Chapter 19
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Alarmed doesn’t come close to describing how I felt when Anna called me—called Bo.
The thought of her driving on roads she isn’t comfortable with or knowledgeable of turned my stomach. Even before learning that she was sitting out in the cold, her car dead and hearing those tears in her voice, I was sprinting away from my grandfather mid-lecture and toward my truck.
The pull I feel for her doesn’t make sense. It’s concerning that my first instinct is to drop my duties and responsibilities for a woman I’ve known just shy of a month. Her distress is cutting, a shake to the ground beneath my feet.
I’m positive I’ll face the consequences of abandoning the ranch when I’m finished here. I won’t be able to hide why I left or have been sneaking off once I do. My grandma will smell any potential lies before they’ve slipped from my tongue.
That’s a problem for later, though. When I’m not bundling a frozen woman in my arms who needs to get warm as soon as possible and trying to keep from going completely caveman on her.
Anna shivers in my hold, though not enough to strike another blow of fear inside of me.
It’s cold out, but we’re not teetering on the edge of hypothermia with the amount of time she was outside.
If I hadn’t come when I did and she continued to sit in a daze for minutes longer, things might have been different.
For now, she just needs to warm up and sort her mind.
I unlock her door and hold it open as we step inside. The air is warm, the telltale drone of her furnace pumping through the small house. A sweep of my eyes through the open floor plan exposes some more of her personality.
While the place is small, the way it was furnished makes it appear bigger. If I had to guess, I’d say it was rented out that way, but the small touches tossed around have to be courtesy of Anna.
From the soft, muted green pillowcases on the couch, the teal coffee machine on the kitchen counter, and the picture frames scattered on the built-in bookshelves along the living room wall, I learn more about her.
I wonder if she brought a lot with her when she moved here, and if she did, why there aren’t more of her things visible in the space.
Why exactly did she move here? She said she wanted a fresh start, but I want to know what made her old life so bad that she felt like she needed to move here to start over.
Cherry Peak is a long way from Vancouver.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” she breathes, teeth still chattering slightly.
When she goes to pull out of my grasp, I stiffen my arm around her, as if my body is against the possibility of letting her go. She needs heat , I tell myself. That’s why I want her close.
Reluctantly, I release her and curl my fingers to keep from reaching out again. “I’ve never minded a bit of mess.”
“The only company I’ve had since I’ve moved in has been Poppy and Bryce, and they’re even messier than I am.”
I follow her further into the house, past the stacked pizza boxes on the kitchen table and the unfolded clothes in the laundry bin beside them. Honestly, her house is hardly messy at all.
She’ll be in for a big surprise the first time she comes to the ranch house. After a busy week, it looks less like a house and more like a dumping ground for every ranch hand we employ.
Not like she’ll be at the ranch house anytime soon. Or ever.
“You picked a good couple of friends to make. Those two have always been solid in the community.”
“Poppy mentioned that she knew you prior to when we met. Actually, she told me you were a nice guy, and then you were the absolute opposite of nice.” Her voice is teasing, but the truth beneath it still grates against the lingering guilt.
“I was an asshole that night,” I admit. Anna moves toward the electric kettle on the counter, but I gently brush her aside and snag it from her extended hand. “Do you want some tea?”
She quirks a brow, tipping her head back to meet my eyes. “You know how to use a kettle?”
“First of all, that’s insultin’. Who doesn’t know how to use a kettle?” I snap open the lid and turn on the tap to fill it up. “And second, please go put on some warm clothes. I like that you’re wearin’ the jacket, but it’s not enough. A hoodie and some thick pants will do.”
Once the kettle is full, I turn off the tap and plug it in, waiting for the light to turn red before facing Anna. She’s got her hands on her hips in a sassy stance, and I bite back my laugh at the effort to intimidate me.
Not quite there yet, sweetheart.
“I’ll take your orders this one time, but don’t get used to it. The tea bags are in the farthest cabinet with the coffee pods. Peppermint is my favourite,” she says, and then she’s walking out of the kitchen before I have a chance to reply.
It’s an effort to tear my eyes from her as she moves. The tight black athletic pants make her ass look criminal, and the baggy shirt does little to hide her upper half. A searing burst of want shackles me before I can wish it away.
She’s disappeared into what I assume is her bedroom before I regain focus on my task and adjust my dick in my jeans.
I find the tea bags easily and then snoop through the remaining cabinets until I find the coffee mugs.
There’s a lot of them. It seems Anna has a bit of a tendency to collect the damn things.
I count at last fifteen in the cabinet alone, and I’d bet there are more in another.
Once the tea bag is in the hot water, I set the mug I chose down on the table and pull a chair out for her before sitting in the opposite one to wait.
