Page 55 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

“She's fine,” he said. “But I want someone keeping an eye on her tonight. Shock can be tricky, and hypothermia sometimes has delayed effects. Make sure she stays warm, gets plenty of fluids, and wakes you up if she feels dizzy or nauseous.”

“I can stay at the inn,” Cassie said quickly. “I don't want to impose⁠—”

“You're staying here,” I said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Guest room's already made up, and Doc just said you need someone keeping an eye on you.”

“The boy's right,” Doc said, packing up his bag. “Besides, you're better off right here.”

Cassie looked like she wanted to argue, but something in my expression must have convinced her to save her energy for bigger battles.

After Doc left—driving away into the storm with confidence that came from forty years of making house calls in Montana winters—I found myself alone with Cassie again, but the dynamic had shifted somehow. The medical emergency was over, which meant we were left with the reality of her staying the night.

In my house.

In the guest room that was separated from my bedroom by about ten feet of hallway and a couple of months of careful boundaries I'd been maintaining.

“I should probably try to get some sleep,” she said, as if reading my thoughts. “It's been... quite a day.”

“Of course,” I said, standing up quickly. “I'll show you where everything is.”

The guest room was simple but comfortable—a double bed with a quilt my mother’s quilting group had made, a dresser, a small bookshelf stocked with paperbacks. I'd put fresh sheets on the bed just last week, thinking about Cassie and her first big storm. I hadn't actually expected the woman I was falling in love with, rendered homeless by an act of nature, to be sleeping 15 feet away.

“There are extra blankets in the closet,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward in my own house. “And towels in the bathroom. If you need anything—anything at all—just holler.”

“Thank you,” There was something in her voice that made me look at her more closely. “Not just for tonight. For everything. For coming to find me, for taking care of me, for...all of it.”

“Cassie,” I started, but she stepped closer, and whatever I'd been planning to say disappeared entirely.

She was looking up at me with those green eyes that had haunted my dreams for months, and there was something different in them now. Something open, vulnerable, and maybe a little afraid. Of the moment, perhaps. Of the choice she was about to make.

“I could have died tonight,” she said quietly. “If that tree had fallen five seconds later, when I’d gotten inside, or if the branch had hit me differently...”

“But it didn't,” I said, reaching up to touch her face. “You're here. You're fine.”

“Because of you,” she whispered. “You saved me.”

I shook my head. “You saved yourself. You got out of the way, you survived the impact, you⁠—”

She kissed me.

Just like that, soft and sudden and so exactly what I'd been dreaming about. It was so unexpected that I wondered if I had fallen asleep on the couch next to her.

But no—this was real. Cassie was real, warm and alive in my arms, her lips moving against mine with a sweetness that made my knees weak. I could taste the chamomile tea, could smell the faint scent of pine mixed with wood smoke and winter air.

When we finally broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.

“I've wanted to do that for months,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” I managed, my voice rough and deep.

“Yeah. But I was scared. Of messing things up, of not being ready, of...I don't know. Everything.”

I lifted my hand to cup her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin. “And now?”

She smiled, and it was like watching the sun come up. “Now I'm still scared. But I'm more scared of not taking the chance.”

I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring it. She melted against me, her hands fisting in my shirt, and I had to remind myself that she'd been through a lot tonight, that she was vulnerable and staying in my guest room.

“We should probably...” I started, though every instinct I had was screaming at me not to let go of her.