Chapter 44
A Valley Full of Footsteps
The snow deepened overnight, blanketing the yard so completely that even the fences looked softened beneath it. By midmorning, the sky had brightened to a clear, blue-white glare, the kind that made every sound sharper and every footstep louder.
Sam sat at the kitchen table with a cup of warm tea; Scout curled beneath his chair. The headache was milder today, more like a tight band along his brow than a pounding ache. Good enough that he almost felt like himself again—at least for a moment.
Tessa came in from the pantry with a basket of clean jars. Her cheeks were pink from the cold draft that seeped under the porch door.
“You look better,” she said softly.
“Feel better,” Sam replied.
“Good.”
She lingered a little too long at the counter, hands smoothing over the folded towels, eyes catching him more than once.
Ever since yesterday’s near kiss, interrupted by Jesse’s dramatic entrance, something had shifted.
They moved around each other differently now, aware in a way neither wanted to name yet.
Tessa set one towel down and stepped closer. “Mind if I take another look at your head?”
He didn’t. He really didn’t.
“Go ahead,” he said, trying to sound casual.
She pulled a chair beside him, leaned in to untie the fresh bandage he’d wrapped that morning. Her hair brushed his cheek as she moved; her fingers slid lightly along his temple, searching for swelling.
Sam swallowed.
She was close again—too close—exactly like yesterday. The quiet between them grew thick and warm. Scout lifted his head, watching as if he understood the stakes.
“You’re healing well,” Tessa murmured.
“You’re good at this,” he said.
“I’ve had practice patching people up,” she said, smiling faintly.
Sam knew what she meant—her outlaw brothers always coming home scraped, shot, or bruised, expecting her to patch them up without complaint. He’d seen enough of life to understand that kind of unwanted skill.
“You shouldn’t have had to learn that way,” he said.
Tessa shrugged lightly, eyes still focused on the edge of his bandage. “None of us gets to choose what we learn, I suppose. We just make do.”
Her voice held something tender, something private—and Sam felt it settle deep in his chest.
She brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, and her fingertips grazed his cheekbone. Sam drew a slow breath, the rest of the world narrowing to the feel of her hand and the warmth of her leaning close.
“Tessa…”
Her eyes lifted to his.
They were only inches apart.
Not by accident this time.
Her breath shivered across his lips, and Sam felt the pull—gentle, certain, terrifying.
He leaned forward—
And Tessa did too—
Their foreheads touched—
and—
CRASH.
Something hit the porch hard enough to rattle the walls.
Sam and Tessa jerked apart just as the front door flew open and Ben stumbled inside, arms full of firewood that promptly spilled across the floor.
“Sorry!” Ben barked, already crouching to gather the pieces. “Didn’t know y’all were—uh—busy.”
Tessa covered her face with one hand.
Sam stared at the ceiling as if it might offer salvation.
Scout barked once, then began happily sniffing the firewood pile like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.
“Should’ve knocked,” Ben muttered, flustered as he piled logs near the hearth. “Forgot folks actually use this door. Sam never did before.”
Tessa’s voice rose an octave. “It’s fine, Ben.”
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Ben said.
“You didn’t,” Sam lied.
Ben’s brows shot up. “Uh… looked like I did.”
Tessa made a strangled sound and quickly bent to pick up a towel she definitely did not need to pick up.
Ben pushed his gloves into his pocket. “Anyway, Cal said to drop this off and check your shelves in case you needed more.”
Sam nodded, fighting the urge to disappear into the floor. “Thanks.”
Ben lingered a second longer, eyes flicking between them, then murmured something about fences and fled the house faster than Sam had ever seen him move.
The door shut.
Silence fell.
Sam and Tessa didn’t move.
Scout sighed loudly, dropping his chin on Sam’s boot like he, too, was resigned to the universe’s determination to keep them from kissing.
Tessa drew in a shaky breath. “This valley has no sense of timing.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Sam said quietly.
They shared a helpless, embarrassed little smile. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t make the moment happen again. But it softened the blow.
Just as Tessa was opening her mouth—either to apologize or to say something brave—they both heard it:
A soft, muffled sniffle sounded outside the back door.
Sam blinked. “Is that—?”
Before he could finish, Isaac rushed in through the mudroom door, face streaked with tears and snow clinging to his eyelashes.
“Sam!” he said, voice wobbling. “I—I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to break it!”
Sam immediately pushed to his feet, dizziness be damned. “Hey, hey. Easy. What happened?”
Isaac clutched a bent metal pail in both hands, breath hiccupping. “I—I slipped on the ice by the barn and fell on it. Eli said it was fine, but—but it was yours, and I ruined it—”
Sam knelt beside him, steadying the boy’s trembling hands. “Isaac. Look at me.”
The boy lifted watery eyes.
“You didn’t ruin anything.” Sam took the pail, inspecting it. “This can be hammered out by lunchtime.”
Isaac sniffed. “Really?”
“Really.”
“But you liked that one. You said it pours good.”
“I’ve got ten more that pour just as good,” Sam said gently. “And even if you’d smashed it flat, you still wouldn’t be in trouble. You hear me?”
Isaac nodded hard and wiped his face with his sleeve.
Tessa crouched too, laying a soft hand on Isaac’s back. “Slipping on ice isn’t a mistake. It’s winter.” She brushed a stray tear away. “And you came in to tell us right away. That’s brave.”
Isaac blinked at her. “It is?”
“It is,” Sam said.
Snowflakes still clung to the boy’s hair. He leaned forward, unexpectedly wrapping both arms around Sam’s neck. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, hugging him back.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “You’re all right.”
When Isaac pulled away, he seemed steadier, less ashamed, more himself.
“Eli’s outside?” Sam asked.
Isaac nodded. “He told me not to run. But I ran anyway.”
“We’ll forgive that just this once,” Tessa said warmly. “Go tell Eli everything’s fine.”
Isaac smiled weakly, then hurried back out the door, Scout trotting after him.
When the door clicked shut, Sam and Tessa were left staring at each other once again—this time with laughter tugging at the corners of their mouths.
“Two interruptions in one hour,” Sam said.
“Three,” Tessa corrected. “Scout counts.”
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “At this rate we won’t get five minutes alone until spring.”
Tessa’s cheeks warmed, but she didn’t look away. “We’ll figure it out.”
Sam swallowed. Something inside him—small and brave—unfolded just a little.
“I’d like to,” he said softly.
Tessa’s breath caught. “Me too.”
Silence fell again, thick with humor and frustration and something warm beneath both.
Tessa let her hands drop, meeting Sam’s eyes with a tired laugh. “This family.”
Sam shook his head, smiling despite himself. “This valley.”
The snow outside glittered in the pale light.
Inside, two people who had almost kissed twice in twenty-four hours looked at each other with a mix of longing and helpless amusement.
“Maybe someday,” Tessa murmured.
“Someday soon,” Sam whispered back.
Scout barked in agreement from outside.