CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Suzanne woke the next morning to an empty cabin—again. She had seen Grady last night, but only briefly when he’d come in at eight thirty and headed straight for his office. There was a note waiting for her, though, as she entered the kitchen. A note with instructions in his big, bold handwriting to go into Credence and pick up supplies for her parents’ cottage so they were prepared for the blizzard that was supposed to touch down later tonight.

She assumed Grady was always prepared, so nothing was needed for the cabin.

Candles and matches were on the list as well as spare batteries for the two large flashlights he’d left on the bench top. Also on the list—a supply of bottled water and some cans of food.

Beans are good.

That’s what he’d written. Suzanne struggled to think of a time she’d ever seen her parents eat baked beans, or any kind of ready-to-eat meal out of a can, and failed. But if the power went out, which it probably would at some point, they’d only have their gas cooktop so cans it was. Thankfully, the gas fireplace in the cottage meant there was no need for Suzanne to worry about her parents running out of firewood and risking a trip outdoors for more in the middle of a blizzard.

Unlike Grady’s cabin with its wood-burning fireplace.

But Suzanne had noticed yesterday that Grady—or somebody anyway—had stacked up a supply of wood and two huge baskets brimming with pine cones around the fireplace and against the cabin on the back porch under the overhang of the roof. The wood was neatly piled and tightly packed, looking like enough wood for a week and, as far as she knew, the weather station said the worst of it should be over in two days.

Fingers crossed.

Suzanne shivered. The wind was already picking up outside, and she was grateful to be inside, unlike poor Grady and his men, who must be freezing their balls off out there. Sure, it seemed right up his ex-military, tough-guy alley to be out battling these kinds of elements, but yikes…

Rather him than her.

…

At eight that night, Grady still wasn’t home as Suzanne waved her parents off at the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait the blizzard out here with us?” she asked them. “There’s a spare room.”

Her mother looked around at all the tinsel and other Christmas tack and shook her head. “No thanks, darling, we’ll be fine.”

At another time, her mother’s obvious distaste might have annoyed Suzanne, but frankly, she was relieved her mother had declined. For starters, it meant she and her father would spend more alone time together, and then there were the sleeping arrangements…

Yes, there was a spare bedroom. Right next to Suzanne’s. Except Suzanne was supposed to be sharing Grady’s room—Grady’s bed—so it could be hard to explain if that little fact were uncovered.

God…she couldn’t wait for her parents to return to New York so this pretense could end.

“When did Grady say he’d be home?” her father asked.

Suzanne shook her head. “He didn’t.” She was trying not to think about him out there in the increasing wind. She hoped he wouldn’t be too much longer. The bureau had predicted the blizzard currently making its way across Kansas and Nebraska to arrive just before midnight.

“Before the blizzard hits, I hope,” he said.

“Me too.”

“Oh, hey.” Her father pulled her in for a hug. “You’re worried about him.”

Yes. She was. Surprisingly. She knew Grady knew what he was doing and that he wasn’t out there alone, but she was still antsy. She supposed seasoned rancher wives/girlfriends were used to this kind of thing. They were probably cool and calm in the face of an approaching biblical-ass storm. Hell, they’d probably be out there among it with their men.

But Suzanne couldn’t help but think of a hundred things that could go wrong. “At least with all these lights, he’ll be able to easily find his way home,” Albie said, attempting to make a joke but hugging her a bit harder.

Suzanne laughed. “Grady does love his Christmas.”

The lie didn’t sit well. She had zero doubt the lights would be gone as soon as her parents hightailed it out of Credence. But her father was right, the lights flashing outside the cabin were visible for miles and, on a night like this, she was relieved to have them blinking away.

She hoped Grady was, too.

“Do you want us to stay?”

Suzanne shook her head and pulled back. “No.” She wanted her parents to spend as much alone time together as possible. They’d been smiling at each other a lot today, and who knew what being snowed in could lead to? “Josh will be home soon. You two go and batten down the hatches while you’ve got the chance. It’s already starting to really blow out there. Just remember you’ll probably lose power and phones, so if anything happens and you need us, either come across or tie the red washcloth around the outside doorknob.”

“We’ll be fine, darling,” her father assured, and, with one last round of hugs, Suzanne opened the door.

The wind whistled, pushing Arctic fingers into the warm cabin. Her parents braced themselves for the short walk to the cottage, and Suzanne watched them from the doorway as her parents trudged away, hunched into their coats, their flashlights lighting the way on the cold, dark night, gusts of wind making the short walk challenging. When they reached their door, they turned and waved, and Suzanne waved back before shutting the cabin door and the inclement weather outside where it belonged.

