by Jen Greyson
I swallowed. Definitely not that. “Gin! Let’s play gin.”
He picked up a deck of cards and slid the drawer silently closed. It was a beautiful piece… he’d probably made that, too. I didn’t want to ask and make him even bigger and more fantastic, which would only add to the jumble of confusion in my head.
Teague moved couches, choosing to sit a few feet away from my earlier spot. I paused and glanced at his place, wondering if I was supposed to sit over there, but it was too far for card playing. In my current state, I wasn’t sure the opposite end of the house far enough to give me the space I needed.
I fidgeted, then sat on the edge. A wave of cold air snuck under my shirt and I shivered.
Teague looked up from his shuffling, a lock of his dark hair falling over the rim of his glasses. “Cold?”
I tugged the collar of the sweatshirt closer to my neck. I shouldn’t be cold at all with the fire going, but all my blood was settling into the pit of my stomach while it worried on the situation, and my brain was going into overdrive, stealing the rest of it. “A bit.”
“Here.” He pulled a woven basket from under the coffee table.
A folded stack of colorful blankets swayed with the motion of the basket, and I grabbed a soft green one. After I spread it over my legs, I pushed the basket back under the table with my toe. “Thanks.”
He tucked a wayward lock of his hair back in place then set the deck of cards down between us and fanned his hand.
I stared at my own cards, trying to concentrate. Luckily, I’d played gin rummy with my mom every Sunday, keeping up a childhood tradition I’d hated as a kid. I needed my mind to chill out and focus on the game, but if not, hopefully my years of winning would kick into gear and save my butt so I didn’t end up looking like a fool.
“Tell me about you, Cassidy.”
A lump formed in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow it down. “What do you want to know?”
He drew from the pile. “What makes you tick?” He looked at me over the rim of his glasses. “What makes a California girl hop on a plane and fly to the end of the earth with nothing but an oversized purse and a conviction to rival some of the greatest protesters?”
The tips of my ears heated up and I fidgeted. “I don’t know about the size of my conviction.”
He discarded and rearranged his cards. “Really? Because I’d reckon it’s the size of my home state.”
He said it so deadpanned that I laughed.
“I’m serious. I don’t think I’ve ever been that passionate about anything in my entire life.” He paused and looked out at the snow. “No, definitely not.”
I shook my head, not believing him for a second. “I don’t buy that.”
“Cassidy, you chained yourself to a saw.”
I picked up his discard and straightened the pile. “Okay, my methods may be a little extreme, but there are a lot of people just as passionate as I am.”
He shivered. “Well I hope they don’t hate logging.”
I sobered and dropped my gaze to my cards. “I just think there are better ways.”
He leaned back on the couch, his cards forgotten for the moment. I’d hoped we were veering away from this conversation when we came over here and sat down, not moving closer. His gaze roamed over me, and the warmth of it made me tingly and uncomfortable.
“There probably are.”
I glanced up at him, studying his face for a mocking slant or challenging stare. He was looking at his cards, ignorant of my distress. Everything about him confused me. I wanted to stand so strong in my convictions—big as he thought they were. Yet what I’d seen downstairs rattled my solid foundation. It didn’t help that we were sitting in a home that so beautifully paid homage to the trees that had given up their lives for it. And Teague’s easygoing attitude wasn’t helping either. “I’m not sure when it started. I’ve been an advocate for those without voices my entire life. Literally, as long as I can remember. My parents were huge influences, their friends, my teachers. I’ve always been immersed in it—I don’t know any other way. I pursued it and am involved with several organizations that focus on deforesting. That brought me to your doorstep.”
“I think that’s a pretty weak summary, but I’ll let it slide for the moment.”
I think he must have felt the strain of that conversation, too. The further we got into the discussion, the more our paths diverged. If we were stuck here for three days, that might be a better conversation for the last hour. So for the moment, we figured out how to pretend that we weren’t enemies, and instead focused on the game.
Seven hands later, we were tied and I owed him fifty-five cents.
“So you’ve played a bit,” he said, knocking.
“Ooh, you’re knocking with seven?”
“Yep.” He laid his cards down and grinned.
“Fine.” I flattened my cards against the couch.
He groaned. “Seriously? Four?”
I pulled the pad toward my knee and picked up the pen. I added the hand and laughed. “I win.”
Scooping up the cards, he shuffled them and stuck them back in the box. “We’re playing something else.”
“Fine, but I have to warn you, I was chess champ in high school.”
“Perfect,” he said, standing and ruffling my hair. “Me, too.”
I bit back the giggle before I sounded like a silly girl on a normal date. Teague bent over and gathered several logs for the fire and I wished we had another way to heat the house, but I didn’t want to start anything again, so I looked away as the fire licked up the sides of them.
Unfortunately, my gaze landed on him and I couldn’t help noticing how his jeans tightened across the curve of his ass. I bit my lip. This was not the time to start paying attention to how well his sweater hugged the curve of his shoulders, or hung flat against his stomach. He slid the grate away and his long fingers wrapped around the first log, then the second, easing them gently toward the flames.
