Chapter 17 Louise
LOUISE
His coat stretched over a broad chest and shoulders built from years of hard labor, not gym memberships.
The dark T-shirt beneath hugged his chest, molded to ridges and planes that made it impossible not to look.
His thighs filled out his jeans like they were stitched onto him.
The worn leather of his belt clung to slim hips.
And when he walked—no, stalked—across the living room, every step was confident, grounded. Like the earth bent for him.
He didn’t just enter a room. He claimed it.
Outside, the world was glittering white—pure, glowing, magical. But him? He was dark, brooding, menacing. While the icicles caught sunlight and tossed rainbows across the walls, he remained untouched by any of it. Like light didn’t dare land on him unless invited.
And God help me, I leaned forward. Drawn to him like gravity. Like instinct.
Then his head lifted.
Butterflies erupted in my stomach.
His eyes—dark as black coffee and just as bitter—locked on me with blade-like precision. They were piercing, unreadable, and absolutely mesmerizing. My breath caught. Not from fear. From the sheer force of the intensity rolling off him in waves.
His face was all sharp angles and rough edges—weathered skin, red from cold, lined with the kind of quiet torment that didn’t just show up overnight. That jaw was made to clench, to fight, to command—and coated in just enough stubble to tease at the idea of how it would feel against skin.
And then… those lips.
Plump. Full. A soft, sinful contradiction to the brutality of the rest of him. They were the kind of lips that promised damage and pleasure in equal measure.
He looked like every outlaw cowboy from an old Western—the kind that rode alone, loved hard, and left ruin in his wake.
We stared at each other. Mine, a wary curiosity. His, contempt.
And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run—or fall to my knees.
My thoughts immediately turned to my appearance, and embarrassment engulfed me. I ran my tongue over the corner of my mouth to erase any leftover drool—like that was the single most unacceptable thing about my appearance at the moment.
The Man stopped about two feet from me as if I were the epicenter of the black plague. He thrust out a helmet that I hadn’t even noticed in his hands.
“Where’s your car?” he asked.
“It’s a 4Runner.”
“Where.”
“Down the road.”
“Where?”
“I don’t—I don’t know the GPS coordinates.”
His eyes flickered with annoyance. “How long did you walk?”
“Hours.”
The helmet was tossed at my feet, missing the duct-taped toe of my boot by a hair.
“Come on.”
“Where?” I asked, wary.
Ignoring my question, he grabbed my backpack and duffel bag and stepped out the front door. He smelled like clean soap and cedar, and every sensor in my body ignited.
Helmet in hand, I pushed myself off the floor and followed my bags outside.
I lifted the helmet. “I think this is exactly biking weather.”
“We’re not biking.”
My gaze landed on a massive brown horse standing in the middle of the driveway. This was a different one than I’d seen him on in the field minutes earlier. Bigger. A shovel and several bags of something were hooked onto the saddle.
Helmet. Saddle. Horse.
I stopped in my tracks. “We’re taking a horse to my car?”
He nodded, checking the straps on the saddle.
My heart kick-started into panic mode. Truth? I was terrified of horses.
I was six years old. It was the Carroll County Fair.
My cousins forced me to go on a horseback ride with them.
I did, and two minutes in, my horse bucked away from its handler and took off in a sprint with me like a rag doll on its back, hanging on for dear life.
Once the beast made it onto the track—with a full audience awaiting the demolition derby to start—I was bucked off, landing on a hubcap and breaking my right arm and collarbone.
I gripped the helmet. “Um . . . don’t you have a truck or something?”
“I have lots of trucks.”
“Can’t we take one of those?”
“Do I need to remind you what got you into your current circumstance in the first place?”
Ice, got it. Condescending prick, definitely got it.
I chewed my lower lip as I walked over, my legs like lead weight. I looked back at the garage with its four doors.
“What about a tractor or something?”
“Nothing on wheels is making it down that hill. I’m sorry, princess, would you like to handle this yourself?”
“Listen,” I snapped back, the fear of the horse, of him, and the frustration of my situation making me snap.
“I know this is an inconvenience for you, but I didn’t plan this.
I’m sorry I landed at your house. Believe me, I am.
If you’re too busy I can handle this myself.
I made it here last night, and I can make it back to my car again. ”
“And get yourself out of the ditch like you did last night?”
“Maybe. Now that the sun’s up.”
He pulled the helmet from my hands and strapped it on my head with quick, jerky movements. I held my breath and avoided eye contact.
After the helmet was secured, he stepped behind me and gripped my waist, sending a wave of tingles over my skin. Without a warning or the grace of a countdown, I was hoisted into the air.
Panic blew through me and I locked up like a plank. Arms froze at my sides, legs locked like four-by-fours.
He dropped me to the ground. “What the hell are you doing?”
I said nothing, staring in panic at the saddle in front of me.
“Hang on.” He frowned. “Have you never ridden a horse?”
“Yes, I have,” I croaked, staring at the horse. “And broke two bones in the process. I’m not exactly the most coordinated person. I can dance, though. Go figure.”
Shut up, Louise.
A moment passed with one beast staring at the back of my head, and the other impatiently stomping its hooves in front of me.
The Man tapped my elbows. “Bend these next time.” Then he knocked the back of my knees with his. “And these, too. Grip the saddle horn and pull yourself onto the saddle. You’re not going to fall. I’m right here. Now, let’s go.”
Birds scattered from a nearby tree at the squeak that came out of me as he hoisted me into the air again.
Madly grasping at anything, I pulled myself onto the saddle, flung my leg over, doubled over and wrapped my arms around the horse’s neck for dear life.
My chest heaving, I twisted my head to look at him, a few strands of the horse’s mane sliding into my mouth.
I swear I saw the corner of the Man’s lip curl up.
Closing my eyes, I prayed for the good Lord to take me right then and there.
“Louise.”
I spat out the horse’s hair. “What?”
“I’m going to need you to release my horse’s neck and scoot to the second seat on the saddle.”
I didn’t move.
“Now, Louise.”
I hated him. God, I hated him.
My heart pounded, but dammit, I could not release my grip from around the horse’s neck.
The Man stared at me, and I closed my eyes.
A moment passed. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. I didn’t dare raise my head for fear of spooking the horse.
Three grueling minutes ticked by before a black horse trotted up from the side of the house, the Man sitting on top. It was the same horse he was riding before.
He pulled up alongside me, grabbed the reins from my horse, and slowly tugged. I squeezed the horse’s neck tighter, my breasts smashed against the back of its neck.
A blanket was wrapped around my back, a thick, wooly plaid blanket. It smelled like him.
“What’s mine’s name?” I croaked.
“Prudence.” He side-eyed me. The name of the horse he’d given me to ride meant caution, good judgment, and common sense.
How ironic.
“She has a good temperament,” he said. “Smart.”
I bit the inside of my cheek as Prudence began to walk, my body swaying from side to side with each step.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God . . .
If the Man said anything to me, I didn’t hear it. I was too busy repenting my sins.
It took a while.
Eventually, I realized there was a rhythm to the movement, and because we were going so slowly, it was easy to anticipate each sway. I also began to realize that although there was a dip with each step, I wasn’t going to fall off. The saddle felt solid between my legs.
I took a deep breath, then another, and another.
My gaze shifted to the man in the black cowboy hat. Snowflakes swirled around him, fading into the white landscape that was slowly closing in around us.
“What’s your name?” I asked, almost in a whisper.
His steely gaze remained fixed ahead. “Ryder.”