Page 6 of Mistletoe Cowboy
Soon, the aromatic bitterness of freshly ground and brewed coffee fills the air. But tension lingers. It sticks to my skin, fillsevery crevice as I waver back and forth between comfort and panic.Silas is here again.Unfathomable. Inevitable.
When the floorboards groan, I call, “Coffee’s on.” My voice sounds rougher than I mean it to be, pulse pounding in my temples.
Silas enters, hair damp, green flannel shirt hugging his muscular chest in all the right ways. Our eyes meet, and the air solidifies. So much unsaid hangs in the space between us. I don’t know where to start … or if I should.
He sits down at the table, grabbing a pile of unopened mail. “When were you thinking about tackling these, Sage?”
I shrug, stomach lurching at the thought of so many unpaid obligations.
He grabs the shiny letter opener, making quick work of the envelopes. I bring two steaming mugs of coffee to the table, sitting down to his left.
“Still take it black?”
He nods, a neat pile of unfolded papers growing.
I frown, shame coursing through my veins, “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?”
He rubs a hand absentmindedly over the faint stubble felting his chin. “Not you, Walter.”
“Yeah.” I stare at my hands like they hold the secrets to existence. “But I knew better than to let him run things in the first place.”
“Never been up to you or me,” he says, eyes narrowing.
And if things had been up to us?I long to ask but dread the answer. Instead, I take the coward’s path—silence.
He leans back in the chair, taking a sip of coffee. His brows furrow, and I fall in love with him all over again. The older version of him, all man and grump, muscle and desire.
“Weather report says this winter’s about to get nasty. I’ll get with Ralph and the other hands today to discuss what’s still left for buttoning down the ranch.”
“I want to help, too,” I say, not ready to relinquish power to anyone, not even the man I trust more than anyone in this world.
He nods. “Knew you would. Once the winterizing’s done, we’ll hunker down and start thinking about equipment repairs. Cutting new wire for spring mending. The usual stuff.”
We. Never has one syllable hit me so hard. What Silas and I could have been under any other circumstances.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I say, hand shaking.
Before I can react, he reaches over, covers it with his large one. Warmth infuses his touch, comforting, infuriating. Sparks still simmer, like the night under the mistletoe. A lifetime of yearning, waiting for ignition.
“We’ll do this together, Sage. ’Cause you’re as stubborn as ever, far as I can tell.”
“Got that right,” I confirm with a nod.
He pulls his hand back, and I already miss its heat and feel. “Your coffee’s strong as ever, too. Could grow legs and start walking.” He grimaces, takes another swig.
I chuckle.
Outside, I pull up the collar of my scarlet peacoat, fighting the incessant wind. Dark storm clouds threaten in the distance as we work quickly. In the winter pasture, we feed and water the cattle, the smell of pine and manure threading the air.
Next, we mend fences, searching for places wolves and other predators could exploit to prey on the herd. We labor in silence, backs to the other ranch hands and Ralph.
Silas runs a gloved hand along the fence line, testing the tension. “This strand’s loose enough to let a calf through.”
The come-along clicks in steady rhythm, each pull tightening the barbed wire until it sings high and sharp.
Silas braces his boots in the frozen dirt and snow, muscles flexing as he draws the line firm. I press the wire to the post and drive a U-staple home. Three quick blows that ring through the cold air.
The fence thrums between us, tight and unyielding as everything we’ve never said.
