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I’m safe.
He latches the fence and walks beside me the remaining distance. His impressive height dwarfs my much smaller frame, but something about it feels strangely natural.
This feels like a Hallmark moment, as if I’m finally coming home. I place my hand on my savior’s arm and feel him tense. Ignoring his reaction, I let my words spill.
“When I forget to tell you later how grateful I am for your help tonight, please know that I am.”
The tension in his body evaporates and he places his arm around my shoulder. It’s the first real physical contact between us other than when he fastened the gaiters around my legs. Tugging me close, he gives my shoulder a squeeze.
“City girl, the people of Peace Springs look out for one another. No need to say thank you, but you’re welcome. Now, let’s get you inside.”
With a tug, he pulls at the strap of the odd goggles and yanks off his hat, revealing midnight black hair and the darkest, coal-black eyes I’ve ever seen. A jagged scar stretches from the corner of his mouth all the way up to his eye.
I gasp and take a step back. Normally a disfigurement like that would mar a person’s beauty, but it does exactly the opposite with him.
Ruggedly handsome isn’t sufficient to describe his aching beauty. Even the ferociousness of his expression speaks to a great pain in his past. Scar aside, it’s the black depths of his eyes that hint at something dangerously intoxicating.
The intensity of his expression pins me in place; perhaps he waits to see my reaction to his disfigurement. I can’t help but reach out. I try to trace the contours of his majestic face, my frozen fingers tremble, but he grabs my wrist, yanking it away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lightning quick, he eliminates the distance between us, forcing me to take a step back. Only, his grip tightens, dragging a strangled cry from my throat. He pulls me close, close enough for the heat of his breath to warm my cheeks.
He crowds my space. Steals my air. Heats my skin, and hell if the strangest thoughts don’t rush through my head. Eye level with his chest, he towers over me. While no part of him, except for his hand, touches me, it feels as he’s everywhere at once.
My entire body takes notice, but instead of recoiling—something I would do if this was Scott—I lean in.
“Get a good hard look at it, city girl. Take your fill, but don’t ever assume you can touch me like that again. I’m not some circus freak you can gawk at.”
My breaths stagger and lurch, confused, but then his words sink in. I struggle to fill my lungs and respond to his angry words.
“I didn’t—I’m not …”
His scar is a thing of beauty. There’s not one thing repulsive about it, but I don’t get to tell him that.
“Hey.” A gravelly voice calls out. Light spills from an open doorway onto the expanse of untouched snow. “Drake? Is that you?” The man gives a low whistle. “Whatcha got there?”
Drake releases my wrist, practically tossing me aside. “Found that pack and picked up a straggler.”
“I’m not a straggler.” I stomp my foot, frustrated with how things are turning out.
“Bert will take care of you, city girl.” Drake practically shoves me toward the man, who I assume is Bert.
“Name’s Bert Winston. Nice to meet you.” He stretches out his hand to take mine. His eyes twinkle in the faded moonlight, then shift with concern toward my savior, Drake. Bert’s brow arches in question. “And who might you be?”
“Hi, my name’s Abby.”
WHISKEY
Perhaps it’s not fair to stereotype the llama rancher, but when Drake mentioned llamas and Bert, I imagined a hick in baggy suspenders, worn-out jeans, a plaid shirt, and cowboy boots. I even included a piece of straw sticking out between the gap I imagined between his two front teeth having. Oh, and a cowboy hat.
Bert is none of that.
He surprises me in his wool trousers, buttoned-up Oxford, tweed blazer, sleek boots, and what looks like a fedora perched with impeccable flair atop his head.
Meticulously groomed, even his gray beard is trimmed and combed. Instead of chewing on a piece of straw, Bert puffs a cigar. Deep laugh lines crinkle the skin around his eyes, which tells me the most important thing about this man. That huge smile of his is a comfortable, lifelong, friend.
I adore him on sight.
He feels familiar, like coming home, as if whatever ails me will disappear the moment I step foot across his doorstep. He’s kind, welcoming, warm, and—peaceful.
