Chapter 22 Louise
LOUISE
We took off across the lake—Ryder, a shadowy tower at the helm, and me, curled in the floor of the boat like a frozen gremlin, clutching the sides with numb fingers.
The wind howled across the water, biting into my skin like needles.
It lashed through my hair, ripped at my clothes, and pierced straight through Ryder’s soaked jeans and shirt.
But like the ice sculpture he was, he didn’t flinch. I watched him from beneath my scarf, wondering if his clothes had frozen to his skin. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it.
The snow picked up about five minutes in. Not just flurries now—this was a full-blown blizzard, blocking everything around us. My ears burned from the cold, and my teeth chattered like bones in a cup.
Who fishes in this kind of weather?
Eventually, we rounded a bend, slowing as we slipped into a narrow cove. Trees towered on either side of us, bent by the heavy snow. Steep banks rose sharply from the lake, shimmering with ice.
Ryder eased the boat into a covered dock—new construction, judging by the raw beams and the sharp scent of sawdust—and cut the engine.
I couldn’t move. My legs were frozen stiff, my arms numb. Even my eyelids felt heavy with frost.
Ryder moved with effortless precision. He tied off the boat, grabbed my bags, and set them beside me without a word. When he extended a hand, I hesitated a second before reaching up, gripping his fingers. Rough. Calloused. Strong.
His hand closed around mine, and in one swift, no-nonsense motion, he yanked me upright. There was nothing gentle about him. No softness. Just strength and raw function.
He turned away, locking up equipment, snapping cabinets shut and securing his fishing poles like a man who’d done it a hundred times. Then he hauled out a large cooler and hoisted it over one shoulder.
I shouldered my own bags, legs shaking beneath me, and followed him across the dock.
Then came the climb.
A narrow trail snaked up into the trees behind the cove, disappearing into the woods. We started up it, one foot in front of the other, the snow crunching beneath our boots. Clumps of snow fell from the trees around us, their gentle plops to the ground breaking the silence.
We walked. And walked.
And walked.
Finally, we crested the hill, and the back of Ryder’s ranch came into view—an even more impressive sight than the front.
The architecture rose from the snow like something out of a dream, all dark timber and stone and sweeping windows that reflected the storm.
But between us and it? A half mile of open, snow-covered fields. More walking.
I couldn’t believe Ryder had walked all that way, in a blizzard—to go fishing.
And I’m the crazy one?
Ryder stopped, lifted his fingertips to his lips. An ear-piercing whistle sliced through the wind. Moments later, his black horse appeared like a phantom through the curtain of snow—mane whipping, hooves pounding.
Prudence was nowhere in sight. Probably curled up by a fire with tea and a Sudoku puzzle.
Ryder grabbed the horse’s bridle and led him to me, his movements calm, practiced, powerful.
“Get on,” he said.
Please.
I dropped my bags, too grateful to pretend pride. I don’t think I could have walked another ten feet.
I lifted my boot to the stirrup and reached for the horn, but before I could pull myself up, two large hands gripped my waist and lifted me clean off the ground, settling me into the saddle with an ease that made me dizzy.
Heat exploded in my cheeks. He was getting way too good at that—and I was getting way too comfortable with it.
After securing my bags and the cooler to the saddle, Ryder grasped the horn and swung up behind me. The saddle shifted beneath his weight as his thighs pressed around mine. His chest molded against my back. His groin nestled firmly against me—and I officially stopped breathing.
His arms reached around to grab the reins, brushing my sides as they did, and I inhaled sharply.
That scent again.
Him.
Butterflies stirred deep in my stomach. I froze, unsure of what to do, how to hold my body.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low in my ear, sending a literal shiver straight through me.
“Yes,” I whispered—and meant it.
With a click of his heels, the horse moved into a slow, steady rhythm. I rocked with the motion, tucked into Ryder’s body like we’d done this a hundred times.
I felt warm. Enclosed. Safe.
I let myself lean into him, just slightly, my muscles slowly unclenching, even as my heart pounded. Jerk or not, the man awakened something raw and aching inside me.
As we moved through the snow-covered field, I looked out across his land.
The fields stretched to the horizon, a patchwork of white interrupted only by the fences and the dark, perfectly aligned silhouettes of hay bales. Beyond them, mountains loomed in the distance.
I spotted a herd of cattle clustered near a fence line, their bodies dusted in snow. A massive red barn rose nearby, flanked by a greenhouse-like structure and several smaller outbuildings.
And in the center of it all, perched on the highest rise like a sentinel above his kingdom, was the house.
The house of ice.