Snowbound with the Sheriff

by Laurel Greer

  “Like you said, there’s no one here.” She tilted her head to kiss his jaw, his neck. She felt his shiver under her palms.

  “That is true...” He traced a line along her cheek before cupping the back of her neck.

  Crack.

  The sharp report came from outside.

  “What was—?”

  “A branch,” he answered, posture shifting to protective. He pulled her against his chest and peered out the window. “Maybe a small—”

  Crack.

  Louder. Closer.

  Ryan stiffened and swore loudly, shoving her down to the floor and crouching over her right before a cacophony rent the air and the ground shook.

  Chapter Twelve

  An hour later, Ryan’s heart was still racing. He’d see that tree toppling to the ground in his nightmares for weeks to come. There but for the grace of physics go I. The angle had been a fraction off. The trunk had landed five feet from the cabin.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he muttered to the ten-inch fir, ducking his head to avoid the still-falling snow. He had a long afternoon of limbing and bucking up the trunk ahead of him. “I’m mighty glad you didn’t land on me. But I’m a little choked you landed on my sled.”

  On the lean-to covering both snowmobiles, to be precise. Hell, he could be wrong about the damage. Stranger things had happened. But that crash had been more than the cracks of tree branches and the angled tin roof. It had sounded a whole lot like thousands of dollars of snowmobile repairs.

  The methodical work—shearing off the branches for Stella to haul away, followed by sawing off foot-long chunks of trunk, piece by piece—at least kept his hands busy and off Stella’s body. If a tree falling feet from the cabin wasn’t a sign that they shouldn’t be getting frisky, he didn’t know what was. Nah. Getting stuck here for longer? More like a sign that sharing body heat tonight is an excellent idea.

  Hopefully, they’d get back to where they were when they got interrupted. But first, they still had a hell of a lot more work to do. It was sweaty, silent labor. His stomach was growling and snow had made its way into far too many seams of his clothing by the time he finished with the chainsaw.

  Stella had the branches in one pile and the wood stacked up against one of the cabin walls. Her cheeks were a beautiful rosy color. No different from the color they would have turned had they ended up having post-breakfast sex...

  He stacked his hands on his head and groaned.

  Thankfully, she seemed to misinterpret his distress. Arms akimbo, she scrutinized the heavily dented lean-to roof. “We’re not going to like what we see when we lift that, are we?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, let’s get it over with.” She stood at one corner of the roof and waited for him to take the other.

  They hoisted the heavy panel. A mess of metal and plastic greeted them. The machines underneath were just as cracked as the tin and wood of the shelter, if not more so.

  Stella swore.

  He followed suit. “Goddamn it,” he muttered, glancing her way. Her eyes looked extra blue, wide under the brim of her teal, cable-knit hat. She bit her lip, brow furrowed in silent question.

  He motioned for her to set down her side of the roof. “No point in fussing with those—we’ll have to haul them out with someone else’s machine.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “It’s not the end of the world,” he said. “Pain in the ass, sure, but Maggie and I both have insurance for our snowmobiles.”

  She seemed less than comforted. “But we’re stuck here.”

  “For tonight, yeah. No point in having people come out in the dark to get us.”

  “You did.”

  “I was highly motivated.” He winked.

  Her lips thinned. “My grandpa left me his satellite-phone thingy. But isn’t it for emergencies only? Can we just call for a pickup, or do we have to make a formal call to search-and-rescue?”

  Ryan winced. He’d never hear the end of this from his department and the search-and-rescue crew. And so much for people not knowing he was out here alone with Stella. His hopes for privacy crashed to the ground harder than that damn tree had. “It’s not an emergency. And it’s easy to use them for texting.”

  Her mouth formed a moue. She was still wide-eyed. Still unconvinced.

  “Come on. Let’s clean up and get warm. We can fix this. Promise.” Whatever it took to get her to believe he had things under control, he’d do it.

  Fifteen minutes later, he stood next to Stella in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. Darn good thing there was so much snow outside—it saved them from having to use their drinking water to wash up.

  Toes tapping, she clutched a plastic dish basin. “This place really needs shower facilities.”

  “Fishing’s not fishing unless you actually smell like the fish,” he joked.

  “Except we weren’t fishing. But I still smell.” She plucked at her shirt, nose wrinkled.

  “City girl.”

  She served him some solid “how is that news?” face. “A million percent.”

  He leaned closer, nuzzling the top of her head. “You smell like fresh air.”

  Scurrying backward with a squeak, she swatted at him. “Liar.”

  “Nope. I wouldn’t lie to you, Stella. Not even about something surface-level.”

  Her lips parted, and something close to fear flitted in her gaze.

  Hmm. He’d have to do something about that.

  The kettle whistled. Ryan poured half in her basin, and half in the one he’d set out for himself on the counter, and then stuck a snow cube in each to cool it down so it wouldn’t burn. “Help yourself to the bedroom to get cleaned up. Holler and I’ll make sure I’m decent before you come back out. Though you’ve already seen it all.”