My phone begins to buzz in my pocket, and I already know who’s calling before I’ve grabbed it and spied the name lighting the screen. I decline the call.
“Not one for phone calls?” Anna asks. My heart skips at the bite of suspicion that lingers in her tone. She can’t know, right?
Anna walks toward the table with a familiar confidence. Her long brown hair now shines in a braid hanging over a hoodie-clad shoulder. The bulky material draping over her torso is black and red with a beavertail in the centre. My brows jump.
“You’re a hockey fan?”
She ducks her head to look at her chest. “I kind of have to be.”
“Nobody has to be an Ottawa fan.” My nose scrunches.
“Let me guess, you’re a Nashville fan?”
“Fuck no. I’m a Calgary fan ’til the day I die.”
Anna sits in the chair I pulled out and wraps her hands around the mug. She lets out a soft sigh at the warmth against her skin and smiles. My chest nearly puffs at the satisfaction of knowing I put that look on her face.
“My brother-in-law plays for Ottawa,” she says, pride filling her eyes.
Mine simply widen. “Who?”
“Maddox Hutton.”
I whistle, rocking back in my chair. “Wow.”
“Are you a bit starstruck, superstar? Who would have thought you were capable of such humility.”
The jab is soft, not a pointed edge in sight.
I wouldn’t have minded even if there was.
The similarities between her and my texting buddy are blaringly apparent.
So much so that I feel even more idiotic that I didn’t piece it together sooner.
Neither Anna nor Banana was concerned with holding punches when it came to me.
It was one of the reasons I liked them both so much.
I can’t help but wonder if she actually has started to piece it together too. That I’m the guy behind the texts. I knew the risk that came with showing up to help her earlier, but like hell I wasn’t going to come.
There’s a part of me that doesn’t want her to know. At least not yet. Maybe that’s why I haven’t told her the truth.
There’s a sense of safety that comes with talking to her via text without her knowing it’s me. I know that’s ridiculous. It doesn’t fully make sense to me, but there’s no changing the way I feel about it.
I can tell her things over text that I don’t feel comfortable enough to tell her in person.
She doesn’t know who Bo is, and while it feels terrible to withhold the truth from her .
. . I haven’t had this bubble of security in a long time.
From anyone. I’m selfish enough to want to keep it for just a bit longer.
“You’re nearly related to one of the top players in the NHL. Do you blame me?”
“Oh, absolutely not. Be as awestruck as you want, just don’t act like this in his presence. He’ll never let anyone hear the end of it.”
I lean forward again with my hands fisted on the table, my next words coming out far throatier than I mean them to. “Plannin’ on bringin’ me home to the family, Anna?”
Pink splotches appear across her cheeks before she rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of her tea. It’s clear she expects it to be a distraction, but I don’t break eye contact with her, my question continuing to hang between us.
Finally, she sets down her mug. “What were you doing in town today? I didn’t think ranchers got days off.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“You’re going to smell like peppermint if you don’t stop picking on me.”
My smirk is sinister. “And why exactly would I smell like peppermint? Plannin’ on kissing me?”
“You’re unbearable,” she says, but there’s still no heat in her insult. “I was thinking more along the lines of dumping scalding tea over your head.”
I toss her a wink. “My grandparents would agree more often than not.”
“Your grandma seems really kind,” she says, leading the conversation away from the helpless flirting I suddenly can’t seem to put a stop to.
“She is. But don’t let that fool you. She can be cutthroat when she needs to be.”
“I’d think you’d have to be to put up with such a busy ranch. If the other people there are like you, I don’t envy her.”
“I’m sure there are few who could do what she does,” I agree.
“What about your mom? I’m sure she must be just as strong.”
The lingering ache that I’ve long since grown used to turns sharper, tearing a bit deeper at the question. I drop her gaze, focusing on the veterinarian logo on her coffee cup.
“You don’t have to answer that. I like to poke too far into people’s personal lives sometimes. I’m sorry,” she says, picking up on my every reaction.
I clear the emotion from my throat. “My mom passed when I was young. But yes, she was just as strong as my grandmother. Stronger.”
Warmth covers my hands, drawing my eyes from the mug. A small, soft hand covers my much larger, rougher ones. She strokes my knuckles with her thumb, and my breath stutters.
“I’m sorry. I have no doubt that she was an incredible woman.”
I can’t ignore her stare any longer. The moment I find those brown eyes glistening with grief for me, I turn over my hands and sandwich hers between them.
My touch grows brave when she doesn’t pull away.
Pointer finger exploring, I trace over a small line of raised skin.
A scar on the inside of her middle finger.
Something restless settles inside of me. Maybe we’re not that different after all.
“Are you up for learnin’ how to boost your car?”
Her answering grin strikes me so deeply I’m thankful to be sitting down.
“Yes, please.”