Chapter Four
TJ
Iwas in trouble.
Sitting on this expensive leather couch with a sleeping puppy between us and a beautiful woman who thought I was a stripper two hours ago, I was in serious trouble.
Tinsley tucked her feet under her, leaning against the armrest, firelight catching in her chestnut hair.
She'd changed into flannel pajama pants covered in snowflakes and an oversized sweater that kept sliding off one shoulder.
Every time it did, I caught a glimpse of smooth ivory skin and my brain stopped working.
Her hazel eyes shifted between green and gold depending on how the flames hit them. When she laughed—which she did easily, often at herself—dimples appeared in both cheeks.
I'd noticed all of this in the past two hours. Catalogued every detail like a fool.
She was a city girl, used to conveniences and restaurants and a life that didn't smell like manure. She'd quit her job yesterday and had no idea what came next. She was heartbroken, vulnerable, spending Christmas alone because some asshole didn't know what he had.
And I was a rancher who'd be back to his isolated life the second the weather let up.
This was temporary. When the storm passed, I'd go back to my life and she'd go back to hers.
I needed to remember that.
"We should probably eat something," Tinsley said, breaking the comfortable silence. "Before we both pass out from hunger."
My stomach growled right on cue, loud enough that Twinkle's ears twitched in her sleep.
"Seconded." I carefully moved the puppy to her blanket by the fire. She didn't even stir.
In the kitchen, Tinsley moved with confidence, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. "I've got everything for beef stew. It's my mom's recipe—a family favorite. I don’t even remember the last time I made it."
"Why not?"
"Satan—aka Grayson, my lying, cheating ex—said it was too heavy. Too many carbs neither of us needed." She set a large russet potato on the counter harder than necessary.
The urge to drive to Bozeman and introduce this Grayson to my fist was stronger than it should be.
"His loss," I said simply.
She glanced at me, something tender in her expression. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
"Well." She smiled, that dimple appearing again. "Want to help?"
"Fair warning—I'm not much of a cook. At home, meals tend toward functional, not fancy."
"Perfect. You can chop vegetables. I'll handle the rest."
She handed me a cutting board and knife. I took off my flannel shirt, leaving just my thermal undershirt, and rolled up my sleeves. When I looked up, Tinsley was staring at my forearms.
"Vegetables?" I said, keeping my voice neutral.
Her cheeks went pink. "Right. Yes. Carrots first."
We fell into an easy rhythm. She directed, I followed orders. The kitchen filled with good smells—onions sautéing in butter, meat browning, the rich scent of beef broth. She hummed along to the Christmas music playing from her laptop, occasionally singing a line or two.
"You really know what you’re doing," I observed, watching her work.
"I love cooking. Always have." She added wine to the pot—a generous pour.
"My mom taught me when I was little. We'd spend Saturdays baking bread or making soup. It was our thing." She paused, staring into the pot. "I gave it up though, since Grayson wouldn’t eat what I liked to make—and he thought I shouldn’t, either.”
"What the hell was wrong with him?" The words came out harsher than intended.
She looked at me, surprise and something else in her eyes. "Well, I'm not exactly magazine material."
"You're stunning."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "TJ—"
"Just stating facts, ma'am." I focused on chopping potatoes. "Any man who makes a woman feel bad about herself isn't worth the dirt on her boots."
Silence stretched between us. Then, quietly: "That’s very kind. Thank you."
We finished preparing dinner without talking much, but the silence felt charged. Every accidental brush of hands or arms made me want more.
This was bad. I was supposed to be keeping my distance, not telling her she was stunning.
Even if it was true.
Especially because it was true.
When the stew was simmering, we moved to the table by the windows. Snow continued its assault outside, piling higher on the deck railing. The house felt like the only warm place for miles.
"Tell me about the ranch," she said, ladling stew into bowls. "What's it like running a cattle operation?"
So I told her. About the land that had been in my family for three generations. About mornings that started before sunrise and days that ended after dark. About the satisfaction of working with your hands, of knowing every fence line and water source, of watching calves grow strong.
"My dad's retiring in January," I said. "Officially handing everything over to me. It's what I've always wanted, but it's also..." I paused, searching for words. "Lonely, sometimes. Most women I meet either don't understand the life or want me to give it up."
"That's not fair to you."
