Chapter 35 Louise
LOUISE
Exactly ten minutes later, I stepped out the front door to a winter wonderland and the sight of Ryder stretching his quads.
A pair of thin jogging pants stretched over thighs as big as tree trunks. He wore all black—shoes, pants, and a pullover that draped over his muscular shoulders like silk. A black beanie was pulled low over his head, revealing wisps of that shaggy brown hair that curled out from underneath.
No layers or jackets for him. Of course not.
He looked up, alert and gorgeous.
I threw my arms out wide. “Gray sweatshirt and blue sweatpants, long johns underneath, per your request, Captain.”
“I like it.”
“Thanks. Your approval means everything to me.”
“I meant you calling me Captain.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“What the hell is around your waist?”
“A fanny pack.”
He blinked.
“They’re so convenient.” I shrugged. “I don’t know why they get such a bad rap.”
“We’re going on a simple jog. Not a trek through the Andes.”
Another shrug.
“What do you have in it?” he asked. This fanny pack was really throwing him for a loop.
“My camera. And a stick of gum. I don’t go anywhere without my camera.”
He continued stretching. “I’m not holding it when you get tired.”
“Are you familiar with how fanny packs work? The entire point is that you don’t have to hold it.”
“You know how to stretch?”
“I know how to stretch my liver.”
He snorted. “Cirrhosis is no laughing matter.”
“Another thing that’s missing from this house.”
“Cirrhosis or laughter?”
“Laughter.”
“Stretch.”
I mirrored his widened stance and bent forward. My muscles screamed. I stretched my left leg, then the right, and glanced over to find him staring at me.
Our eyes met, and his quickly shifted away.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The air bit at my cheeks as we began down the driveway, our breath visible in silvery clouds. The world was hushed, blanketed in thick snow and wrapped in that sacred kind of silence that only comes before sunrise.
We jogged side by side, the only sound the soft crunch of our feet through the powder. The woods flanked either side of the narrow trail, their bare branches dusted in frost. Pines stood tall and unmoving, silent sentinels in the pale blue half-light.
Each breath I took seared in my chest, sharp and clean. I could feel the cold working its way through my leggings and gloves, numbing my fingers, biting at my thighs. But there was something invigorating about it. Something pure.
I picked up my pace, and Ryder matched my speed. He was pacing himself for me.
Above us, the sky began its slow shift—inky blue softening at the edges to gray, then lavender.
The first hints of gold pushed through the horizon, glinting against the snow-laden treetops.
It wasn’t quite morning yet, but the forest was beginning to wake.
Somewhere in the distance, a single bird called out, its cry sharp and clear through the hush.
I glanced over at Ryder, his breath steady, his stride effortless despite the terrain. Frost clung to the edges of his beard, and the dark hood of his sweatshirt was rimmed with ice. He looked like something carved from the wilderness itself—solid, focused, completely at home.
The woods closed in around us. Along the sides of the trail were mounds of snow two feet deep. The air smelled fresh, sharp with winter.
“You didn’t have to shovel all of this for me.”
“I didn’t. I have a skid-steer loader.”
“What’s that?”
“A machine that clears snow.”
“You’re like a one-man town, you know that?”
“Two now.” He gave me the side-eye.
“Speaking of, have you caught the weather on your radio today?” I side-eyed him right back.
“More snow is coming this afternoon. Supposed to get another inch. That’s the last of it, though.”
“Thank God.” I glanced over, expecting him to say the same, but he didn’t. “Any word from Frankie on towing my car?”
“No.”
I scowled. “I hate it sitting out here on the side of the road. Bothers me.”
Ryder glanced at me.
“I’ll call the area hotels when we get back,” I said, “assuming you have a phone that isn’t in a million pieces. There’s got to be a room somewhere.”
“Where are your friends staying?”
“They’re at the Towering Pines Inn. They booked longer than I did.”
“Thinking ahead.”
Another eye roll. “Anyway, I considered asking Miles if I could crash with him—”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“What about the other guy? Austin.”
“You have a good memory. I just met Austin. I’ve known Miles for years. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—”
“No,” Ryder said quickly. “It’s fine.”