It was already too hot in here, but I didn’t want to admit it, so I shoved the blanket aside and let him load up the fire. I turned to watch the snow fall. “How—” I cleared my throat. “How much snow is out there so far?”
Teague straightened and brushed his hands against his lean thighs. “Looks like almost four feet.”
“Have you ever been snowed in?” I cringed at the breathlessness in my voice. Get a grip, Cassidy. Good grief, it wasn’t like we were the last two people on earth or anything. Worst case scenario, I was here for a three days at the most.
“Once, but it was years ago. And not in this house.” His gaze lingered, touching my neck and shoulders, then slid down to my hands cradled in my lap. He turned slightly and tugged the grate back into place. “We’ll probably get at least twice this much snow before the storm ends.”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
He nodded and avoided the couches as he crossed to the kitchen. “Wine?”
“I shouldn’t.”
He chuckled, and I didn’t like how the sound rippled across my skin. A flush broke out my skin.
“Need to drive later?”
“No.” I fingered the folds in the blanket. “I’m just a terrible drunk.” Especially on an almost empty stomach.
“No paparazzi here.”
The lighthearted atmosphere died at the reminder of the day’s events. Encased in the quiet and peace of the house, it had been easy to forget. And I didn’t want to touch the sore spot of why I cared if he forgot or not. I cleared my throat. “Any chance you have some popcorn or something?”
He shook his head. “I have a girl who helps me out around the house. She usually grocery shops since I’m always at the yard, but her day is tomorrow.” He pointed toward the pantry. “You’re welcome to dig through what I have. I’ll cook whatever you find, but there’s not much in there.”
The granola bars had taken the edge off, but I was going to be starving before long. Maybe then I’d search his cabinets.
Teague ga
thered the wineglasses and bottle and carried them back to the couch, pouring us each a glass.
I reached for mine and our fingers brushed. He didn’t take his gaze off the glass, watching me draw it to my lips, his eyes flicking downward to my throat as I swallowed the fruity bouquet.
“It’s nice.” I set the glass on the coffee table and tried desperately to ignore the affect that his attention was having on me. All he wanted was to be a good host, and to see if I liked his choice in wine, or if he should get us another bottle. That was it. There was nothing else behind his lingering gaze.
“Moscato.”
I wanted to tease him about having wine but no food, but our tentative camaraderie made me forgo the jab. I was walking through a minefield. My own gaze drifted lazily over his hands, noting his manicured nails and how they delicately handled the glass. He was no clumsy lumberjack.
The sudden awareness of him dried my throat and I took another sip.
A crack and follow-up dull whump made me flinch and whip toward the windows. A tower of snow leaned against the window, obliterating what had moments ago been a view of the pines and night sky.
“Damn.” Teague jumped off the couch and sprinted toward the sliding glass door on the far side of the hearth. “Looks like the top of a tree gave way.”
I peered at the dark mass of snow covering the window. I could see tiny pine needles mixed in with the white flakes. Before I could get off the couch, Teague ran past me to the mudroom. “I’ve got to get that off the window before it breaks.”
I stood and followed him. He tugged boots and a heavy snowsuit out of the top cabinets and hurriedly pulled them on.
“Can I help?” I had no idea what I could possibly do, but his urgency was kind of freaking me out.
“Stay in here. If that snow shifts, or if another section of the tree comes down, I don’t need you getting hurt.
Prickles of panic fired across my skin. What if he got hurt? I didn’t want to be here by myself, and I had never been good with blood. If something happened to Teague while he was out there… I rubbed my arms. “Be careful.”
He zipped the snowsuit and jammed his hands in thick gloves. “Done it a thousand times.” He grinned and went into the garage, pushing the button to lift the main door.
While it opened, he grabbed a long-bladed chain saw and snow shovel. “Well, that won’t work.” I followed his gaze, noting the massive level of snow. It was past my waist. “I’m going to have to tackle it from the back. He closed the door and went inside with me trailing in his wake. He tugged hard on the sliding glass door, and it pulled away with a loud pop, releasing a mini-avalanche of snow onto the floor. Teague shoveled a path, making quick work of the intruding white stuff. I edged my way forward while he dug toward the pine tree. The tumble of snow was already starting to melt in the house’s warmth. Darting a quick glance at Teague, I assured myself he wasn’t in imminent danger and raced into the kitchen, tugging drawers open until I found a stack of dish towels. I grabbed an armful and ran back to the pooling snow, mopping up the wet floor. It was such a tiny thing, but I felt like I had to do something other than stand here and chew my nails with worry.
Beyond the door, Teague grunted and exhaled huge plumes of steam. Damp hair stuck to his forehead.
“You should have a hat on.”
“Maybe. But it’s warm tonight.”
A freezing breeze curled around my ankles. “Come to San Diego. I’ll show you warm.”
