Chapter 4
FOUR
RHODES
Something snaps behind the barn. Sharp. Clean. The kind of crack that makes a man pay attention.
I jump out of the truck before I can explain anything to Jovie. It’s instinct. You hear a sound like that on a ranch and you move. If a branch came down in the wind, it’s one thing. But if a fence post split or something spooked the horses, that’s another problem entirely.
The storm blinds me for half a second. Snow slants sideways in the wind. The barn lights blur into a warm smear. The air stings my face.
I pull my coat tighter and head toward the sound.
Behind me, the truck door opens.
Of course it does.
“Jovie,” I call over the wind without turning. “Get back inside.”
“I’m not staying in the truck while you run toward scary noises,” she shouts.
“It’s not scary.”
“It sounded scary.”
“It wasn’t.”
A beat passes with us glaring at each other.
“You don’t know that,” she says.
God save me from pushy women.
I turn and catch her in the truck’s headlights. Her coat is half zipped and her scarf already tangled. Snow clings to her hair again. She looks small against the storm and also somehow vibrant.
“I told you to stay put,” I say.
“If something’s wrong, you need help.”
“I don’t need help.”
She squints at me. “Rhodes. I work out. I can carry things. Also, what if you fall and crack your head open and I’m sitting in the truck scrolling my phone like an idiot?”
I have no idea why that makes heat crawl up my neck.
“You don’t even know what’s back there,” I say.
She lifts her chin, stubborn. “Then teach me.”
There it is again.
That feeling under my ribs I don’t want to name.
I turn back toward the barn. “Stay close.”
She hurries up beside me, boots slipping once before she catches her balance. I catch her elbow without thinking. Her hand lands against my arm to steady herself.
Her glove presses lightly against my coat. Even through the layers, the touch hits like a spark.
She looks up, surprised.
I drop her elbow fast.
We move through the gate into the yard behind the barn. The wind whips harder here. Snow swirls in eddies along the fence line. One of the floodlights flickers overhead.
Another gust. Another crack.
Jovie startles. “What was that?”
“A limb,” I say. “Wind probably snapped it.”
“Are we sure?”
“We’re sure.”
We are… mostly sure.
Another few steps and I see it. A big branch from the old pine near the far fence. It hangs at an angle now, half broken, lodged in the top rails. It’s not a danger at the moment, but if it falls wrong, it could spook the horses.
I nod at it. “That’s all.”
Jovie exhales like she’s been holding her breath for a year. “Okay. Good. Wow. Storms are dramatic up here.”
“They can be.”
She stands there for a second, staring at the branch, snow piling in her hair again. Then she looks at me.
“Did you really think I’d sit in the truck while something could have been wrong?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” She flicks her hair back. “You don’t know me yet.”
Yet.
I hear the word louder than she probably meant it.
The wind pushes against us. She shivers.
“We’re going inside,” I say.
“You don’t have to order me around.”
“I’m not ordering.” I gesture toward the cabin. “I’m telling you we’re going inside before you freeze.”
She opens her mouth to argue. Then closes it. Then follows me.
Smart woman.
The cabin sits a few steps from the main house. Smaller. Older. Warm light glows from the windows. I shove open the door and hold it. She steps past me into the entry and stops.
Her eyes widen.
“Oh,” she breathes.
The house is simple. Open room. Wood floors. Stone fireplace with a fire flickering low. A leather sofa. Worn quilts. A few old photos on the mantle from when my parents still ran the ranch.
It smells like cedar and cinnamon and home.
“Wow,” she says again.
“It’s just a cabin,” I say.
“It’s gorgeous.”
The way she says it makes something in me loosen.
I stomp off my boots. She does the same. Snow melts in little puddles by the door. She unravels her scarf and sets it on the hook.
Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair is a little wild from the wind. There is something about the sight that hits deeper than it should.
She glances at the fire. “Was it already lit?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I keep the cabin warm in winter. Power goes out a lot up here. Easier to use the fireplace than try to heat up a cold room from scratch.”
She nods slowly. I can almost see her taking it all in. Filing it away.
“I like it,” she says.
The words land in my chest.
I move to the fireplace and add another log. The flames brighten. Heat rolls across the room in a soft wave.
“Sit,” I say. “You should warm up.”
She gives me a look. “Do you always tell people what to do?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Only when they’re about to do something foolish.”
“So… frequently,” she says with a small grin.
I feel my own mouth try to curve. I squash it.
She sits on the edge of the sofa, lifting her hands toward the fire. The light dances across her face, turning her eyes a deeper, richer brown. She looks tired. She looks brave. She looks like she’s been carrying this whole trip on a string of hope.
That chest-tightening feeling gets sharper.
I sit in the chair opposite her. Space. I need space.
She watches me.
“What?” I ask.
“You didn’t ask me why this matters,” she says.
“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”
She nods, slow and thoughtful, like she didn’t expect that answer.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “Then… I’ll tell you.”
Her voice softens but gains weight.
“My dad has always put everyone else first. Always. He worked himself into exhaustion more times than I can count. He never took vacations. He never bought anything for himself unless it was on sale or absolutely necessary. He kept saying he’d save the big dream for later.
” She swallows. “Then his health got complicated. And later became… maybe never.”
The fire pops. A gust of wind rattles the window.
I feel something sharp twist in my chest.
“So,” she says. “I want to give him the dream he missed. Not a fake version. The real one.”
I don’t speak until I’m steady.
“You love him a lot.”
“I do,” she says. Then she laughs softly. “It probably shows.”
“It does.”
She looks down at her hands. For a second she looks younger. Softer. More vulnerable than she probably wants me to see.
“I know I’m a stranger,” she says. “And I know this is a lot to ask. But if there’s any way you can help me put this together… even just the outline. The plan. Something I can bring home to him on Christmas Eve… it would mean everything.”
I look at the fire. At the photos on the mantle. At the storm beating against the window.
I think about how I spent the last few Christmases mostly alone, pretending work was enough.
I think about my folks. My mom’s laugh. My dad’s boots by the fire. The parties they used to host. The way Christmas used to feel before life got complicated.
I think about this woman sitting in front of me, asking for something honest.
Something important.
Something real.
And something inside me decides.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say.
She lifts her head, eyes wide.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
A smile breaks across her face. Bright. Disarming. Too much.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I stand too fast. “Don’t thank me. Not yet. We’ve got work to do. And the storm’s only getting worse. So you’re staying here tonight.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “In the cabin?”
“Yes.”
“With you?”
I blink.
Hard.
“No,” I say. “You’re not staying with me. I’ll be in the main house.”
“Oh.”
She sounds relieved.
And disappointed.
I do not want to think about that.
“I’ll bring you extra blankets,” I say. “Storm might knock the power overnight. Fire should hold, but you should be prepared.”
She looks toward the window, where snow is now falling almost horizontally.
“How long do storms usually last?” she asks.
“Could be a night,” I say. “Could be three days.”
“Three days?”
“Possibly.”
She inhales through her nose, eyes wide.
“My flight,” she murmurs.
“Your flight isn’t going anywhere in this,” I say. “Neither are you.”
She looks at me again. “So we’re… stuck?”
“For now.”
She nods once, like she’s trying to will courage into her bones.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Then let’s get to work.”
And the moment she says it, the lights flicker.
Once. Twice.
Then they go out and the cabin falls into darkness.
Jovie gasps. The wind howls.
And everything in me goes tight as wire.