Outside with Grady.

…

Nine o’clock came and went. Ten o’clock did, too. Grady had told Suzanne to not wait up, but she couldn’t go to bed with the wind howling outside and him still out there in it. True, it hadn’t started snowing yet, but it wouldn’t be long.

Where was he? She’d texted him half a dozen times, and her head was full of worst-case scenarios.

In an effort to keep her mind off Grady’s absence and her infuriatingly silent phone, she’d kept herself busy. She’d showered and regularly stoked the fire so the cabin would be toasty warm when Grady finally did arrive home. She’d baked a batch of brownies that were cooling on the kitchen bench top, and she had a saucepan full of warmed milk ready to go because surely a hot chocolate would be appreciated after coming in from the storm?

She’d turned on some Christmas carols for company, painted her toes, and cleaned out her handbag sitting on the rug in front of the fire. And now she was on the couch, her legs pulled up under her, a fleecy blanket over her lap and a glass of red by her side, trying to concentrate on her e-reader. She’d turned off the carols in an effort to improve her concentration, but it hadn’t worked, as she stared once again at the Christmas tree, her thoughts whirring.

Not even the tree gave her any pleasure tonight, despite the small pile of presents beneath it now. One each for her parents, even though they didn’t believe in gift giving. And Winona’s wrapped cookies. There was also a little something for Burl and Cora. And there was a present for Grady, because it would be weird if she hadn’t gotten him anything. And one from him to her that she’d wrapped and placed with the others because, ditto. They were just matching sweaters to wear to Christmas lunch, but there was still a pretense to be upheld.

Glancing out the windows into the dark, Suzanne was grateful the power hadn’t gone out yet. The lights inside were comforting while she was here alone, and knowing the ones outside were shining like a beacon for her rancher was also welcome.

She blinked. Her rancher? He wasn’t her rancher, she knew that, but right now with Grady somewhere out there in the wild weather and her safe on the inside, he very much felt like her rancher. He sure as hell was all she could think about.

And she was getting madder by the second.

Okay, sure, he couldn’t stop and answer every text she’d sent when he was working his guts out to get the ranch prepared for the havoc that was about to be brought down upon it, but surely he could answer just one? A quick I’m fine. Home in xyz amount of time. Was that so freaking hard?

If he’d answered just one of her inquires, she wouldn’t have had to send a half dozen others. God…what if he’d slipped and fallen into a gully and was unconscious and his men couldn’t find him? What if he’d had an accident in his vehicle and they couldn’t find him? What if he was trying to pull another calf out of another bog and had been pulled headfirst into the muddy quagmire and they couldn’t find him?

Not even the full-bodied red and the romantic flicker of firelight could soothe the slick of adrenaline stalking her system. She’d give him one more hour. And if he wasn’t back by then she’d… Hell, she didn’t know what she’d do, but she sure as hell was going to do something.

Call someone. Burl maybe? He’d called earlier to check on her and assure her Grady would be home when the work was done, so he’d know if Grady’s prolonged absence was normal.

That’s what she’d do. In one more hour. With that decided, she tamped down her fears and returned to her book, to the same page she’d read at least a dozen times now.

The door opened abruptly fifteen minutes later, the wind nipping and snarling before it was shut out again. Suzanne’s nerves jumped and her heart leaped as she scrambled off the couch toward Grady, who was shaking snow out of his hair and stepping out of his boots saying, “Oh yes, thank you… It’s like the Bahamas in here.”

“Grady!” She all but ran to him, launching herself into his arms, hugging around his shoulders.

“Whoa there, slugger,” he said on a half laugh as his body absorbed the impact of hers.

His jacket was freezing, as was his neck where she’d pressed her face, but she didn’t care. She hugged him fiercely, her pulse hammering madly at all her pulse points. Grady was here. Grady was safe. Grady was whole.

“God,” she said, her voice husky, tears stinging her eyes, “I was so worried about you.”

“As you can see, I’m fine.”

The amusement in his voice grated. Grady was here and he was safe and the adrenaline that had held her hostage drained away like dirty dishwater down the drain, leaving her wrung out and nauseated. She pushed away from him and whacked his arm.

It had all the impact of a feather through the thick layers of his jacket.

“Where have you been?” she demanded and whacked his other arm. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

He chuckled. “I told you not to wait up.”

She blinked hard to dispel the threatening tears. She would not cry when he was smiling at her like he was indulging a two-year-old’s temper tantrum. “I’ve been picturing you dead in a ditch,” she yelled, giving his chest a shove this time. It barely moved him, which made her madder. “Why didn’t you reply to one of my texts to let me know you were okay?”