He laughed and shoveled more snow. I was glad he was having a good time with this while I was completely freaking out. The entire concept of snow was so foreign to me, and the fact that he was gleefully shoveling feet of it blew my mind. The sides of his path were nearly up to his chest. I realized he wasn’t digging all the way down to the ground like I thought he would, but was working on an incline toward the window. Less snow to shovel, I guessed. He paused and jammed his shovel in the pile then leaned against the handle and wiped the dampness from his brow. “Whew. That’s wet stuff.”
“Is that different than dry stuff?”
“Only weighs about ten times as much.”
“Oh.” I took a last swipe at the icy water on the floor and tugged the door a little more closed to keep any more snow from falling inside. A roar made me jump as Teague revved the chain saw and laid it against the tree limbs, slicing through them easily. As they fell away from the window, he tossed them over his shoulder like they were tiny twigs. He continued the method for a while, cutting, tossing, and shoveling. I watched, fascinated by his movements and the gracefulness of his body. It was as if he lived for this stuff, and this was probably a normal winter day. The longer I was here, the more convinced I became that I was definitely not cut out for winters like this. Give me a cool breeze off the ocean and shorter nights, thank you very much.
The icy air slipped inside my shirt and puckered my nipples. I quickly crossed my arms. That was ludicrous. No way was I attracted to him, not like that. Ignoring my reasoning, they tightened enough to nearly press through the front of my sweatshirt, and I shivered.
I stepped back inside the house and glanced at the window. He’d managed to shovel away a good portion and I could see through. Only one more big section toward the bottom panes and he’d probably be done—at least for the moment. If this snow kept up, there might be another tree that came crashing down, but at least we’d be tucked safely inside again.
From this angle his face was in profile, and I lingered on the square jaw, the determination in his eyes, and the confident firmness of his lips. I crossed my arms again as another shiver raced along my skin.
Logs tumbled in the fireplace, but I couldn’t take my eyes of Teague’s progress. Returning to the doorway, I caught a fluffy flake on my hand. It tickled. Several more piled up on my hand, melting quickly.
Teague tugged the final section of tree away from the house and gathered his tools. Snowflakes covered his head, coated his eyelashes, and tumbled from his shoulders. I couldn’t help smiling. I stepped back so he could enter.
A moan from overhead shook the ceiling beams and I cringed, covering my face with my hands.
Swoosh.
Something heavy slid across the roof and landed with a deep shudder. Cold air blasted my face. Then everything turned deathly silent.
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Books by Jen
WUNDERLAND SERIES
Steamy, shmexy NA romance with fiery girls and hot guys.
Undertow
Snowed Under
ALTERATIONS SERIES
A fantastical NA time travel tale with one kickass chick and her hot Roman warrior.
Lightning Rider
Shadow Boxer
Night Storm—Available now for pre-order.
EVANGELINE HEART THRILLER ADVENTURE SERIES
A NA urban fantasy thriller with New York Times bestselling author A.K. Alexander.
Archangel Agenda—Available now for pre-order.
God Game
Lucifer Legion
As Alex Cole: Fantasy for kids and the kid in all of us.
LOST LEGENDS SERIES (for kids 9 to 12)
Exposing the lies unicorns tell.
The Lost Legend of Jevalya
As Mr. Jon Grey: Cyberpunk shorts and serials with serious conspiracy theory issues.
Trust no one.
Wiped
Robin h00d 2.0
Coming Soon! Information.com
Coming Soon! Pyramid Scheme
Praise for the Wunderland Novel, Snowed Under
“LOVE a girl with curves hooking up with alpha geek!”
“When a book comes along and you suddenly look up and realize you’ve read for hours...let’s face it, that’s seriously the definition of an outstanding read. And this one, folks, is most definitely one of them.”
“I’m actually surprised the snow didn’t melt as soon as it hit the logging company in Alaska, this book was that hot!”
“Jen Greyson pulls the read
er into a winter wonderland of ice and snow. From the darkened forests of Alaska and the men who work and live the terrain, SNOWED UNDER is a romantic storyline about two people who would never have met under any other circumstances until a feisty one woman protest tugs at the heart of a man who has been without a woman for a very long time.”
“Your review HERE”
Gratitude
Wow, I love being a writer. Seriously. I spend my days somewhere between searching picture after picture of cover models, to finding the right sexy-sex playlist, to writing scenes with amazing characters while my boys are at baseball practice.
This one goes out to my readers. You guys allow me to keep doing this. I cannot thank you enough for spending your hard earned money and time on my books. You’re the best.
THE. BEST.
And a whole lot of thanks to the usual suspects. My family for putting up with me and my ceaseless chatter about the book I’m working on or the one that just came out or the one that just hit a new milestone… Sorry about that, but thanks for listening anyway. Maybe at some point this will stop being fun and I’ll shut up about it, until then, I’ve ordered you all custom earplugs :) My #NAGoonies4Life, D.A. Botta et. al. Thanks for all the laughs and GIFs. Please keep em’ coming. Critique partner extraordinaire, Amy Jarecki, thanks is so so inadequate. You are a wonderful inspiration, friend, and writer. And of course, to my editor, Lauren Pelluzzo, you’re extraordinary to work with. Thanks for always having time in your schedule.
