Chapter Three
Tinsley
The knock came as the couple on screen was about to kiss under the mistletoe.
Outside the massive windows, the December darkness had settled in fully, that early winter night that came before six o'clock.
The blizzard had transformed the world beyond the glass into a swirling wall of white, illuminated only by the cabin's exterior lights.
Inside, the fire popped and crackled, filling the room with the scent of burning pine.
My Christmas movie played on low volume, the dialogue barely audible over the wind rattling the windows.
Hot chocolate sloshed over the rim of my mug, scalding my thumb. I hissed, shaking my hand. My laptop slid sideways on the couch cushion.
Another knock. Louder this time. More insistent.
Who the hell was out in this weather?
I set my mug down and walked to the door. Through the frosted glass panel, I could barely make out a silhouette—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing what looked like a cowboy hat. Snow whipped around him in violent gusts.
"Ma'am?" The voice was deep, rough with cold. "I need to come in. It's getting cold out here."
It's getting cold out here.
Melody's text. The "special delivery" she'd promised. The mystery gift she wouldn't explain.
Oh my god. She'd sent me a stripper.
Blood rushed to my face. I was going to kill her.
"Look," I called through the door, "I appreciate the effort, but I don't think—"
"Please." The urgency in his voice made me hesitate. "I'm lost and she's freezing. Need to warm her up and get directions."
Either he was a really good actor, or there was actually a problem.
I unlocked the deadbolt and cracked the door open.
Wind tried to rip it from my hand. Cold air blasted in, carrying snow with it. I braced my shoulder against the door.
The man on my porch stood well over six feet tall, broad shoulders straining against a heavy Carhartt jacket crusted with snow.
Dark scruff covered a strong jaw. A brown Stetson sat at an angle that should've been illegal, dusted white, casting shadows across his face.
When he looked at me—dark eyes, intense—my breath caught.
Heat flooded my cheeks despite the frigid air pouring through the doorway. My brain went briefly offline.
I spied something bulky tucked inside his coat. His prop, probably.
"Special delivery here." He shifted his weight, and I heard a soft whimper from inside his jacket. "I'm looking for Pine Ridge Road, but I got turned around and my GPS died. Do you know—"
"Listen." My cheeks burned. "I know you have a job to do, and I'm sure you're very good at it, but I'm not in the mood for... whatever this is."
His eyebrows drew together. "My job?"
"The dancing. The..." I gestured vaguely at him. "You know."
"I'm not—"
A high-pitched whimper cut him off.
The lump in his coat squirmed. He grabbed at it with one gloved hand, but it kept moving, and then a golden head poked out from between the snaps.
A puppy.
An actual, real, very much alive puppy.
With a red bow tied around her neck, crooked and half-undone.
"Oh my god." I stepped closer. "Is that a real puppy?"
"Yes! That's what I've been trying to tell you. She's going hypothermic and I'm lost and I—"
She let out another pitiful cry, her whole body shaking. Her dark eyes found mine—trusting, scared, cold.
"Get in here!" I grabbed his jacket and pulled him inside, slamming the door against the wind. "You're both half-frozen already."
He stumbled into the entryway, snow falling off him in clumps, creating puddles on the hardwood.
The scent of winter air rushed in—sharp and clean—mixed with worn leather and something earthy.
Hay, maybe. Or the outdoors itself. He seemed to bring the Montana wilderness right into my cozy cabin, all broad shoulders and masculine presence taking up space in the small entryway.
"Thank you." He exhaled, breath fogging. "I need directions to Pine Ridge Road and—"
He laughed suddenly—a low, rough sound. "Wait—you thought I was a stripper? In this storm?"
"My friend sent a cryptic text about a special delivery!" I pressed my palms to my cheeks. "What was I supposed to think?"
"And you thought she hired me to take my clothes off?"
"I know! Okay? But she's been threatening to do something ridiculous ever since—" I stopped. "Never mind. You're soaked and I'm an idiot."
"I think the pup needs to get warm."
"Oh god, yes!" I tugged on his arm again. "I'm so sorry."
"Not the worst." Amusement colored his voice. "Top ten, maybe."
She whimpered again, more urgently.
"Fire first, mortification later." I pointed toward the massive stone fireplace where logs crackled and popped. "Get her warm."
He moved toward it, already extracting her from his jacket. She was incredibly young—maybe eight weeks old—with paws too big for her body and floppy ears. That crooked red bow made her look like a Christmas present someone had shaken too hard.
He set her down gently on the cream-colored rug.
