Page 61 of Major Love

He shields my face with the palm of his hand, giving me a moment to swipe at my cheeks without being pelted with snow.

I sniffle and shake my head, breathing out a quiet laugh, and a tender smile curves his handsome mouth as he keeps my body sheltered with his.

“I don’t have my hat with me for you to wear this time,” he says quietly, and I drop my forehead to his chest – shaking at first with soft laughter, and then silent painful tears.

“Hey, hey,” he rumbles, cupping the back of my head with his steady palm. “You’re okay now, Sunday. I’ve got you now.”

“I tried to call you,” I rasp, tilting my head and looking up into his crystalline eyes. “And when I couldn’t find any cell service I tried to dig my way out.”

His frown deepens and his eyes flick toward the forest. “Dig your way out?” he repeats gently. “Did the tires slip on the road? Send the truck into the snow?”

He drops the palm that was sheltering my eyes, wrapping it around one of my mittens, and then he’s holding my hand in his as he starts walking us up the incline.

But barely four steps later he comes to an immediate stop.

I roll my lips into my mouth, flicking my eyes up to his as he blinks in shock.

He stares at the fallen tree, his brow lifting as he takes it in.

Then he drops his gaze back to mine.

“What the fuck is that?”

I swallow quickly. “That’s a pine tree.”

His irises blaze, his military mind already calculating what happened here.

He glances toward the tire treads imprinted in the snow, treads that arebeyondthe fallen tree – meaning that, seeing as the truck isn’t stuck behind it, the tree must have fallenafterI had passed it.

As in, the tree fell downwhileI was here.

His voice is deep. “Tell me you were nowhere near it.”

One thing about me? I hate lying. And even though I can do it, I find it almost impossible.

So I look into his eyes without blinking and rasp, “I was, like, at least a good metre away from it.”

“Sunday,” he says hoarsely, his wide eyes searching mine, and then he curses and tugs me closer, draping his heavy forearm over my shoulders.

And the respectful touch barrier that Jason had erected all those weeks ago dissipates into something new, giving me the greenlight to finally press myself against him.

“Show me where the truck is,” he rumbles quietly, swiping snow from his stubble as he tears his eyes away from the pine.

“Um,” I whisper nervously, stepping into the snow, and glancing up at him over my shoulder as he follows half a step behind. “So, because I didn’t want to get stranded behind the tree, I had to hit the gas pretty hard, but then, you know, the elk showed up–”

“An elk?”

“Two elk,” I say before I can think better of it. Then I frown and add, “Wait. Is ‘elk’ singular or plural?”

Jason exhales roughly. “Jesus Christ.”

I wince and try to remove myself from his hold. “Sorry, never mind.”

But he immediately tugs me back, looking even more distressed than before.

“I’m not cursing about your wording – I’m cursing because I wish I’d been here to help you.”

We crunch over the final piles of snow before we reach the front of Casey’s truck, and Jason silently inspects the snow-packed tires, swiping his hand down his jaw.

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