Page 14 of Hard Bred

After we hang up, I find myself standing at the window, staring out at Claire’s flower bed. It’s buried deep under the snow, but I know exactly where it begins and ends. The stark whiteness blanketing it feels like some kind of sign, one that doesn’t feel good.

These past weeks with Claire have been good. Better than good. The way we work together, how she fits into my life, into my home—it all feels right in a way I can’t deny.

But standing here, watching the worst snowstorm we’ve ever had, doubt creeps into my mind.

Maybe this storm is trying to tell us something. The snow has created an impassable barrier between us. Maybe it’s a warning that no matter how good things have felt, it’s not meant to last.

Behind me, I can hear the sounds of Christmas continuing—the twins’ happy babbles, my son and daughter-in-law’s laughter, the rustle of wrapping paper. There’s joy here. It’s not like I’m alone or lacking meaning in my life.

Still, my eyes are drawn to the snow-covered flower bed, to all that lies buried and waiting. To all that I want to have…if I can.

I let out a long, slow breath, watching the snow continue to fall. I want to believe that what Claire and I have is the real deal, that it’s strong enough to weather life’s figurative and literal storms.

But right now it feels like everything’s up in the damn air.

8

CLAIRE

Ipress my forehead against the cold window pane, watching snowflakes twirl in the grey morning light. The severe winter weather that ruined our Christmas plans has stretched on for a week, leaving me trapped at home, away from the ranch. Away from Brady. My breath fogs the glass, and I absently trace a heart in it before quickly wiping it away.

God, I’m acting like a teenager.

But I can’t help it. Right now, I’d usually be at the ranch, helping with morning feeding. Brady would have already been up for hours, his voice rough with early morning gruffness as he goes over the day’s tasks. We’d move around each other in comfortable silence, sharing coffee and warmth in the barn as we worked.

He’s called every day to check on us, his voice a comfort through the phone, but it’s not the same. Not even close. I miss the physical presence of him—how he fills a room just by being in it, how his hand finds the small of my back when he passes by, how his genuine smiles make my whole day brighter.

The snow falls heavier now, thick flakes obscuring the view of our neighbor’s house across the street. Another day stuck inside, watching the world turn white. My fingers itch to be doing something useful. At the ranch, there would be endless tasks—breaking ice in water troughs, laying extra bedding to keep the horses warm, maintaining the heating systems in the barns.

I hate that I can’t be there to help.

“Claire?” Gran says gently, her voice breaking through my brooding. “How about a game of cards? You’ve been standing at that window for nearly an hour.”

I turn from the window, forcing a smile. We’re safe, warm, with plenty of food. I should be grateful for that, at least. “Sure, Gran. Though I’m not sure how many more card games I can take.”

“Better than counting snowflakes, isn’t it?” she says, already grabbing a deck. “Besides, you still owe me a rematch from yesterday.”

Gran shuffles the deck with practiced ease, the cards whispering as they flow through her fingers. We've played so many games this week, I'm surprised the ink hasn’t worn off the cards.

I try to focus on my hand, but my mind keeps drifting back to the ranch. To Brady. I lay down what I think is a set of threes, but when I do, Gran gives me a concerned look.

"Sweetheart," Gran says, her voice gentle. "Those cards don't match."

"Sorry." I attempt a laugh, gathering them back up. "Guess the cabin fever is getting to me."

"Cabin fever, is it?" Gran asks knowingly. “Are you sure it’s nothing to do with a certain tall, handsome rancher?"

My neck grows hot. “Well, that too.”

“I’m sorry this Christmas didn’t turn out as you hoped.”

“I wish our plans had worked out, too.” I swallow, worry gnawing at my chest. “I keep telling myself it's just a storm, but it feels bigger than that somehow.”

She reaches across the table, covering my hand with hers. Her skin is soft, papery with age, but her grip is still strong. “You’ll be back together before you know it, sweetheart. What you two have, that’s not something a little snow can erase.”

“I hope you’re right.” The knot of worry in my chest tightens. “I just really miss him. I miss him more than makes sense.”

“Love rarely makes sense, dear.” Her eyes twinkle as she draws a card. “That’s what makes it so wonderful.”

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