She immediately squatted and peed.
"Oh no—" He lunged for her. "I'm sorry, I should've—she's been holding it for hours—"
"It's fine!" I was already running for paper towels. Thankfully I located a bottle of carpet cleaner in the kitchen cabinet under the sink. "She's a baby. And honestly after I accused you of being a stripper, doggy pee feels like karma."
We both dropped to our knees, frantically soaking up the mess. Our fingers bumped reaching for the same wet spot.
Warmth shot up my arm.
I yanked my hand back like I'd been burned.
He did the same, so fast he nearly knocked over the cleaner bottle. For a moment we just stared at each other, both of us kneeling on this stranger's expensive rug, soaked paper towels in hand, a puddle of puppy pee between us. Not exactly the meet-cute I'd ever imagined.
He glanced at me—those brown eyes had lighter flecks near the center, I noticed—and his mouth quirked.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling.
We both looked away and attacked the wet spot with renewed focus.
She began exploring, sniffing at his boot, then mine, then chewing on a throw pillow.
"No, don't—" He reached for her and gently began extricating the pillow from her mouth.
"She needs some toys," I said, reaching to give the eager creature a pat.
"In my truck." He dragged his fingers through his dark hair. "I was supposed to deliver her before the weather hit, but my GPS died and I got lost. She was shaking from the cold."
"You're really delivering a puppy on Christmas Eve? In this weather? You're not a stripper?"
"No, ma'am. Rancher who made a bad call on the weather."
Oh god.
"I'm Tinsley," I blurted, sticking out my hand. "And I'm so sorry."
"Turner Johnson." He offered his hand—warm, callused, work-roughened. "Friends call me TJ."
I held on maybe a smidge too long, reluctant to break the contact. His grip was firm, confident. The kind of handshake that came from physical labor, not a gym membership.
When I finally released his hand, I immediately wanted to take it back.
"My mom breeds golden retrievers," he continued, seemingly unbothered by my awkwardness. "Show dogs. This little girl's supposed to go to a woman named RoyAnn somewhere on Pine Ridge Road. But I feel like I've been driving in circles since my Nav system kicked the bucket."
"I have no idea where that is. This is an Airbnb rental—I'm staying for Christmas."
The ball of golden fluff had discovered my fuzzy sock and was attempting to murder it with her baby teeth.
"She probably needs food and water, right?"
"Yeah. Let me grab the dog supplies from my pickup." He moved toward the door.
The storm was roaring—wind screamed through the trees. Snow came down in blinding sheets. White wall upon white wall.
"Jesus," I breathed.
TJ disappeared into that chaos. I scooped up the little golden retriever and held her close. Through the windows, I could barely make out his shape moving toward a dark truck.
He was back in less than two minutes, arms loaded with a carrier, bags of food, blankets, and toys. Snow covered him head to boots, melting into dark patches on his jacket and dripping onto the hardwood. Cold radiated off him in waves.
"It's getting worse." He set everything down, shaking snow from his hat. "Real bad out there. Can barely see ten feet."
I pulled out my phone. No signal. "I had service earlier."
He checked his, shook his head. "Nothing."
"The internet's still working." I grabbed my laptop from the coffee table and pulled up the weather. We both leaned in to look at the screen.
Red warnings covered the entire regional map.
"Blizzard warning through tomorrow morning," I read aloud, scrolling through the alerts. "Highway 89 closed between Livingston and Gardiner. Multiple accidents reported. Travelers advised to shelter in place." I glanced at him. "That's the route you took to get here, right?"
He nodded, jaw tight. "Only way back to the ranch."
"Which will still be there when the roads are clear." I closed the laptop. "There's a second bedroom upstairs. Stay until it's safe to drive."
He studied me for a long moment, clearly torn between responsibility and reality. Finally, he exhaled. "Until the roads clear. I appreciate it."
"The puppy needs somewhere warm to sleep anyway, right?"
"Yeah." He glanced toward the stairs. "She'll need to be watched tonight. First night away from her littermates."
"Then it's settled. You'll take the second bedroom. Let's get her settled in."
We carried everything upstairs to the second bedroom—blankets, carrier, toys, food.
"Here, put the carrier by the vent," I suggested, pointing to the corner. "That's the warmest spot."
"Good thinking." He spread one of his blankets inside, testing the softness with his hand. "She likes to burrow. My mom always says they need something that smells like home."
"Does she have anything from your ranch? Something familiar?"
He pulled a small blanket from the bottom of the supply bag. "This one's from her whelping box. All the puppies slept on it."