She shoved again, but he caught her hand this time, his smile dying. “Suzy…” His brow crinkled. “It’s okay. I’m fine. See?”

He held out his arms to show her he was whole and intact, and had he used any other name, she might have stayed stoic, but the way he said Suzy—the only man who had ever called her that—was her undoing. She felt absurdly like bursting into tears, but she didn’t. She threw herself at him again instead and just hugged him, his big, broad shoulders feeling like boulders in her embrace.

He was fine. Grady was fine.

“God, you’re so cold,” she said after a beat or two, the icy feel of his jacket permeating her pajama top.

“It’s just the outside of my clothes,” he dismissed. “I’m warm underneath.”

“Come over to the fire.” She let him go but tugged on his freezing hand, not prepared to take no for an answer. Thankfully, after a moment of resistance, he followed, that bemused look back on his face. He was humoring her again, but she was okay with that.

“Stand here in front of this, and warm your hands. I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

Again she didn’t wait for his consent, just scurried to the kitchen on a cloud of relief.

“I’d rather bourbon.”

Right. Of course. He was a grown-ass man who’d been out doing hard physical labor for the last seventeen hours. The man deserved alcohol.

“Good plan.”

Suzanne headed for the drinks cabinet. She had to pass Zoom’s tank, which made her think of Bethany, but she quashed it as she opened the cabinet doors and grabbed the Wild Turkey bottle. Her hand shook as she reached for a heavy lead crystal tumbler and poured a hefty slug. Picking up the glass and the bottle—he’d probably want more than one—she headed back toward Grady.

He’d taken his jacket off and was facing the fire, and even in this huge living room with its soaring ceiling and massive wooden beams, Grady dominated. Tall and broad, his back straight, his stance wide and confident. He was king of his domain, and damn if that didn’t send a delicious little trill right through her abdomen.

Stopping to place the bottle down on the side table next to her wine and handbag, she picked up her glass and ferried both it and Grady’s bourbon over to where he stood. He had his hands thrust toward the fire, warming them as she’d directed.

“Here.” She nudged his elbow with the tumbler.

“Thanks.” He relieved her of it and immediately raised it to his mouth, taking a big swallow.

Suzanne, still feeling edgy from the remnants of adrenaline, almost did the same with her wine but forced herself to sip it instead. Neither of them said anything for long moments as they stared into the fire. She snuck a look at Grady’s profile as he took another mouthful of his drink. His eyes were shut as if savoring it, and then he tipped his head from side to side, stretching out the muscles of his neck.

“You must be exhausted,” Suzanne said, noticing the fine lines around his eyes.

His lids fluttered open, and he stared into the fire again. “I’m okay.”

Of course he was okay. Couldn’t have surly rancher dude admit to anything as human as tiredness after two full days of manual labor.

A sudden howl of wind shook the cabin, and Suzanne glanced out the window at the horizontal snow whipping past. “Did you get everything done?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Just gotta hope for the best now.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Suzanne raised her glass toward him, and their gazes met as he tapped his tumbler to hers. The glasses tinked, and Grady took another swallow as he returned his attention to the fire.

“You must be hungry. I kept some food for you. There’s also a batch of brownies that’s probably still warm.”

“Thanks.” He nodded. “I’ll get something soon.”

“I can do it; you’ve done enough today.”

She turned to go, but he put a stilling hand on her arm. “Suzy…”

Suzy. God… Her belly looped the loop. Talk about heat. How did the man manage to make that name sound so damn sexy?

“It’s okay. I just want to enjoy the warmth of the fire and the heat in this drink for a little while longer.”

“Of course,” she said, standing beside him again, her gaze returning to the fire.

The silence grew between them as they sipped on their drinks, which only made Suzanne more and more aware of him, of his brooding presence. What was he thinking about? Was he worrying about the storm? The ranch? That he hadn’t done enough? Or was he thinking about the long hours ahead with just him and her—alone. In this cabin.

Like she was.

“So what happens now?” she asked eventually when the quiet became too much.

He shrugged. “There’s nothing left to do. The blizzard’s upon us, and we can’t go out again until it’s blown over, so…” He turned slightly toward her and smiled. “We just wait it out.”

Suzanne swallowed. Exactly. Just her and him. Waiting it out. How were they going to keep themselves occupied?

“How long do you think it’ll last?”

“Figure it’ll go all night and all day tomorrow and into tomorrow night. We can follow the progress of the storm on the computer.”

Just then, another powerful blast of wind shook the cabin, and the lights flickered out. Had it not been for the fire, they’d have been plunged into darkness. Suzanne shivered and took an involuntary step closer to Grady.