  Her cheeks reddened past their already outdoor-healthy pink. “Years ago. And you’ve...” The slow scan down his torso left a trail as hot as if she’d traced that line with her tongue. She hurried off, disappearing into the bedroom without finishing the observation.

  He couldn’t stop the satisfaction from spreading across his face.

  Gonna call for a rescue anytime soon? Or are you going to keep being lost in fantasyland where all that exists in the world is Stella and these four walls?

  His conscience. What a buzzkill.

  But a quick refresh and a change of clothes outranked contacting civilization. Who knew if Stella would be willing to pick up where they’d left off earlier? He sure hadn’t gotten enough of kissing her.

  She seemed pretty shell-shocked after the tree incident. But if he figured out a way to help her relax, and that relaxing involved some more kissing, or maybe even coaxing her off the couch? He wouldn’t say no.

  No one would believe that Stella and he hadn’t slept together, not after finding out they spent two nights alone in a secluded cabin. So what was the point in fighting it? And then once she was back in the Big Apple, he could double down on finding someone as committed to Sutter Creek as he was.

  Once clean and back in his flannel shirt and sweatpants, Ryan stoked the fire and settled onto the couch.

  Now for the fun part of the evening—getting razzed over his predicament. Sighing, he turned on his sat comm and opened the message section. He needed to choose their rescuer wisely, reduce the chance of gossip. And the logical person who would both want to protect Stella and had sharp-as-hell rescue training was Lachlan.

  On a scale of one to “I’m-already-packed,” how eager are you to come fetch your sister and me from the fishing cabin tomorrow? Ryan sent the message and waited.

  It didn’t take long for a reply. Things not going well?

  Hmm. That didn’t sound like surprise, so Lachlan clearly knew Ryan had spent the night. Tom must have mentioned something. Now that he thought about it, the veterinarian’s reques
t reeked of fairy-godmother-level tactical brilliance. He shook his head. For now, Lachlan didn’t need to know the details. Never mind all that. I’ll buy you a beer and fill you in later. Our sleds are busted, and we need a lift out.

  While he waited for Lachlan to reply, he sent a message to his undersheriff, too, who confirmed all was well with the department. Busy, but under control. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Are you decent?” Stella called from behind him.

  “Yep,” he replied as he scanned Lachlan’s reply. Tomorrow morning?

  He was about to type sure, when Stella flitted by. A whole lot of long, peach-toned skin filled his vision. A skimpy, puke-green towel saved her from infringing on public indecency bylaws. Nevertheless, his jaw went slack, and he couldn’t look away for the life of him.

  She caught him staring, and snatched a handful of garments out of a duffel bag in the corner next to the packed bookshelf. “Forgot my change of clothes.”

  “I do not mind, Bella.”

  She growled. “Stop it.”

  He did, dropping his gaze to the device in his hand. He wasn’t going to flirt without permission. But, damn, did he want her to give the go-ahead. He could swear the taste of her berry-sweet lip gloss still lingered on his tongue.

  Lachlan’s request for a time confirmation still glowed on the screen. The morning would be logical. But maybe, just maybe, if Ryan stretched things out a little longer, he could keep building on the goodwill he’d been working on since he arrived. She’d softened over the course of the day. Cooking for her had helped. And their silent teamwork had been a surprising success. In no world would anything resembling long-term commitment work between them, but continuing to repair some of the damage? That might be possible, and it would happen easier in isolation.

  Liar. It’s not about fixing past hurts, it’s about pleasure. Mainly making sure you both walk away having had your fair share.

  Okay, that, too. Because the truth was? Things didn’t feel finished with Stella. And the most obvious tension was the electric pull between them.

  Don’t rush. Midafternoon’s fine, he replied to Lachlan, pressing Send before he could second-guess his decision.

  But the next step wasn’t simple. It wasn’t something that another impromptu burst of meal creativity would fix. It would take opening up. Even so, jazzing up the salad she’d planned to make and creating some ambience couldn’t hurt.

  Sticking a candle in a wax-covered Chianti bottle on the window ledge, he set the table for two. By the time she finally emerged from the bedroom, covered from neck to toe in layers of thermal clothing, he had makeshift falafel frying in a pan and was quick pickling a cucumber and diced onion.

  She frowned. “I keep thinking I’m ready to get back to civilization, and then you pull something delicious out of your back pocket.”

  Guilt panged in his chest. Okay, then. She might not be so impressed when her brother inevitably mentioned having offered to come earlier in the morning, and that Ryan had delayed their ride home.

  “Did you get ahold of Lachlan?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And...” She made a “keep going” circle with her hand.

  “And he’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

  Her nose scrunched. “Not earlier?”

  “No.”

  Trying to keep things light, coax her back out of her shell, he regaled her with stories of some of the sillier parts of his job while they ate. She asked polite questions, but stayed behind her wall.

  “You’re a tough customer, Stella Reid.”

  Expression puzzled, she put down her cutlery. “How so?”

  “I can barely get you to laugh, let alone open up.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “I tried to open up the night you gave me a ride home. You shut me down.”

  Confusion filled him. “When you were trying to tell me about your case? I didn’t want you to violate your NDA.”

