by Holly Ford
‘So long as you get to stay at Broken Creek,’ he said, the words heavy with thought. ‘It’s that important to you?’
In the doorway of the porch, Nate was shaking the rain off his jacket. ‘It’s gotten that way,’ Tess said.
‘Well. I hope it works out.’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Me too.’
‘If it doesn’t …’
Tess sat waiting for the door to open.
‘… you always know where I am.’
‘Thank you.’ She bowed her head, meaning it. ‘I do.’ When she looked up, Nate was there, his eyes, grey as the day, on hers. Walking to the window, he stood with his back to her, giving her space.
‘I have to go,’ she said into the phone. Crossing the kitchen, she slipped her arm around his waist, her fingertips stroking his stomach as she rested her head against his shoulderblade. He put his hand over hers.
‘It’s snowing up there.’
‘Yeah?’ Tess looked past the curve of his bicep to the darkness completely obscuring the top of the range. ‘How can you tell?’ she joked.
Nate’s fingers skated over the back of her hand, drawing a feather-light circle. ‘Was that him?’
‘Uhuh.’
‘You told him?’
‘I told him.’
‘What did he say?’
She shrugged. ‘You know. The usual stuff.’
‘So that’s it? You’re officially playing for my team now?’
‘Team McAdam?’ she teased him.
‘Team Broken Creek.’
‘Don’t forget the Clancy J. Mackersey International Grassland Conservancy Trust.’
‘Who could forget that?’ He turned in her arms. ‘That day I saw you sitting there on Carr Fergusson’s lawn, you know what I thought?’
Tess rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve got a pretty good idea.’
‘I thought,’ he said, ‘you looked like a girl who could make a guy forget about losing the farm for an hour or two.’ Nate toyed with her shirt button. ‘You were supposed to make it all go away.’ His smile sparkled up. ‘I can’t believe it took you so long.’
‘I’ve got an hour or two now.’
‘Is that on the roster?’ He settled a hand in the small of her back, the other taking hers, his thumb travelling over her palm as his fingers enclosed it.
‘How about you just leave the rostering to me.’
She smiled as he rocked their bodies gently, not moving his feet, to the patter of the rain on the glass, the rhythm of the gusting wind. ‘I’m liking this business model,’ he said. ‘You think we should write it up?’
‘You know what?’ Reaching up, her hand sliding over his neck, she touched her mouth to his. ‘I’ll take your word.’