“Or…maybe not.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket and swiped at the screen several times. “No cell or internet, either. Looks like we’ll have to go old-school.”

Draining the last of his bourbon, he placed the glass on the mantelpiece next to Christmas Elvis riding a reindeer and headed for the kitchen. Suzanne didn’t bother to follow him, preferring to stay near the source of light. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, but the howling was really ramping up outside. It sounded like wolves. Rabid wolves.

Suzanne didn’t mind admitting she was feeling quite vulnerable out here in the middle of nowhere with all that frothing, wailing nature just outside the door. She had absolutely no doubt that Grady would be able to handle any calamity that arose and that he wouldn’t let any harm come to her but, despite the solid shelter of four walls and a roof, she suddenly felt every inch the city girl.

And very, very small.

There was some clattering from the kitchen, then the scratchy crackle of static before a tinny voice grew louder and louder but fading in and out as it talked about wind speeds and temperatures. There was nothing but the voice for a minute, and Suzanne assumed Grady was listening attentively, but then there was an “Oh my god” followed by a groan.

Already on edge, Suzanne tensed. What? What was wrong? She couldn’t hear the weather guy well from here. Had he announced that an asteroid had been sighted on the satellite hurtling toward Earth? It sure as hell felt like the end of the world was nigh. She heard footsteps and turned, panic rising in her chest to see Grady advancing toward her with the baking dish in hand.

“This,” he said, around a mouthful of brownie, pointing to the gooey dark chocolate cakey goodness still in the pan, a corner missing, “is amazing.”

She blinked, uncomprehending for a beat or two, then smiled at the genuine, clearly heartfelt compliment as panic subsided to pride. And pleasure. There was something ridiculously primal about being appreciated for her ability to feed her man.

God…her man. Her rancher. What was wrong with her? Where were her feminist sensibilities? Had the storm reduced her to some kind of cavewoman? “I figured you might want something sweet when you got in.”

Suzanne hadn’t thought too much about that sentence before it came out, but his chewing faltered, and suddenly his gaze heated as it drifted to her mouth and the V neckline of her pajama shirt, and the static seemed to jump from the radio to fill the space between them.

“I didn’t,” he said, dragging his gaze off her mouth. “But I do now.”

Suzanne knew exactly how he felt. She was hungry just looking at him. The static arced between them, coursing and sizzling.

“If you want some of this, you’d better speak up, because I’m probably going to eat the whole thing.”

If you want some of this?

God…she wanted, all right, and it had nothing to do with the pan of brownie and everything to do with the man holding the damn thing. She’d been so worried about Grady, and now he was here all hale and hearty, and it was like every instinct she’d had to deny their attraction—and there’d been many—had been swept away by the blizzard.

Who’d have thought a rancher in plaid and denim appreciating her cooking would be such a freaking turn-on? Suzanne tried really hard not to think about drizzling bourbon on his body and smearing it in chocolate brownie.

“You’re going to eat it all now?”

His gaze dipped briefly again, and her nipples hardened before his eyes returned to her face. “If that’s okay. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

Yeah…neither had she.

Swallowing hard, Suzanne forced herself to take a mental step backward. What in the hell was wrong with her tonight? Just because there was an apocalyptic blizzard raging outside didn’t mean she could just throw out all her inhibitions. “Of course it’s okay,” she said, her voice way shakier than she’d have liked. Then an idea struck. “Wait. Hold that thought.”

Shoving her wineglass on the mantelpiece next to his tumbler, she headed toward the kitchen, thankful for the strong glow from the fire. Opening the cutlery drawer, she grabbed two spoons, then the roll of kitchen paper and briefly considered ice cream or the whipped cream before dismissing both as a very bad idea.

For one, the power was out, and opening the fridge and freezer should be limited to emergencies and two, she didn’t think either of them needed such a blatant sexual cue between them. In her current state of arousal, a can of whipped cream was the equivalent of bringing a vibrator into the room.

With that inappropriate thought nipping at her heels, she hurried back to find Grady had moved close to the fire again, the brownie pan still in hand.

“Rug picnic,” she announced as she brandished the spoons in the air.

He turned as Suzanne made her way around the couch, grabbing up the blanket she’d had over her knees earlier.

“That’s not a thing,”

“Of course it is.”

“Not when you’re an adult.”

Suzanne spread the blanket out on the rug. “Who says?”

“Rules of being a grown-up 101.”

“Pfft.” Suzanne’s bangs fluffed out as she made the sound. “Rules of being a grown-up don’t apply when we’re stuck in a blizzard in the middle of nowhere.” Suzanne had been through blizzards before but in a city, there was safety in numbers.

