Page 5 of Mistletoe Cowboy
Her words hit like lightning. Maybe she’s talking about Walter—but it feels aimed at us.
“Neither was I,” I mutter.
Silence settles, broken only by wind whistling around the eaves. The weight of those three words nearly buckles me. I can’t stay here another minute.
I turn for the door and my truck.
Sage follows. “Wait, are you leaving?”
“Probably should,” I grumble, shoulders hunched. Sage has too many problems for me to fix. And yet the pull to stay is too strong.
“Just like you did the last time.”
I stop dead. Stare at my boots.
“You think leaving fixed it? You think I didn’t pay the price, too?”
Her words hang between us like smoke. I can feel her anger and hurt, the heat of it crawling across the distance until it finds me.
I turn. She nearly collides with me. We stop inches apart, breaths mingling. My resolve hangs by one brittle thread.
“You were sixteen, Sage. My sister, for heaven’s sake. I had no right?—”
“Then, why does it feel like you do?”
Snow drifts between us, fat flakes gliding through the cold air. Her cheeks flush, chin trembling. Our eyes lock, and for one split second there’s nothing but wanting.
“I don’t,” I say firmly. “And I’m not leaving. Just turning off the truck, getting my overnight bag.”
“Oh.” Her face is unreadable.
As we trudge toward the house, Buzz following at our heels, my heart feels like lead.
I shouldn’t have come back. But now that I have, I don’t know how to leave her again.
When I start toward the bunkhouse, Sage stops me. “Sleep in the main house. I’ve got the guest bedroom ready for you.”
My throat tightens. The idea of sleeping under the same roof again sets every nerve on fire. She’s older now—curves where there once was innocence—and the sight of her sparks both heat and disgrace.
I tell myself it’s just the years that changed her. But deep down I know it’s me—the man I became, the one she still looks at like he’s worth saving.
I half turn at the entryway. Through the swirl of flurries, the swing in the old cottonwood creaks softly, bobbing in the wind as if remembering everything I’ve tried to forget.
Chapter
Three
SAGE
The shrill screech of the alarm comes too early. I turn, slap my hand over the snooze button, then lie in bed, indulging in the momentary silence.
Something feels changed. Like the house breathes differently with Silas here. His towering figure fills my head like last night’s dreams. Everything I want and can never have—easy drawl, emotions simmering just beneath the surface, chestnut hair and mahogany eyes that see too much every time he looks at me.
I stretch, every creak and groan of the ranch house screaming his presence. Cold air goosebumps my skin as I slide into darkwash Ariats and a button-down, black and gray floral shirt. Over that, I pile a black cardigan before sliding into my boots.
Downstairs, chill hits my cheeks as I kneel, working silently to stoke a new fire. Buzz nuzzles under my elbow for his morning pets. “Hey, buddy, want to eat?”
His ears perk up. Metal clanks as I fill his bowl with kibble before softening it with water from the sink. I set it down near the hearth and command, “Eat.” He dives in without missing a beat.
