Page 63 of Thaw My Heart

The coldness in his voice sits like a rock in my chest, like freezer burn with the way it collides with my heated core temperature. “You don’t have to be so mean.”

“That’s just who I am. The town asshole.”

Well, if he wants to play it that way. “Fine,” I clench my teeth, moving further away from him. “I hate your voice anyway.” Which of course isn’t true, but screw him.

“You hate my voice?” he questions.

But I’m already riding away, deciding to keep my distance and my mouth shut.

He doesn’t deserve my words anyway.

Despite how uncomfortable this is and how furious and frustrated I am, we continue to work efficiently. He watches me from across the herd, giving signals when necessary, and I listen. Doing whatever it takes to get this day over with. For the next hour, he’s scowling at me with such intensity that I scowl back.

If he wants to play with fire, I’ll give him fire.

As more time passes, his gaze softens, quietly watching me across the space between us. Across snowy fields and the backs of fluffy cows.

He looks away the first few times, not wanting to meet my eyes. Pretending he doesn’t want to look at me. By the end of the day, he holds my gaze like I’m all he sees—like all his frustration dissipated in the frosty air. The scowling contest is gone, replaced by the softer version of him that makes my pulse race and my body burn. A version of him I missed.

We ride side by side back to the ranch, close enough that I can feel his eyes on me. The sensation burning hot under my skin at his stare, and the closeness of him.

“I don’t want you to leave, Sadie,” he murmurs.

I feel I’ve imagined him saying those words, but his blue eyes piercing into mine confirm it. And damn, I missed the sight of them. “You don’t?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

A sudden weight lifts off my chest at this soft moment between us. A moment that feels right. But when we approach the main barn, the frown on his face is back, and his body goes rigid. Solid as the ice forming on the rivers and lakes.

He doesn’t even say goodbye. He just pulls his ballcap down to cover his eyes and strides away. Icing me out once more. Did he even mean those words?

“So, how was your day?” Blake asks cheerfully as my feet hit the frozen ground.

“Fine,” I mutter, taking Sugar’s reins before walking off towards the barn.

After changing into a different outfit for the Thanksgiving Party, I decide to walk to the Mess Hall. It’s around a fifteen-minute walk, but I need it after such a frustrating day. I need the time to process the feelings welling up inside me.

“Wow,” Blake smiles when I approach him. His eyes drift from my long, silky skirt to my vintage Chicks T-shirt underneath a thick sweater. “You look good.”

“You always say that,” I smile.

“I always mean it.” The space between us slowly disappears. My eyes struggle to meet his as he leans in, intending to place his lips on mine, but I jerk back.

Fuck, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I kiss him?

“Shall we?” I awkwardly hold out my arm for him to escort me. He flashes me a look of confusion, brushing it off as he gladly takes my arm.

The Mess Hall is full, with fall decorations on tables, and candles set up on whiskey barrels in the corners of the room. A giant feast is beautifully laid out on the far wall, smelling like I always imagined it would. Not that I have many Thanksgivings to compare it to besides the dinner at Cole’s that went horribly wrong.

My brother and I used to go to the diner where our mom worked before she died, ordering the holiday special, but after we moved in with my uncle, the whole tradition became a thing of the past. I can’t remember a Thanksgiving that didn’t end in tears.

Or a family dinner.

“Where do you want to sit?” Blake asks.

My gaze darts around the room, taking stock of everyone, when my eyes land on Kit. Sitting in his usual corner. Alone as always. He freezes when he notices me. “Anywhere is fine. I’ll grab drinks.” With that, I release Blake’s arm, heading to the table full of alcohol.

Just what I need.