Page 11 of Special Delivery Cowboy
She let out another pitiful cry, her whole body shaking. Her dark eyes found mine—trusting, scared, cold.
"Get in here!" I grabbed his jacket and pulled him inside, slamming the door against the wind. "You're both half-frozen already."
He stumbled into the entryway, snow falling off him in clumps, creating puddles on the hardwood. The scent of winter air rushed in—sharp and clean—mixed with worn leather and something earthy. Hay, maybe. Or the outdoors itself. He seemed to bring the Montana wilderness right into my cozy cabin, all broad shoulders and masculine presence taking up space in the small entryway.
"Thank you." He exhaled, breath fogging. "I need directions to Pine Ridge Road and—"
He laughed suddenly—a low, rough sound. "Wait—you thought I was a stripper? In this storm?"
"My friend sent a cryptic text about a special delivery!" I pressed my palms to my cheeks. "What was I supposed to think?"
"And you thought she hired me to take my clothes off?"
"I know! Okay? But she's been threatening to do something ridiculous ever since—" I stopped. "Never mind. You're soaked and I'm an idiot."
"I think the pup needs to get warm."
"Oh god, yes!" I tugged on his arm again. "I'm so sorry."
"Not the worst." Amusement colored his voice. "Top ten, maybe."
She whimpered again, more urgently.
"Fire first, mortification later." I pointed toward the massive stone fireplace where logs crackled and popped. "Get her warm."
He moved toward it, already extracting her from his jacket. She was incredibly young—maybe eight weeks old—with paws too big for her body and floppy ears. That crooked red bow made her look like a Christmas present someone had shaken too hard.
He set her down gently on the cream-colored rug.
She immediately squatted and peed.
"Oh no—" He lunged for her. "I'm sorry, I should've—she's been holding it for hours—"
"It's fine!" I was already running for paper towels. Thankfully I located a bottle of carpet cleaner in the kitchen cabinet under the sink. "She's a baby. And honestly after I accused you of being a stripper, doggy pee feels like karma."
We both dropped to our knees, frantically soaking up the mess. Our fingers bumped reaching for the same wet spot.
Warmth shot up my arm.
I yanked my hand back like I'd been burned.
He did the same, so fast he nearly knocked over the cleaner bottle. For a moment we just stared at each other, both of us kneeling on this stranger's expensive rug, soaked paper towels inhand, a puddle of puppy pee between us. Not exactly the meet-cute I'd ever imagined.
He glanced at me—those brown eyes had lighter flecks near the center, I noticed—and his mouth quirked.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling.
We both looked away and attacked the wet spot with renewed focus.
She began exploring, sniffing at his boot, then mine, then chewing on a throw pillow.
"No, don't—" He reached for her and gently began extricating the pillow from her mouth.
"She needs some toys," I said, reaching to give the eager creature a pat.
"In my truck." He dragged his fingers through his dark hair. "I was supposed to deliver her before the weather hit, but my GPS died and I got lost. She was shaking from the cold."
"You're really delivering a puppy on Christmas Eve? In this weather? You're not a stripper?"
