Page 77 of Merry Mended Hearts

Without warning, he bowled into me. He flattened me to the snow, and I felt it against my neck once more. Squealing, I wrestled him, pushing against his shoulders. He gave in, allowing me to roll him off so that I could be on the offense.

Or so I thought. My victory didn’t last long.

Soon enough, we were rolling through the snow again, and the tracks we left behind didn’t resemble snow angels so much as boulders. Within moments, Boone had me pinned to the snow, his body hot on mine, his hands against mine.

“Do you give?” he asked and without waiting for an answer, rolled so that he lay beside me instead.

I caught my breath, staring upward at the lengths of the pine trees spearing up into the sky. It was amazing—even though every bough was iced with snowy frosting, the weight of that snow didn’t force the branches down.

Cold encompassed the back of my head and neck, but I rested my hands on my chest and took in the view. And wondered what was going through Boone’s mind at that moment. He’d said he was trying to keep his distance from me. But what was that comment about wanting to warm me up again?

I couldn’t go there.

He was right—today was Christmas Eve, and I was leaving as soon as the pass opened. I had to arrange a new flight and would be on the next available one, back to a world of heated desert air and confined work conditions.

It was better not to explore the prospect of anything with him again.

I rose to my knees and brushed my once-again wet gloves over my jeans. “Snow is literally seeping into my clothes,” I said.

“It does that.”

I punched his arm. “Then why did you tackle me and force it down my shirt?”

Boone’s smile could stop traffic. He pushed himself to his elbows. “You were going on and on about how much you loved it. I wanted to see if you loved it once you saw its bad side.”

I brushed away more snow, trying to figure out the best place to put my hands to stand. Probably somewhere I’d already matted down instead of a fresh spot.

“You’re impossible.”

He shrugged. “I am on the naughty list, remember?”

“You are now. And you’re especially on mine.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Am I? I’d hate to give you the impression that I’m good all the time.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not all the time. Where’s the fun in that?” He winked at me and offered me a hand.

I took it, but a spark of mischief seeped into me under his touch.

Instead of letting him help me to my feet, I yanked him hard, forcing him to crash down beside me instead.

He landed closer to me than I’d anticipated. Our coats made a swishing sound at the impact.

“What was that?” he demanded with half incredulity and half delight.

I attempted an innocent look. “I never saidIwas on the nice list.”

“I’ll show you the nice list,” he grumbled, bowling into me again.

I laughed, trying for all I was worth to get him back and stuff snow down the back ofhisshirt. But he was too swift. He threw his weight and captured my arms, pinning me to the cold ground.

His legs tangled with mine, and despite the cold, his body sent a wave of heat into my chest. And under the directness of his espresso eyes, and the flash of desire stilling his expression as our gazes caught, I was a willing captive.

“I was wrong,” he said.

“About what?”

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