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Wolfe
When we step outside,the dogs are excited. Rowan looks terrified.
I grin. “Don’t worry, Miss Reed. You’re in safe hands.”
“What, yours?” She arches a brow. “Remind me again why I should trust you?”
“I’ve already saved your life once, haven’t I?”
“So you keep reminding me.” Her pink lips press together, the cold air making her nose redden. She hikes her shoulders up, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “It’s colder than it looks out here.”
“It’ll only get worse.”
“Just another reason for me to get out of Nord as soon as possible,” she says under her breath.
I glance at Rowan as something twinges in my chest. She wants to leave? I shake my head and walk toward the sled. Of course she wants to leave. She probably wants to go see her grandmother and get back to somewhere more temperate for the winter.
Why does that make my chest constrict?
I don’t want her here. I’m not looking for another woman to save—that worked fairly horrendously the first time. Not only did I fail to save Abby, I had to watch her die in my arms—and then have videos of the moment played over and over and over again, every year, just to remind myself how useless I was when Abby really needed me.
Why would I want another woman in my life? Especially one as ill-equipped for this place as Rowan.
As Harvey straps up the dogs and checks the gear on the sled, I walk to the front of the pack. Chief sits patiently, his head thrown back as the proud leader. He’s always been the one to listen to my commands, and the one that other dogs follow most obediently. The natural alpha.
Chief chose Rowan to sleep with. Lifting my gaze to the sled, I watch as Harvey explains to her how mushing works. He points out the basket of the sled, the front portion that she’ll occupy, and where I’ll stand behind her. Rowan glances up at me, her face immediately schooling itself to hide her fear.
My lips tug. It’s hard not to enjoy her company, all attitude and false toughness.
If I hadn’t grown up around dogs, I suppose I’d be nervous too. I walk back toward Rowan and Harvey, jerking my head to the basket. “Hop in.”
Rowan takes a deep breath and takes her seat. I nod to Harvey and stand behind her, my legs resting against her back. My hand drifts over her shoulder, squeezing gently. She leans back ever so slightly, and…I like it. That tiny movement that tells me she’s comfortable being here. With me.
I stiffen. That’s not why she’s here. She’s here for work, and I’m here to ride out the worst month of the year. I’m here to get away from all the memories I can’t erase. I’m here to stay away from women like Rowan, who make me want to save them when I should be pushing them away.
I grab the driving bow, the handle I’ll be holding during the ride, and put an inch of space between me and Rowan. She feels the distance and doesn’t lean back.
Good.
“Hike!” I shout the command, and the dogs start moving. Rowan lets out a sigh, sitting up in the sled to watch the landscape pass us by. I relax, trying to forget that she’s here. It’s just me and the dogs, and the landscape I’ve always loved.
But how can I forget that Rowan’s here? How can I ignore the warmth of her body so close to my legs? How can I stop myself from glancing at her copper hair, the profile of her face, her soft lips?
“This is incredible,” Rowan says, turning her head to smile at me. She looks fucking beautiful in the bright winter sunshine. With pink cheeks and a little red nose from the cold, and her freckles dusted across her face, I’m pretty sure she’s part goddess.
“Wait until we really get going.” I grin. Her hand grips the edge of the sled, a smile tugging at her lips.
I shouldn’t be enjoying spending time with her. I should be keeping my distance. I shouldn’t be thinking about protecting her from the cold, or the storm, or hypothermia, or any other threats that might exist up here.
“Haw!” I call out, and the dogs turn left. We cross the snow-covered meadow as we make our way toward the visitor’s cottage, cold air whipping around us. The dogs run like a dream. Like they’ve missed this as much as I have. I lead them past the cottage and onto the trail that leads up to the nearest ridge. Rowan doesn’t protest. Her head spins around to take in the sights as she takes deep breaths of the clean, fresh air. There’s just something about cold, snowy air that tastes better.
When we pass through some snow-covered pine trees and travel up the wide trail, I slow the dogs down and sink the sled’s snow hook into the ground as an anchor. I hop off the sled, extending a hand to Rowan.
“Come on.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“If you want to redesign this palace, you need to understand how it sits on this land. You need to understand the arctic. The snow. Everything.”
