Page 48 of The Cowboy's Christmas
Quinn gave a whistle and she turned to find him beckoning her down to where he stood near a twisted pine. Not the tree of her dreams, but…okay. Quinn was running the show.
She half walked, half stumbled through the snow toward him. She was winded and her hands were cold, but there was a certain exhilaration to being outside, doing something other than chores or gardening or even sitting under a tree reading a book. It was the snow, she decided. The snow made her feel like Harold after a fresh fall—full of energy and ready to tackle anything.
She’d bottled herself up for two years, literally and figuratively. Secluded herself from the world, except for Deke and the occasional trip to either Livingston or Marietta. It wasn’t that she’d wanted to focus on her grief. She hadn’t. She’d wanted to be normal again but had no idea what that looked like. She only knew that it would probably sting to ease back into life, and coward that she was, she’d insulated herself against the sting.
She’d forgotten to live.
No…she’d been afraid to live. Afraid to embrace anything that might make her feel too much.
That’s why she needed to do more than sleepwalk through Christmas.
And life.
She focused on Quinn, slipped on a loose branch hidden by the snow and slid down onto her butt. He was looking at the tree again, hadn’t seen.
Good.
Her pants were starting to soak through on the backs of her thighs, which was only going to make her colder, but she really didn’t care. In fact, she felt like sharing the joy.
She stopped a few yards away from Quinn, scooped up a handful of snow, formed a ball, and lobed it at his broad back, but it splatted right at the nape of his neck, knocking his hat forward. Savannah brought a hand to her mouth as his shoulders automatically hunched against the snow that was probably going down his shirt.
“What the—” He swung around, and Savannah couldn’t help laughing at the confused expression on his face. “You?”
“Yeti. I swear. He came out of nowhere.”
“Uh huh.” He studied her for a moment, then bent down, keeping his eyes on her, as if expecting a sneak attack if he looked away, and scooped up enough snow to make a good-size projectile.
Savannah put her hands up. “Yeti. Honest.”
He started toward her with the snowball, and she laughed as she awkwardly backpedaled. She stopped when her heel hit a snowy log. “Quinn. Please.”
He stopped a few feet away from her, tossing the ball in the air. “Please?”
“Please go find that yeti and punish him. He couldn’t have gone far.”
He fought the smile, lost, and Savannah’s midsection did a freefall as the impact of his sexy grin hit her full force.
“Maybe we should stick close together so that one of us can be on the lookout for yetis,” he said softly.
“Yes. Good idea.” She gave a brisk bob of her head.
He dropped the snowball and held out a hand. Savannah barely hesitated before putting her wet glove into his. His fingers closed around hers and together they walked to the twisted pine tree.
“We make a larger target like this,” Savannah murmured. “The yeti might get us.”
“Somehow, I think the attack is over,” Quinn replied without looking at her. “Look.” He pointed at something half hidden in the branches.
Savannah tilted her head as she made out a roundish brown shape four or five feet above their heads, then smiled as she recognized it to be a young porcupine, nestled against the trunk. Bright dark eyes stared at her over a blunt nose, as if to say, “This is my tree. Back off.”
“They don’t attack from the air, do they?” she asked Quinn without looking at him. She felt him smile as they eased back, giving the animal its space.
“Nope,” he said once they were a decent distance away. “The only attack today came from someone pretending to be a yeti.”
Savannah met his gaze, then lightly tossed the tiny snowball she still held in her free hand at Quinn’s chest.
It bounced off, but the message was clear. Game on. He tugged her toward him before she could pull her hand free from his. Laughing, Savannah stumbled forward, even as her brain was making noises about this not being in the game plan, her palm flattening against his chest.
How long had it been since she’d let go? Since she’d played?