I looked at him, but he stared ahead.
We ran in silence. My quads felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to them, and I realized we were jogging upward. The sun was rising fast now, a blazing orange igniting the tree trunks in sparkles of gold.
Ryder was right. It was beautiful.
We crested the mountain, and I stumbled as the view opened up. My pace slowed as my lips parted with a gasp. I looked over at Ryder. He was staring into the rising sun, its colors painting the snow-capped mountains in brilliant pinks and oranges. And for the first time, his expression was soft.
“It’s magnificent.” I planted my feet, my chest heaving, a bead of sweat rolling down my temple. “I need to take a picture.”
He stopped but kept jogging in place.
As I pulled my camera from my fanny pack, he shifted to the side, out of the frame. I took pictures from three different angles, capturing the streaks of color against the snow.
“Wow,” I said softly. “I don’t get a lot of sunrises.”
“Why not?”
“I’m kind of a night owl.”
“Mornings are the best part of the day.”
I winked. “Nights can be pretty good too.”
“Come on. Your muscles are going to tighten up. Let’s keep up the pace. Your focus right now is fitness, not pictures.”
Focus on fitness, focus on fitness, focus on fitness . . .
Twenty pounds, twenty pounds…
I shoved the camera back into my fanny pack, clenched my teeth, and pressed on, the brief stop giving me a rush of renewed energy.
Ryder wasn’t even breathing heavily.
We descended the hill—a much-needed reprieve—and I was awestruck at the beauty around us.
A creek ran through the bottom of the mountain, ice clinging to its sides.
We took a cute little curved bridge over it that appeared to have been built recently.
My muscles had warmed, my breath evening out, and it seemed that the farther I ran, the easier it was.
Perhaps if I would have pushed past that miserable first ten minutes in the past, maybe I would have become a real runner.
Maybe I still can.
We jogged along the fence line of the pastures. The horses, covered in plaid blankets, meandered through the field. One bucked as we passed, enjoying the rising sun shining on its back. Cows roamed the opposite pasture.
I was drenched in sweat when we finally made it back to the driveway. While Ryder paced a bit, hands on his hips, I doubled over, catching my breath.
“You did good,” he said.
My brows raised as I glanced up, still gulping air. “Thanks. I’m going to be paying for this for days, though.”
“Not if you stretch good enough.”
Then he was behind me. His hands settled on my lower back, firm and possessive. His hips pressed against mine, and I froze, breath hitching as I felt the hard ridge of him against my ass.
“Take a deep breath.”
A deep breath? I could hardly breathe at all.
I tensed, my eyes popping as I remained bent over.
“Bend through your hips, not your back.” His grip tightened on my waist, pulling me back against him, holding me there. My heart thundered—not from exertion now, but from heat, from need.
His voice dropped an octave. “Right here.” He slid one hand up to the small of my back and pressed, gently forcing me deeper into the stretch. The other hand found the crease of my hip and squeezed—slow, deliberate. My knees nearly buckled.
A rush of warmth and wetness pooled between my legs. Every nerve in my body snapped awake. I could feel how badly he wanted me, feel the tension vibrating off of him, coiled like a predator holding back the pounce.
And God help me—I didn’t want him to hold back.
I wanted him to lose that control. To take. To consume. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to feel him inside me. All that intensity. All that man. I wanted to be on the receiving end of all that pent-up madness, because somehow I knew the pleasure would be explosive.
I closed my eyes, lips parting as my body opened for him, desperate for friction, desperate for him.
Then—he released me and stepped back. Abrupt.
The cold air rushed in where his body had been, and I nearly whimpered from the loss.
“Ready for coffee?” His voice was low, tight, almost strained. Like it cost him to put distance between us.
I straightened slowly, still facing away, trying to calm the riot inside me. “You promised me the best.”
Behind me, silence stretched. I could feel his eyes on me, the weight of them dragging down my spine like a slow caress.
“It’ll be nothing like you’ve had before,” he finally said, his voice rough and raw.
I followed him inside, pulse pounding, thighs aching—and not just from the run.