"It's reality." I shrugged. "Can't really blame them. It's long hours, isolated, not glamorous. My high school girlfriend left for California and never looked back. Most people do."
"Not everyone wants glamorous." She met my eyes. "Some people want real."
The way she looked at me made my chest tight.
I cleared my throat. "What about you? What happens after Christmas?"
"Honestly? No idea." She took a bite of stew, thoughtful.
"I need to find a new job somewhere close to Bozeman so I can finish my dental hygiene certification.
Take my boards in the spring. Figure out where I want to live, what I want my life to look like.
" She laughed, but it sounded sad. "I thought I had it all planned out.
Turns out I was planning someone else's life, not mine. "
"You'll figure it out."
"You sound confident."
"I am. You're clearly smart, capable, and you make a damn good beef stew."
That earned me a real smile. "High praise from a cowboy."
"The highest."
After dinner, I helped clean up despite her protests. We worked side by side at the sink—her washing, me drying. Domestic. Easy. Like we'd done this a hundred times before.
When the last dish was put away, I grabbed two wine glasses from the cabinet. "How about we take another bottle to the living room? Sit by the fire and relax?"
"That sounds perfect."
I opened a second bottle of the Cabernet we’d been having and we settled on the couch. Twinkle was still passed out by the fireplace, occasionally making puppy sounds in her sleep.
Tinsley curled into the corner of the couch, wine glass cradled in both hands. Firelight played across her face, turning her skin golden.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Go ahead."
"Do you ever feel like you're not enough? Like you have to change yourself to be what someone wants?"
The vulnerability in her voice hit me hard.
"No," I said honestly. "But that's because I stopped trying to be anything other than what I am years ago. This is who I am—rancher, Montana born and bred, happiest when I'm working the land. If that's not enough for someone, better to know it early."
"That must be nice. Being that sure of yourself."
"Tinsley." I waited until she looked at me. "That asshole made you question yourself. Made you think you needed to be someone you’re not. You don't. You're perfect exactly as you are."
Her eyes went bright. "You barely know me."
"I know enough. I know you're kind—you let a stranger and his dog into your cabin, offered food and shelter.
I know you're strong—you walked away from a bad situation even when it hurt.
I know you love to cook and you have a ridiculous laugh and you named a puppy Twinkle because you thought its energy sparkled.
" I held her gaze. "That’s how your energy is, too.
I know any man would be lucky to have you exactly as you are. "
She set her wine glass down carefully. Studied me for a long moment. "You're kind of amazing, you know that?"
"Just honest, ma'am."
"TJ—"
A thump on the front porch cut her off.
We both froze.
"What was that?" Tinsley whispered.
Another thump. Then silence.
I stood, moving toward the door. "Stay here."
"Like hell." She was right behind me.
I opened the door, cold air and snow blasting in. On the porch sat a large wicker basket, wrapped with a red bow, dusted with fresh snow. No footprints. No delivery person in sight.
"What the..." I grabbed it and pulled it inside, shutting the door against the storm.
Tinsley plucked a card from the top. "'Since Grayson won't be jingling them anymore! Jingle your own bells, babe. Love, Melody. P.S. There are BELLS.'" She looked at me, face bright red. "Oh my god. I'm going to kill her."
"What's in it?"
She started unwrapping the basket, pulling away tissue paper. Her eyes went wide. "Oh no. Oh no no no."
I peered over her shoulder.
The basket contained: massage oil, candles, chocolate, champagne, what looked like a silk blindfold, literal jingle bells on a string, and—prominently displayed in the center—a fancy vibrator in sleek packaging.
I picked up the vibrator box, examining it with the same attention I'd give a new piece of ranch equipment. "This thing comes with instructions?"
"Put that down!" Tinsley lunged for it.
I held it out of reach, reading the label. "'Ten speeds. Waterproof. Whisper quiet.' Huh. Engineering's come a long way."
"Oh my god, stop."
"Says here it's rechargeable. That's practical." I turned the box over. "Comes with a storage pouch. Nice attention to detail."
She covered her face with her hands. "This is mortifying. My best friend sent me a sex basket. To a cabin where I'm snowed in with a complete stranger. On Christmas Eve."
"What kind of bells?" I asked, deadpan, setting the vibrator back in the basket.
She dropped her hands, staring at me. Then she started laughing—that ridiculous, snorting laugh I'd heard earlier. "You did not just ask that."