He gave a surprised half laugh. “You’re in a house that’s been surviving blizzards for forty years. In front of a fire. Drinking wine and eating brownies. Not a tent.”

“Whatever… It’s too Little House on the Prairie for my liking.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.” She sunk to the floor, sitting lotus-style, as close to the fire as possible while still being on the rug and glanced up at him. His legs looked six feet long from down here. Man…was there an angle from which Grady didn’t look great?

“What?” she demanded as he continued to stare. “Too manly for a picnic? Will it ruin your reputation in the Surly Rancher Dude Club?”

“Surly rancher dude?”

“What, no club?” Suzanne feigned disappointment. “I was sure you’d be president.”

He clutched his chest. “Who me, ma’am? A simple cowpoke?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just sit already. I promise your secret is safe with me. What happens in the blizzard stays in the blizzard, right?”

Firelight caught the clench of his jaw as a whole world of possibilities opened up in Suzanne’s head. And if she was reading the sudden mushroom cloud of heat in his gaze right, Grady was on the same page. “To coin a phrase,” she added lamely, and then, quickly changing the subject, she held up the spoons, one in each hand. “So are you going to share the brownies or keep them all to yourself?”

For a beat or two, Grady didn’t say anything. Nor did he move. He just stood there looking down at her, his gaze like a heat wave as it raked over her body. Then he passed her the pan. “My aunt would whoop my ass if I didn’t share.”

Suzanne let out a shaky breath as she took the pan and placed it on the blanket. “You want to grab our drinks?”

God knew she was going to need some kind of fortification if she was going to share a pan of brownies with a guy who looked, even now, like he’d walked out of the Wild West and whom her body had decided was just her kind of Christmas crack.

He grabbed both his tumbler and the bourbon in one hand and her glass and the wine bottle in the other. Crouching at the edge of the rug, he placed them on the floorboards, pouring another slug of bourbon for himself and topping up her almost empty glass. He handed her wine over, then picked up his tumbler before settling opposite her, also lotus-style, nothing but a pan of brownies and one very long night between them.

There was about a hand’s width between their knees, and damn if she wasn’t aware of every charged inch of that space. And how easily she could just slide her palm onto his thigh. She thrust the spoon at Grady instead, which he took with one hand, then raised his tumbler between them with the other. “To rug picnics,” he toasted with a touch of derision in his voice.

Suzanne tapped her glass to his tumbler. “I’ll drink to that.” She took a sip of her wine, placed it down on the floor next to the rug, and said, “Dig in.”

He dug in, so did she, and for the next five minutes, there was nothing but the sound of spoons scraping the bottom of the pan, the crackle of the fire, and the wind yowling outside. Suzanne stopped after eating a quarter of the pan. She was getting full, and the brownies were too rich for someone who didn’t have a huge sweet tooth.

“I’m done.” She splayed her hand over her belly as she took a sip of her wine.

Grady, who obviously did have a sweet tooth, smiled at her like she was some kind of lightweight. “That is a tragedy,” he said, faking a crestfallen expression for a beat or two before shoveling up more brownie and spooning it into his mouth.

Suzanne didn’t bother not to look as he continued to eat. He was mesmerizing to watch devouring the food she’d cooked. It was causing a happy little glow in her chest and a raging inferno inside her pajama pants. Stopping to draw breath, he took a swallow of his bourbon and moaned, which didn’t help the emergency fire situation going on inside her panties.

“Mmm,” he murmured appreciatively. “Bourbon and brownies are good together.”

“Yeah?”

He dug some more brownie out with his spoon, dribbled some of the bourbon from his tumbler onto the dark chocolate mass, which soaked it in. He held the spoon between them and said, “Open up.”

Suzanne should probably have declined. But she was no more capable of that than stopping the blizzard raging outside. She parted her lips, and he slipped it in, her mouth closing around the spoon. Shutting her eyes, she savored the taste as he withdrew the implement. The bourbon supercharged the sweetness but gave it a little kick of something else.

“Mmm,” she murmured as the flavor infused her taste buds. She swallowed, her eyes fluttering open to find him staring at her lips.

Her stomach clenched at the heat, at the intensity of his gaze. Her breathing faltered.

A beat passed. Then another. Then, before she could catch her breath, his head swooped and he kissed the corner of her mouth, his tongue flicking out and lingering for long, pulse-skittering moments before he withdrew.

Suzanne sucked in a hasty breath, filling her lungs and her senses with the aromas of pine cones, bourbon, and Grady.

“Sorry…you had”—he pointed to the corner of her mouth—“some crumbs…”

Her breathing husky, Suzanne swallowed. She wasn’t sorry at all.