I laugh, steadying her. “You trying to break something before the wedding?”
“I’m fine,” she says, but she doesn’t pull away immediately. Her fingers curl into my coat sleeve like she’s testing how solid I am.
We make it inside the barn. The heaters are humming, and the fairy lights glow soft gold against the rafters. It already looks like a dream.
Holly walks the aisle, checking cords, adjusting lanterns, muttering measurements under her breath. I trail behind, hands in my pockets, watching the way she moves.
She stops under the center beam, tilts her head, and frowns. “The chandelier needs to come down four inches. It’s throwing the proportions off.”
I step up behind her, close enough to see the snow melting in her hair. “You want me to grab the ladder?”
“I want you to stop breathing down my neck,” she says, but there’s no heat in it.
“Can’t help it,” I murmur. “You smell good.”
She turns, and we’re suddenly chest to chest. Her eyes flick to my mouth and back up.
“Luke.”
“Holly.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Probably.”
She exhales, a slight, frustrated sound. “I don’t have time for terrible ideas.”
“Then I’ll wait till you do.”
For a second, I think she might kiss me anyway. Instead, she steps back, squares her shoulders, and marches toward the door like a general retreating to fight another day.
She sighs, long and dramatic. “Lead the way to your cabin before I change my mind and sleep in the barn with the heaters.”
I grab her suitcase that I got from her car earlier and shoulder it like it weighs nothing.
Outside, the storm’s turned vicious. Snow’s horizontal, wind howling like a freight train. I sling an arm around Holly’s shoulders to keep her upright, and she lets me.
My cabin’s a dark shape ahead, one lone porch light cutting through the whiteout. I get the door open, stomp snow off my boots, and usher her inside.
The second the door shuts behind us, the world goes quiet except for the fire I banked this morning crackling in the hearth.
Holly stands in the middle of my living room, dripping, cheeks red from the cold, eyes wide as she takes it in. My cabin isn’t much. I spend most of my time in the big house, but I do love it.
I drop her suitcase, shrug out of my coat, and try not to think about the fact that there’s one bed down the hall and there’s no way I’m going back out in that storm.
“Welcome home,” I say, voice rougher than I mean it to be.
She looks at me, something unreadable flickering across her face.
“This is going to be a disaster,” she mutters.
I grin. “Yeah. But it’s gonna be my favorite kind.”