  “You thought I was talking about work?”

  “I did, yeah.” Crap, in misunderstanding, what had he stopped her from confiding? “If it’s something else, have at ’er.”

  A slow hiss of air escaped her lips. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to leave the past in the past. But now you’re being all charming and emotionally accessible. How am I supposed to read it all? Where are you going with it?”

  He sucked in a ragged breath. “Well, I’m still attracted to you.”

  “I got that impression.” The corner of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. She took another bite of falafel.

  Admit something that matters.

  “When we got arrested—”

  Her fork landed on her plate with a clatter.

  “I couldn’t handle it, Stella. The shame of it—and of having influenced you like that—”

  “I was a willing participant,” she said quietly. “Egged you on, in fact.”

  He scoffed. “You’d never gotten into trouble like that. As if I wasn’t the bad influence. I sure as hell felt like scum. And my grandmother—for all her flaws, I owe her my life. Not in the biological sense, but when it comes to finding meaning... She tore into the detachment like an avenging angel, lawyer in tow. She woke me right up. My father’s self-destruction—I saw that I could go that way. But didn’t have to. Nothing was set yet.” And the hard years of ranch work and college correspondence courses finally brought him enough pride that he didn’t need to go looking for approval in unhealthy ways.

  She didn’t reply, so he kept going. “I was lucky. My grandma talked my great-uncle down. A mischief conviction—it’s something I’ve had to be public about, obviously means I’ve been on a shorter leash at times, but it’s not an automatic no for law enforcement. Especially since I was barely eighteen.”

  “You covered for me,” she murmured.

  “I stand by it. You didn’t deserve to be arrested.”

  “I was a willing participant,” she stressed. “I had just as valid a reason to get up to no good as you did. Maybe more.”

  “What, you’d discovered a Sutter Creek marauder’s map?” he joked, taking a sip of his drink.

  “No, I was panicking and desperate to rebel.” Her lower lip tensed. “I was pregnant.”

  She’d been what? He choked on the liquid, put a fist to his mouth to stop from spraying water on the table. Eyes watering, he croaked, “Say that again?”

  “I think you heard,” she whispered, staring at her lap.

  “Stella.” A million questions raced through his brain. He wanted to hold her, but she was closed off, folded in on herself. He shifted off his chair and crouched next to her, awkwardly slinging an arm around her shoulders.

  She looked down at him, eyes wet and mouth pinched.

  He cleared his throat. “Is that why you came to the ranch that day?”

  “Yeah.”

  He swore. “I was trying to do right by you. Thought you didn’t need me, were better off without me—”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Shaking, he settled on the floor, legs bent, clutching her hand to his cheek and trying to catch his breath. How could he not have been there for her? How could he not have clued in?

  His chest clenched and he jammed his free hand into his hair, desperate to divert some of the doubt ripping through him. And she obviously hadn’t gone through with it. No judgment—she’d done what she needed to do. He sure as hell wouldn’t have encouraged her to keep it, not at the place he’d been in at the time. The last thing she’d needed at eighteen was to derail her entire life with a baby. Look at how well that had gone for his own parents. But he had to ask. “Did you terminate before you left for school?”

  “No.” Her chin dipped to her chest and she slid to the floor, curling up in the space between his legs. The weight of her against him eased some of the tension gripping his gut.
She slid her hand up, cupping his jaw. “I didn’t know what I was going to do. I wasn’t ready to be a parent. But I miscarried a week or so after trying to tell you.”

  She buried her face in his shoulder. Body shuddering, she clung to him.

  “I turned you away,” he rasped, frustration and shame cascading down his limbs, pooling on the bare wood floor. “Even before you came out to the ranch. I ignored your phone messages. Deleted your emails.”

  “I noticed,” she said, choking on the words.

  Goddamn, no wonder she was hesitant to trust him. That kind of pain, the life-hollowing abandonment—it didn’t go away. He had his parents to thank for his own scars, and knowing he’d caused a fraction of that anguish for Stella...

  His eyes stung, and he wiped them with the back of his hand.

  “Hey,” she said, lifting her head and brushing her fingers on his cheek. “I wasn’t sure you’d be upset.”

  “About your miscarriage? It’s—it’s sad, but I didn’t live through it like you did. It’s pretty intangible for me.”

  Her fingers caught a tear from the inner corner of his eye. She held it up for him to see. “This says otherwise.”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. Just surprised.”

  Fine. As if. He’d failed her. Turned her away and forced her to deal with something so life-changing without support. So, yeah, he was a little choked up. The knot expanded in his throat, tightening until it strained the muscles. He’d known he had a lot to make up for. Had been working to redeem himself in the eyes of the town, protect them and earn their trust. But that would all feel unfinished if Stella wasn’t one of the people he won back.

  He didn’t spend his life obsessing about his mom leaving or his dad dying. It was better to move forward. But that didn’t mean the pain disappeared. And for Stella... He didn’t know how to make up for his desertion. Whatever remnants of his crappy choices wallowed in her hidden places—if they never went away, if she never managed to find peace with their past, would he be able to live with that?