Page 46 of Quiver

Before she could even respond, Fletcher turned on a heel and strode away.

Kylie followed, not enjoying the view nearly as much as Fletcher’s tight jeans and broad shoulders deserved.

Everything had happened so quickly she hadn’t had time to form any expectations, but if she had, the reality wouldn’t have aligned with them.

She wasn’t sure she’d meant to hit on Fletcher, or even wanted to. In a clear-headed state, she certainly wouldn’t choose to complicate her life any more than she already had, but a primal part of her sought comfort right now, and like it or not, she’d never in her life found anything as soothing as Fletcher’s arms. She wasn’t surprised she’d reacted the way she did to having those strong hands on her body. Fletcher’s reaction, however, came as a complete shock.

She stared down at her wrist where Fletcher had grasped it. “What are we doing?”

Fletcher stopped without turning to face her. “Trying to make it through another long night.”

She nodded slowly. “You know it’s more than that, right?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“We could use this time to—”

“What did I tell you about pushing for more? Haven’t we made enough mistakes as it is?”

A week ago, she wouldn’t have characterized many of the major decisions she’d made as mistakes, but something about the last few days kept her from saying so, and Fletcher used the silence to regain some of the certainty Kylie now lacked.

“I need to secure the barn and bed down the horses to ride out the blizzard. Will you take care of Winston?”

“Of course.” She did, both because she cared for him and because it felt good to know what to do and how to do it for once. Leading him back into the barn, she set about the work of removing his saddle and brushing his coat while Fletcher pretended to busy herself in Gabrielle’s stall. They fell back into the pattern of working around each other instead of together, but she couldn’t shake the sense they’d come dangerously close to something more.

She’d gotten used to the indifference Fletcher had projected over the last few weeks, the cold shoulder, the walking away, the sharp responses. Kylie had never blamed her for the anger simmering under the surface. Lord knew she had plenty of her own, but tonight she’d swept in and saved her. Fletcher had spent the last couple of hours playing the role she’d owned in their early years, the pragmatic, dependable problem solver. What’s more, she’d allowed part of her own humanity to show through in the process. Kylie hadn’t even meant to turn to her tonight, and yet Fletcher had stepped forward to catch her when she fell. Only when she actually had reached for her with any intentionality, something inside had snapped.

Fletcher hadn’t gotten the walls up fast enough to hide the fear in her eyes, and she wasn’t sure which one of them that would end up bothering more.

“Come on,” Fletcher said, a hint of gruffness to her voice as Kylie closed the door to Winston’s stall.

They trudged toward the house, hunched against the driving wind and swirling snow in the dark courtyard, but at least the cold helped eat up the last hints of arousal surging through her system. She sank to her shins, and staggered slightly as she neared the side door Fletcher held open, then slammed shut behind her.

Shaking and stomping themselves as clean as they could took a few seconds, but as Kylie shed her coat and hat, the warmth of the old farmhouse seeped into her senses, her gaze traveling over hardwood floors, white beadboard walls, and rich details of original windowsills and doorways. She held her breath as she moved almost on autopilot through the rooms she’d considered a second home as a teenager.

The kitchen had newer appliances, but the butcher-block countertops were the same ones she’d sat atop and watched Fletcher cook grilled cheeses. The hallway had the same grooves in the floor, worn smooth by the sliding of sock feet. And the living room, with the fireplace and built-in bookcases, beckoned dark, warm, soothing, like a favorite blanket, bringing back a million memories of winter days filled with languid kisses while the snow fell outside.

She lifted her hand to her chest as if she could somehow rub away the ache there, but it had embedded itself too deep to touch. She walked around the large sectional couch to a series of mementos placed prominently on the mantel. There was a black-and-white photo of Fletcher’s parents at the Lake Placid Olympics where they’d met, accompanied by a series of medals in gold and silver, their ribbons showing their age despite being stored in glass boxes. Another picture showed a happy family in front of the barn, the parents beaming proudly as a young boy held the hand of a toddler. Another showed a grown man with dark eyes, and beside him stood a woman and two small children she didn’t recognize.

She picked it up, inspecting it for any sense of connection or memory like the ones the other items sparked, but none came, and a hint of resentment bubbled up in her.

“Ryder’s family,” Fletcher finally offered. “His wife, Helen, and their boys, Tyler and Hunter.”

It made sense on a surface level, and maybe even somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered hearing Fletcher had become an aunt, but seeing the photo here, in the place she ached to have untouched by the passage of time, made her jaw clench as she set the frame back on the mantel and turned back to the medals. “Your parents left the hardware?”

“They said the medals belonged here. It didn’t make sense to take them across an ocean as long as I was living on the farm. This place is the dream that started with those games.”

She turned to face her again as Fletcher hung back, leaning her shoulder against the doorway without actually entering the room. “One might’ve said you’re the dream that started at those Olympics.”

Fletcher lifted the one shoulder not currently propping her up.

“You earned the right to keep them because you’re keeping this place alive. You’re their legacy.”

She sighed. “Not quite the one either of them hoped for.”

“Better than they could’ve conceived.” Kylie pushed, her voice picking up the strength of her conviction. “You took the best of both their passions and blended them together.”

“And in doing so, managed to disappoint them both.” Fletcher shook her head and pushed off from the wall. “It’s late.”