I’m freezing as I sling my leg off the horse and Colt’s hands encircle my waist to help me down. I don’t need no help dismounting a horse, I’ve been riding as long as he has, but I appreciate the gesture and the little bit of warmth his hands provide because I’m shaking so hard my teeth are rattling in my head.
“I’m gonna send the horses back,” Colt shouts over the thunder and rain.
“Will they find their way in this?”
“They’ll be safer out there than here.”
I nod and wait, shivering in the rain while he slaps both of the horses asses and sends them on their way. In the distance, tornado sirens wail in town, and my blood turns as cold as the hail falling from the sky. Please, West, get everyone in the shelter. I reach for the handle, try the lock, and find it stuck.
“Colt, it’s not opening.”
“Goddamn it, Wyatt.” He shoulders me out of the way and jiggles the handle. Colt moves to the picture window and tries to lift it, but it won’t budge. Then he shocks the hell out of me by grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head.
“What are you doing—you’ll freeze,” I shout against the wind.
“I gotta bust open the window.” He wraps his shirt around his fist and punches the small windowpane closest to the door. It shatters and he clears away the rest of the glass before sliding his arm through the gap and unlocking the door. He gestures for me to go first, because even though he hates me, he’s still a gentleman about it.
Inside, the tiny shack isn’t much warmer, but it’s dry and there’s a fireplace in the corner of the room that I rush toward. Colt gets there first and begins stacking kindling in the small hearth. “Look for something to burn, will ya?”
“Okay,” I say through chattering teeth. I glance around the small space. There ain’t a whole lot lying around, but there is a bed, an old armchair which Mama threw away years ago, a bathroom, and a tiny kitchenette. I open the drawers and begin looking for a book of matches and paper to burn.
“Bless your heart, Wyatt Winchester,” I say, as I come across a Playgirl magazine and a book of matches from a gay club in Austin, Texas. I cross the small cabin to Colt and hand over the matches first and then the magazine.
Colt glances at the naked man on the cover and raises an eyebrow. “Jesus Christ. I guess now we know why the door was locked.”
“You can use it right?”
“Well, yeah, but … are you sure you don’t want to go in the bathroom and take a little look first. Might warm you up some.”
I laugh and shove his shoulder. “I’m sure. That kind of flashy beefcake was never my thing.”
My eyes roll over his half-naked body crouching by the fireplace and I bite my lip. Colt may not be what I’d consider beefcake, but he sure is fine. Every inch of him is tanned, hard-won muscle from working my family’s land, and one hundred percent centerfold worthy.
He smirks and takes the magazine, opening to the centerfold and ripping it right out as he shakes his head. “I guess it never was, was it?”
I hop from foot to foot, hugging myself to generate heat. “Can you hurry up, please? I’m freezing.”
“Sure thing, darlin’.”
“Don’t you sass me, Colton Hayes.”
He adds a log to the fire and the pop and crackle of dry wood soothes my soul, even though the window is still letting a considerable amount of wind howl through the open pane.
I take the rest of the magazine and place it up against the window frame, searching for something to hold it down when a roll of duct tape peeks out from under the bed at me. “Oh my Lord, Wyatt. I could kiss you right now, but y’all need Jesus.”
I grab the tape from the bed and head back to the window. I tape up the magazine, but a bloom of bright red blood against the painted frame catches my eye. “Colt, let me see your hand.”
“It’s fine,” he grunts and stands in front of the fire, shaking. I finish taping the window shut and draw the curtains to keep the heat in. It makes the cabin that much darker, but the sky outside is just as black, so right now I’d rather the warmth and safety of these four walls. My teeth chatter as I step toward him. “Let me see.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“Please?”
He sets his jaw, but his eyes are already resolved. Colton Hayes never could win when it came to betting against me. He offers his hand for inspection and I take his wrist and glance at his knuckles. They’re bloody and all busted up.
I suck in a sharp breath. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m okay.” He pulls away and turns back to the fire. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Yeah, with glass in it. Sit down. I’m gonna find something to clean it with.”
“There’s a gallon of Fireball whiskey on the counter.”
“Well, that’s a start.” I head to the bathroom. I don’t find much in the way of bandages but there is a salve in the cabinet and paper towel in the kitchen, so I gather my supplies and walk back over to Colt, who hasn’t moved from the fire.
“You’re soaking wet, Lemonade. You shouldn’t be looking to patch me up until you’re out of those clothes.”
I smile, because I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but even when Colt is trying to be a perfect gentleman, there’s always something just a little rugged and dirty about him. “You haven’t said those words to me for a long time.”
“Nope, I guess I haven’t.”
“It’s okay. I won’t take them to heart.” I smile up at him and set my materials on the counter. “I’ll make you a deal. Let me fix your hand, ’cause you can’t keep that glass in it all night, and I’ll take all my clothes off to dry out when I’m done.”
“You’re still just as big a tease as ever.”
A bold smile steals across my face. “I know.”
“Fine. Deal,” he grunts. “I don’t wanna sit on the bed and make it wet.”
“Okay, let’s do this in the bathroom then.” I take the bottle of Fireball and screw off the cap, sipping it on the way to the bathroom. Warm whiskey slides down my throat and sparks in my chest, settling in my belly. I wince as I remember the long nights we drank this stuff in the back of Colt’s truck, the tailgate laid down. Drunk and in love, we were untouchable then. Until we weren’t. Until our whole world fell apart and we hit the ground so hard we shattered.
I clean his hand over the sink and fish out what little glass I can see. He doesn’t need stitches, but he should probably still get it looked at tomorrow. Assuming we make it through the night and don’t kill each other first.
When we leave the bathroom, Colt grabs the bottle of Fireball and I head to the kitchenette, hoping like hell Wyatt had the forethought to stock the cabinets with snacks.
“Alright, Lemonade. It’s your turn. Take your clothes off.”
I frown and continue my perusal of Wyatt’s shelves. Granola bars and a pack of gum is all I come up with. “Nothing’s changed it seems.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You’re still trying to get me naked.”
“Woman, the way I remember it, I never even had to ask. You were always shedding clothes at the watering hole, at our tree, or in the back of my truck where your brothers or your folks could have found us.”