Page 7 of Snowed In with the Wrong Cowboy
I grin. Can't help it. “You're welcome.”
“I didn't say thank you.”
“You were thinking it.”
She turns to look at me, and we’re closer than I thought. It makes me think of things I shouldn’t.
Which is exactly why I don’t back up.
Instead, I tilt my head, watching her squirm. If Mackenzie could see this, she’d lose her damn mind. Her perfect little best friend, alone in the mountains with the family disappointment.
“You're impossible,” she says.
“So I've been told.”
We're still crouched there, the fire crackling between us and the wall, the cabin warm and getting warmer. She should move. I should move.
Neither of us does.
“Where am I sleeping?” she asks finally, breaking the moment.
I stand, offering her a hand up. She ignores it, pushing to her feet on her own.
Stubborn. I like that.Maybe a little too much.
“You can sleep in the bed. What side do you like?”
Her head jerks back. “I’m not sleepingwithyou. If you’re in the bed, I’ll take the couch.”
“That couch?” I glance over at it. “It’s ninety percent wood and barely wide enough for a small child. You’ll last ten minutes.”
“Watch me.”
“Suit yourself. Just don’t wake me up crying when your spine gives out.”
The fire pops in the silence that follows. Outside, the wind howls, throwing snow against the windows.
“I’m hungry,” she says.
“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”
She shoots me a glare. “Mackenzie said there’s some food.”
“There is.”
Hope sparks in her eyes. “Thank God.”
“But nothing’s free, darlin’.”
The hope dies fast. “What does that mean?”
I let the silence stretch, just to watch her squirm. “You cook?”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“Simple question. Can you cook?”
“Yes.”
